"No, if we beat him, we want to do it fairly and squarely," replied Frank. "I think we have a better machine, and the only way to prove it is to beat the Buzzard at its best."
No more words were exchanged as the two machines tore onward back toward the starting-point.
The others had lost so much time getting into the air at the Harrowbrook grounds that they were practically out of the race. The contest lay between the Buzzard and the Golden Eagle.
Suddenly, as they were racing high above a road that showed far below them like a bit of white ribbon. Harry uttered an exclamation and pointed downward.
Directly beneath them an automobile was moving along, and as Frank gazed downward for a fraction of a second he saw a man, seated in the tonneau, place a glittering object to his shoulder.
"Zi-i-i-p!"
Something that sounded like a big bee sang by the boys' ears.
"A bullet!" cried Harry.
"They are shooting at us!" exclaimed Frank.
"I know that automobile," suddenly cried Harry, "it's Luther Barr's."