CHAPTER VII
SEEN FROM THE EAGLES' EYRIE
They were already spinning along at a lively clip, and rising too, at the moment that shot sounded, and the leaden missile whizzed past so close to them. Almost through sheer instinct Frank instantly shifted his lever, and started the biplane upward on a slant that was the limit, and approaching the danger line.
The two Bird boys turned and stared at each other. Wonder and indignation seemed struggling for the mastery in their faces.
"Frank, he fired that shot at us!" exclaimed Andy.
"Seemed like it," returned the other. "At any rate, it came much too close to suit my ideas of comfort. Made me think of those warm times we had down in Columbia, when the revolutionists were after us."
"What a wicked shame!" went on the other fiercely. "And I guess the silly fool thought he was doing something smart! That's a new danger aviators will have to face—being shot at by every loon that carries a gun, just like they might be some strange bird."
"Well, we're Birds, all right, but hardly strange ones," Frank continued, with a frown on his face. "And we've been knocking around this section of the country in our jolly little monoplane so long, that I supposed every farmer's boy knew us and felt an interest in our work. That makes me believe it could hardly have been done in a spirit of what some people would call a joke."
"Good gracious! Frank, do you mean that the fellow really wanted to hit us? Oh! that seems too terrible to believe!" cried Andy, aghast.
"Stop and think," Frank continued, steadily. "In the first place, what would any one be doing, hunting in the middle of summer. Why, outside of a short spell given over to woodcock, there isn't a thing the law allows a sportsman to shoot up to Fall. And Andy, did you ever hear of anybody shooting woodcock with a rifle?"