"I wish I knew what those fellows were planning," said Carstairs. "At least they give us a rest, while they arrange for our destruction."
"But we're not destroyed yet, and you don't think it either, Carstairs," said Wharton. "Whatever I've said against you Britishers, I've never said you lacked courage."
"And if you had said it I'd have known that you didn't mean it."
Then the two shook hands in silence. Wharton closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.
"What are they doing, John?" he asked presently.
"Still in council. A plane heavier than the others, evidently the one that has the machine gun is in the center. I judge therefore that it also carries the commander of the fleet."
"Acute reasoning. Wake me up when they seem to be starting anything. Meanwhile I can't be bothered, because a few aeroplanes choose to use our heavens."
He stretched himself, and breathed deeply and peacefully. But John knew well enough that he was not asleep. His rifle lay by his side, where it could be snatched up in a moment, and now and then his eyes opened to watch through the bushes the foe circling aloft. Carstairs also lay down bye and bye, but John remained sitting, the thick boughs of a bush covering him.
"Something has happened," he announced after awhile. "One of the planes, the smallest, I think is flying away toward the east."
The others sat up. The aeroplane, high in air, was going at tremendous speed. The others remained over the grove, swinging about lazily in circles, but too high for the rifles.