"It's not a French machine, John, and it's not a friend's. It's a German Taube, and it's flying very fast. I think the man in it has seen us, which is unfortunate."
"And there's another!" exclaimed John in excitement. "Look! He's been hidden by that long, trailing sheet of vapor off toward the north. See it's close to the other one."
"Aye, so it is! And they are friends, twin foes of ours! Two Taubes, but only one man in each, while there are two in this tight little machine! They have certainly seen us, because they're bending in rapidly toward us now!"
"What do you intend to do? Meet them and fight?"
"Not unless we have to do it. I've news for France which is worth more than my life, or yours either for that matter—or more than my honor or yours. No, John, we'll run for it with all our might, and the Arrow is one of the prettiest and sweetest little racers in all the heavens!"
Lannes' hand pressed upon the steering rudder, and the machine, curving from its western course, turned toward the south. The motor throbbed faster and louder and John became conscious almost at once that their speed was increasing. Although the heavy cap was drawn down over his ears he heard the wind whistling as it rushed past, and it was growing much colder. In spite of himself he shivered, and he was sure it was the cold, not fear.
John's nature was sensitive and highly intellectual, but his heart was brave and his will powerful. He remembered that while two planes were in pursuit only one man was in each pursuer while there were two in the pursued. His gloved hand slipped down to the butt of the automatic.
He had no idea how fast they were going, but he knew the speed must be terrific. He grew colder and colder. He wondered how Lannes, taut and strained, bent over the steering rudder, could stand it, but he recalled the words of Castelneau that he was the best flying man in the world.
Lannes, in truth, felt neither stiffness nor cold, then. The strain of daring in the French nature which the Anglo-Saxon would call recklessness responded fully and joyfully to the situation. Not in vain, while yet so young, was he a king of the air. Every pulse in him thrilled with the keen and extraordinary delight that comes only from danger, and the belief in victory over it. His hand touched the rudder as the fingers of a pianist touches the keys of a piano, and in either case it was the soul of an artist at work.
Oh, it was a beautiful machine, the Arrow, strong, sinuous, graceful! Sure like the darting bird! It answered the lightest pressure of his hand upon the rudder, and he drew from it harmonies of motion that were true music to him.