But while the hand on the rudder did its work his eyes swept the heavens with a questing gaze. Had he been alone in the Arrow he could have left the German Taubes far behind, but the extra weight of the passenger was a terrible burden for so light and delicate a machine. Yet he was glad John was with him. Already Lannes had a deep liking for the young American whose nature was so unlike his own.
That questing gaze lingered longest on the southern heavens. One who flees on the land must pick his way and so must one who flees through the skies. Now, the mind of the flying man was keyed to the finest pitch. He thought of the currents of air, the mists, the vapors, and, above all, of those deadly pockets which could send them in an instant crashing to the earth far below. No engineer with his hand at the throttle of a locomotive was ever more watchful and cautious.
John, too, was looking into the south, where he saw a loom of cloud and haze. It appeared that the heavens had drawn a barrier across their way, and he saw that Lannes was turning the Arrow again toward the west, as if he were seeking a way around that barrier.
Then he looked back. The Taubes, beyond a doubt, were nearer, and were flying in a swift true line.
"Are they gaining?" asked Lannes, who kept his eyes on the "country" ahead, seeking to choose a way.
"Considerably. They have been flying close together, but now they're separating somewhat; at least it seems so, although my eyes are tricky in an element so new to me."
"They're probably right in this instance. It's their obvious course. It's impossible for us to fly perfectly straight, and whenever we curve one or the other of their machines will gain on us. I've heard that a troop of lions will adopt this method in pursuing an antelope, and that it's infallible."
"Which means that we can't escape?"
"There's a difference. The antelope can't fight back, but we can. Don't forget the automatic I gave you."
"I haven't. Not for a second."