I glanced over my shoulder and found the Faytans were getting uncomfortably near. But I kept my wits and took time to readjust the machine a little, so it would rise more quickly. A half dozen or so of the pursuers were well in advance of the others, and I suspected they might interfere with our start. So I faced about and carefully emptied my revolvers at them, halting all but one. Then I turned back to the machine, started the motor and ran beside it a few paces before I sprang into the seat.
Just then I heard a revolver crack beside me, but could pay no attention to it because the biplane was speeding into the air at a tremendous clip. It persisted in mounting upward, because I had adjusted it that way, and in working the steering gear to obviate this the machine got a side motion that was both unpleasant and dangerous.
“Steady her, Sam!” called Joe; but I couldn’t.
To add to my perplexity it grew dark again; the moaning sound was repeated, and looking down I saw the earth shaking under me like a bowl full of jelly. It was a horrible sight, and in my agitation I must have bungled in some way, for the fearful side motion increased, and both of us had to hold fast to keep from being hurled from our seats.
Suddenly the biplane took a dive—swift as a bullet, but was supported from falling by the outstretched planes. I lost all control, but managed to shut off the motor and then cling to the frame with all my might.
Down, down we went, but fortunately still gliding diagonally in the direction of the ship. It was a regular tumble by this time, and I am positive the biplane turned over and over several times. We just skipped the further edge of the forest and crashed into the branches of a fallen tree—one of those felled by the earthquake. With a jar that drove the breath out of me I bounded from the branches and fell prone upon the ground. Joe landed near me, and aside from the severe shock we both escaped serious injury or the breaking of bones and soon scrambled to our feet.
I had turned to glance at the biplane, now a hopeless mass of junk, when Joe suddenly caught my hand and said:
“We must run for it, Sam!”
Bursting in a stream from the forest came hundreds of Faytan warriors, brandishing their weapons as they ran. They were so near that an arrow or a well thrown spear might have caught us easily, but the savages seemed intent on capturing us.
I am not a great runner, but on this occasion, at least, I did myself credit as a sprinter. Joe’s hand in mine and his superior swiftness helped, of course, and we managed to keep a lead till we were near the ship, when a volley from the deck effectually halted our pursuers.