"Let 'em have it!" cried Leon and the three automatic suns spoke almost as if they were one piece.
One of the Germans reeled slightly in his saddle and sliding from his seat fell to the ground in a limp heap. One of the horses also went down, hurling his rider violently over his head. A shout of rage came from the astonished horsemen who had not dreamed of resistance. There were eight in their party, while the stranded aviators numbered but three.
"Two of them gone," cried Jacques. "See if we can't wing two more and then we'll have to run for it."
"Make it sure," exclaimed Leon and again came the sharp bark of the three automatics. Down went another horse and another rider was thrown violently to the ground. Again the three revolvers spoke. The leader of the little band of horsemen slid limply from his seat.
The Germans were scarcely fifty yards distant now. They pumped a continual stream of bullets at the three daring youths who were taking refuge behind the monoplane, but so far their aim was wild.
"Now for the woods," cried Jacques and he turned and ran at top speed for the shelter of the forest which was not more than thirty feet away from the spot where they had been standing. Close at his heels followed Leon and Earl. It was now almost dark, but a hail of bullets swarmed after the three retreating figures.
Suddenly Jacques went down. He pitched headlong upon his face and with a gasp of fear the two brothers bent over him. If Jacques were lost to them their case was indeed desperate.
"Where are you hit?" demanded Leon breathlessly.
"I'm not hit; I stumbled over that furrow."