“It’s like a catbird attacking a crow,” Ruth told herself. “What will the end be?”
With a daring that set the girl’s blood racing, the young aviator swooped down upon his broad winged opponent.
“He—he’ll crash into them,” she thought in sudden terror, “He—he has!”
“No! No!” said Betty who, all unconscious of her actions, was dancing wildly about the deck. “There! There he is! He’s come out from behind.”
Again the little plane rose. Again, he came down, this time to the right and all but upon a broad wing of the Devil Bird.
Then came a short, sharp, insistent sound that was not made by motors.
“They—they’re shooting,” said Ruth as a fresh terror seized her. “We must get closer. They may bring him down.”
Gripping a rope, she sent her sail upward, then prepared to glide ahead at full speed.
But now, matters took a fresh turn. So close did the young aviator dive in that the great black plane was set wobbling. It was with the utmost difficulty that she righted herself.
Hardly had this been accomplished when the little plane, with all the ferocity of a bird robbed of her young, was upon her again.