“That’s a queer maneuver,” observed Dave, and the words had scarcely left his lips when there shot down a dark object with a sputtering sparkling spot of fire in its center. It struck the tail of the Ariel, rebounded, descended perhaps a hundred feet and exploded in mid air.
“Meant for me!” cried Dave, “but why? Who is this new enemy——”
A yell fell upon the ears of the astonished pilot of the Ariel. It proceeded from above. Dave ventured one glance overhead. He was truly startled.
The rival biplane was in flames. The pilot had given the wheel a wrench, and as the machine went hurtling down, not thirty feet above the Ariel, he tore himself from his seat and jumped.
Like a shot he struck the Ariel cockpit rail, and, helpless, crippled, and apparently insensible, began to slip across the wings. Dave reached for him and pulled him into the machine.
“Just in time!” he breathed, his mind in a tumult.
Only by a dexterous movement did Dave save the aeroplane from capsizing for his momentary inattention to the wheel and the shock of the falling body had nearly wrecked the machine. His involuntary passenger did not move. The other biplane fell earthwards all aflame.
Dave had no idea as to the identity of his baffled enemy, whom he decided must have been hurt by striking the metal edge of the cockpit. He made for the International grounds and landed directly in font of the Ariel hangar.
“Help me get a man out,” he directed Hiram, who stood awaiting the descent.
“What’s up now, Dave?” inquired his assistant, leaning over and looking into the cockpit. “Why, say—it’s Vernon!”