Before either Matt or Carl could answer, another report echoed out, the ringing impact of a bullet against the car's framework was heard, and then the whistle of the ball as it carromed off into space.
Springing to the levers, Matt jerked at the one which lifted or lowered the rudder. In another moment, the Hawk was climbing up the moonbeams like a black streak.
[CHAPTER IX.]
MATT AND HIS CHUMS GO IT ALONE.
"Hunters are taking shots at us," cried Matt, "and we've got to get away from them. Where are we, Dick?"
"I had just studied one of the maps with the aid of the electric torch," replied Dick, "and had made up my mind that we were close to the line separating South Carolina from Georgia. Just as I had decided that point, bang came the first shot. Sink me, but that second shot came close to the motor! Lucky it was turned by the framework of the car."
"We'd better fly a little higher while we're going over this country," said Matt. "It won't do to have a bullet ripping its way through the bag, or putting the machinery out of commission, or doing any damage to you, or me, or Carl, or Townsend."
Matt picked up the torch, snapped on the light and focussed the glow on the face of his watch.
"It's nearly eleven, Dick," he went on, "and time for you to take a snooze. Carl and I will take over the ship, while you lie down and get a little rest."