Swinging in his ever-ascending circles, spiraling, reversing to avoid that irksome sameness of turn which might make him dizzy, he kept going higher.
He knew that once he got near the ceiling, that highest point to which an engine can carry an airplane, he would be on equal terms with the Demon, because he could fly past, or execute some other maneuver, by which his propeller blast would upset control of those large top blades, cause the other ship to drop, whereupon, above it, and ever alert to guard against more deadly rockets from the improvised “gun” he saw on the ship’s side, Don could drive down his foe.
To his surprise, before he reached the ceiling, he came level with the other ship.
He saw the pilot, in the moonlight, lift a hand. Instinctively Don prepared to execute some dodging stunt; but all that was released was a white flare.
And in its light Don saw the pilot elevating both hands.
It was the gesture of surrender!
Tamely enough the other allowed his ship to settle. Like a shepherd dog circling a flock, Don went down above the other.
When the swamp was once more close beneath them Don saw that flares were burning, that torches were lighted in various parts of the land beside the Demon’s lair.
Hardly had the pontoons of the helicopter plunged into the water before Don had made his approach, easily guided by the vivid light.
As he swung down, contacting the sheet of water, Don saw, with surprise, that his adversary was no oilskin-cloaked miscreant.