Garry saw his intention.
So, too, did Chick and Don.
The dive had sent the angry flyer down a steep dive, past the helicopter and up, again, in a climbing zoom, to a high point on which he turned to come again past the other aircraft.
Garry realized that the man in that ship of doom was beside himself with passion, beyond reason. Don’s hand pressed the throttle. His own engine revved up smartly. The upper blades whirled faster.
“Can he climb away in time?” Garry gasped. Mr. McLeod, behind him, shouting, futile, helpless, gave up waving his arms at the mail flyer and watched Garry with wondering eyes as the young and inexpert pilot at the controls of the Dragonfly began also to increase his speed.
Don, opening up his fuel feed, felt the top fan catch in steady air, saw the needle of his altimeter tremble, begin to move forward. His tractor, or pulling propeller, also operating, began to show an effect.
But whether he climbed, at the same time moving forward, or not, the mail flyer could so adjust his next dive that it would sweep the helicopter’s air with that deadly, upsetting propeller wash. Garry, too, realizing that, came, as best he knew how, to the rescue.
With his flying speed picking up rapidly, he drove straight across the area between himself and the mail flyer. His eyes, watchful and narrowed, caught the instant at which the flyer ahead dropped his nose.
His own ship dropped its nose, and, with throttle, open wide, giving his engine full impulse the intrepid youth darted straight for the area where he judged that the other man’s dive would bring him.
Carefully, so as not to spoil Don’s own air too much and thus do what the mail flyer sought to accomplish, yet making his attack as close as his inexperience told him was safe, Garry drove for the point where the other diving ship should come.