Higher came the Dart. Straight at it, but some hundreds of yards to the rear, tore the Dragonfly, white wings chasing red.
“When he gets on our level,” Don murmured through clenched teeth, “his speed will get him away. If there was anything to do——”
Answering its easy controls as he stopped, surprised, the Dart, almost at their altitude, swerved.
Don, not expecting a turn, kicked rudder nevertheless, to swing on the new flight path.
The Dart, still climbing, made almost a complete, 360 degree turn.
At the half-way point, almost half a circle accomplished, Don went around on wingtip, to get the nose on a new point—he meant to make a direct diagonal across the turn, to try to meet, or forestall, the Dart.
But the smaller ship’s pilot, with gun full open, nose up, seemed almost to leap upward before he reached the stalling point.
He had caused Don to lose the advantage of altitude.
“Clever!” Don conceded, seeing the effect of the ruse. “Now he has only to fly straight away, and we will lose him in twenty miles.”
Chick uttered a cry of surprise.