Sharply Don slapped his stick sidewise, kicking rudder. On wingtip he banked around, straightened, gave his engine full gun, elevating the nose, darting straight for that cloud. Still it seemed to glow!
On a full-gun climb Don made his ship climb at that cloud.
The glow disappeared.
Straight through the cloud he drove—and came out!
Except for their ship, immersed in that humid, wet mist for an instant, the cloud had been devoid of any tangible object. No other ship, hiding by some miracle of skilful piloting, had been there to dodge, to reveal itself in escaping Don’s intrepid charge.
Out of the cloud they sped.
Don cast his eyes backward. The fluff, hardly disturbed except for a swirl of fleecy smoke where their propeller had moiled up the edge of the filmy drapery, lay at the tail.
“Oh-h-h!” Again, almost inarticulate, Chick screamed.
“Dive!”
As he cried out, Garry realized that his call was useless—late!