Wingtip went down, came up, steadied. Don again had control.
Over went Chick’s next flare, to light up the sky.
They picked up the enemy ship, quickly.
“He’s made an Immelmann turn!” shouted Garry to Don. By that maneuver, half a dive, half a climb, to get the ship to the top of a loop, and then a barrel roll, half-way, to bring it again on its proper keel, again the Dart was in position to swoop.
“He wants to drive us down, I think!” yelled Garry.
Although he could not hear for the roar of their own engine, Don also saw that the greater maneuverability of the other gave him an advantage they had not counted on. Thinking they were to be the hounds, and the Indian the hare, the chums found the conditions reversed. The hare, in his ruddy-winged craft, proposed to hunt down his adversary.
Don, realizing the danger to those with him, desiring no risk of life or limb or property, in the light of the flare, not yet dying, held up both hands in the old war-sign, “Kamerad!” and swiftly caught his stick and throttle again.
In the other ship the arm of the pilot pointed downward.
He did not, however, try to enforce the order to descend by any more swoops: instead, he maneuvered the light craft to a level with, and not fifty feet beyond the Dragonfly.
Don, uncomprehending, puzzled that they were being ordered down, when it had been his expectation to give that order to the other, let the nose drop a trifle, cut the gun, and went on a gentle glide, showing his intention to obey.