Looking down, Don saw what Garry meant. The mail ’plane lay in a tangled heap of marsh grass at the edge of the lighted space. A flash of lightning picked it out more sharply.
In that more accented glimpse Don made out the twisted wings and warped outlines. For a moment the more sinister apparition which had menaced the three chums had driven the pilot of the mail ship out of Don’s mind.
He felt ashamed of his lack of consideration for a man whose airplane had gone down so swiftly. He swung back and began to drop the nose.
The floating flare died out.
Chick, still searching the skies for that dreadful phantom whose advent had robbed him of all self-control and whose unexplainable disappearance had added to, rather than diminished his terror, cried out in dismay. He wanted very much to get among people, to feel the security of human companionship among older people.
Almost at once, however, Chick’s sense of decency came to his rescue. He was glad that his remonstrating call had not been heard because of the noise made by the engine. At heart Chick had, like most impulsive youths, one of the kindest, most chivalrous, natures.
Resolutely he drove out his own selfish timidity, braced himself to ignore the shaking of his nerves and muscles.
In the glare of a bright stream of heavenly fire, Don turned a face that showed great concern.
Garry guessed the reason.
The Summer tempest, that had been prophesied by heat, humidity and the gathering thunder heads, was bearing down swiftly from the North, racing along the shore of the Sound.