Down, down, it came, whirling and spinning, growing larger and more distinct with each passing second, and leaving behind it a long sinuous trail of sparks and inky smoke.
Absorbed—enthralled by the terrible spectacle, Don Hale almost forgot the danger that ever menaced them.
But before the plane had reached the ground the peril of their exposed position was brought forcibly to his mind by another loud report from a bursting bomb. It seemed to have fallen nearer at hand than any of the others; and he was just about to urge his companions to leave when, without warning, there came a frightful and appalling explosion, so terrible in its power that he found himself jerked off his feet and thrown violently forward.
Shocked, dazed and bewildered, he struck the turf at full length, where he lay as motionless as if the end had come.
He was brought to his senses, however, as suddenly as though ice-water had been dashed into his face. The explosion had hurled aloft great masses of earth and debris; and now, like a descending avalanche, they began beating upon the ground close about him with thuds and bangs and crashes.
With a startled cry, the boy staggered up. A clump of earth struck him on the back with almost stunning force; a piece of board crashed down at his feet, and in wild haste, he began the retreat that should have been made before.
And, to add to the danger, spent bullets from the shrapnel shells came pelting down.
The distance to the nearest underground shelter was very short, but it seemed like a mighty long way to the frightened runners. Could they reach it?
Panting, perspiring, almost desperate, they crossed the last lap of the intervening space and fairly threw themselves into the crowded bomb-proof shelter.
Their wild and unceremonious entrance brought exclamations from the crowd. But no effort was made to speak, however, for, amid the mighty, crashing chorus of the guns, voices could scarcely have been heard.