Intuitively, the boy realized that the dangerous mission of the photographer and his pilot was over; for, like a captive bird escaping from its imprisoning cage, the Caudron shot steadily upward, and was soon far beyond the reach of the guns below.
The lower escorting planes, which many times had come close to destruction, immediately followed.
And then Don Hale, strange to say, began to feel the effects of a reaction. The hand, so steady in the midst of terrible peril, now trembled slightly. He found it hard to shake off a curious foreboding—a foreboding that sometimes sent chills along his spine—that much might happen in that perilous return journey over a hostile land.
To show that his fears were entirely justified, when once again the boy gazed aloft he discovered that some of the bolder enemy scouts, now assembled in a formation as formidable as their own, were hot on the trail of the fast retreating Americans.
“Looks like a scrap,” murmured Don.
The pilot cast a look at his machine gun and belt of cartridges, all ready on the instant.
Should he have to use them? He hoped not; yet it looked that way.
And all the time the wind was steadily increasing in force, making necessary the closest attention and most extreme care in handling the biplane. Thus, with the elements against him and surrounded by the gravest danger, Don Hale decided that by the time he reached the aviation field, if he ever did, he should be able to recount a tale as interesting as any of those he had often heard.
Occasionally he glanced over the side of the fuselage, to see the big Caudron, now considerably below him, sometimes skimming close above the clouds and sometimes enveloped in masses of vapor. He very well knew that if an attack were made the photographic machine would be the principal object sought for, owing to the value of the records it was carrying.
And while Don was busily reflecting upon this he suddenly realized that action both above and below him had begun. He could see several planes whirling and darting about, and though the rapid reports of the machine guns were unheard amid the roar of his motor he caught sight of narrow lines of smoke left by the passing tracer bullets.