What was the matter? How did it happen that the unusually promising pupil should have lost control of his machine?
And while these thoughts were flashing through his mind he suddenly became filled with a chilling sense of dismay and fear; for number twelve had deviated from its course and was bearing down upon him in a zigzagging line with almost the speed of a lightning express.
| [2] | “Go—on your way!” |
| [3] | “You have made progress, my friend.” |
CHAPTER VII—THE VRILLE
Uttering a half-inarticulate cry, the pilot of number thirty-five made a supreme effort to avert a catastrophe.
But, even as he did so, he realized, with a sickening sensation of terror, that it would be futile—that nothing he could do would be of the slightest avail. With eyes staring wildly, he had a quick vision of number twelve, as though its sole purpose on earth was to run him down, fairly hurling itself upon him.
Don Hale gave a loud yell, though the roar of the motor drowned the sound. In a wild panic, he attempted to rise. But the restraining strap jerked him back to his seat. Then he saw the frightened face of Dublin Dan right before his eyes.
And that was the last thing they took in for a moment. He found himself jerked high in the air, then hurled violently forward.