Bob Somers’ brow was furrowed with anxiety. He heartily wished that there was some means by which he could communicate with Major Carroll.
While these perplexing thoughts were passing through his mind the aviator’s attention was attracted by the sight of a bird flying some distance below.
“An eagle!” murmured Bob.
Although the biplane was shooting ahead at a terrific rate, the great bird easily kept pace with it, occasionally soaring upward, as though its curiosity was aroused by this giant rival of the air.
“I only hope the old chap doesn’t get too inquisitive,” thought Bob. He exchanged glances with Cranny Beaumont. “I’d hate to hurt him.” He smiled grimly, and looked toward his revolver. “But maybe it’s a good thing that Cranny and I brought these along.”
As the eagle began to fly straight toward them, Bob operated the control levers again, and the biplane, responding, rose slightly higher. He kept his eyes fixed intently on the bird, and, in spite of their situation, could not help admiring the ease and grace of its movements. The great wings were beating the air with rhythmical precision.
Higher, still higher, soared the eagle. A harsh, challenging scream rose faintly above the roar of engine and propeller.
“It surely won’t be foolish enough to attack us,” mused Bob.
He again turned his eyes toward the “Border City.” The air-ship, silhouetted against the dark, lowering sky, presented an impressive spectacle. It was now not far distant, and the details were coming into view.
Meanwhile the king of the air was keeping up the race. But Bob had too much to think about, for the moment, to even glance toward it.