“Ready!”
Again the four reports that sounded as two; and they are past; no longer a regular formation, but scattered erratically by the alarm, individual vanishing and dissolving dots, speedily swallowed up by the gray of the mist.
But this time there was no echoing splash, as a hurtling body struck the water, nor tense spoken word of congratulation following––nothing. For ten seconds, which is long under the circumstances, not a word is spoken; only the metallic click of opened locks, as they spring home, breaks the steady purr of the wind; then:
“Safe from me when they come like that,” admits Sandford, “unless I have a ten-foot pole, and they happen to run into it.”
“And from me,” I echo.
“Lord, how they come! They just simply materialize before your eyes, like an impression by flash-light; and then––vanish.” 299
“Yes.”
“Seems as though they’d take fire, like meteorites, from the friction.”
“I’m looking for the smoke, myself––Down! Mark your left!”
Pat! pat! pat! Swifter than spoken words, swift as the strokes of an electric fan, the wings beat the air. Swish-h-h! long-drawn out, crescendo, yet crescendo as, razor-keen, irresistible, those same invisible wings cut it through and through; while, answering the primitive challenge, responding to the stimulus of the game, the hot tingle of excitement speeds up and down our spines. Nearer, nearer, mounting, perpendicular––