An immense airship, not less than two thousand feet long, was hovering over the passenger Douglas, guiding its movements, and twenty men were running down a ladder that had been let down into the aviator’s seat of the Douglas.
Epworth, who was leading the formation of five on the larboard side, did not permit his astonishment to delay action. With a jerk he seized the control, slammed the stick into his stomach, banked slightly, leveled out until the side of the big airship was in line with his machine gun, and with a hoarse cry opened a broadside at the sky pirate—for pirate he was certain the big plane was.
When he fired he was not over one thousand feet from the pirate, and it was impossible to miss. In addition to this he had come up with a big surprise—feeling certain that the air bandits did not know that the treasure ship was convoyed. He expected to see his rain of lead tear through the cowling of the stranger and deal death and frenzy. His example was followed by every scout plane on the larboard side. A second later the five planes on the starboard swept up and poured a fierce rain of lead at the stranger. It was a barrage from both sides that it seemed would destroy anything earthly.
Yet the pirate floated serenely in the air as if it had been bombarded with peanuts, its secretly-constructed armor turning machine bullets like pellets.
Epworth give the signal, and again both formations poured their hurricane of death at the pirate. But when this bombardment seemed to pass harmlessly through the stranger, Epworth changed his tactics. He aimed at four men who were climbing down the ladder from the pirate into the Douglas. This time his shots cut the ladder into ribbons, and the four men tumbled down into the Douglas. Epworth, while feeling that he had full authority to do battle, wanted to capture the pirate and not kill the men. In this he succeeded, as to the killing, as the four pirates fell on top of the Douglas, or into the aviator’s seat.
At this moment the bandits got to fighting. Two sheets of mysterious flames burst simultaneously from both sides of the immense thing, and then all became still.
But those two broadsides were enough. The ten convoy airships conked, whirled over in the air, and began to fall.
“Jump, Billy!” Epworth cried out loudly. “Jump!”
There was need. The battle was over, and the pirate plane, with the stolen Douglas now under complete pirate control, passed away into a dim shadow. The twenty occupants of the destroyed convoy planes jumped out almost at the same second, and sprang as far away from their falling crates as possible.
Epworth’s umbrella opened within ten seconds. He saw Billy shoot by like a chunk of lead. Billy was his best chum, and his heart sank with the thought that he would be dashed to pieces against the ground. Frantically he leaned out. Other pilots were going by but he managed to keep his eye on Billy. Finally he straightened up with a cry of relief. Billy’s parachute was spreading.