THE BATTLE IN THE AIR

Silently the two boys watched the pursuer grow more distinct against the blue of the sky. At first, without the aid of the binoculars, the airplane looked like a mere brownish speck, no larger than a bird. Then it took shape and the sun struck glaringly on the varnished fabric of its wings. As the moments passed it became gradually larger until they could see the body plainly.

“She’s overhauling us fast,” said Jack quietly. They had climbed back to the radio cockpit from where their view of the enemy was uninterrupted and where the roar and whine of the engines was lessened. “You might think we were standing still!”

“Yes. At the rate she’s coming she’ll be up to us mighty quick. Guess Dan couldn’t get at her Which makes it a bit awkward for us. There are two things we can do, Jack: no, three. We can pull the rip-cord and make a landing before they catch us and hike for the chaparral. We might be able to hide out. They couldn’t get the balloon back until they gassed her up again. Unless they loaded her on trucks; which they haven’t got.”

“Neither could we get her up again,” said Jack.

“No, and that’s the weak spot in that scheme. We’d either have to stick around until they came back and collared us or hike for the border. The border’s a good hundred miles away yet and we’d probably never make it. We might, but I doubt it.”

“So do I. That scheme’s no good, Hugh. Besides, I’m for sticking to the _Fate_ until――well, until I can’t!”

“Right-o! I’m with you, old son.”

“What are the other two ways?” prompted Jack as Hugh, watching the oncoming airplane, fell silent.

“One is surrender and the other is fight,” answered Hugh simply.

“I suppose we’ll have to surrender finally,” said Jack gloomily, “for that machine gun will fill us full of holes, and we’ve got only our automatics, but I vote we stick it out as long as we can, Hugh.”

“Atta Boy! And maybe, with luck, we can get one of those guys. Now, let’s get set. Pull a couple of the parachutes out and lay ’em open. We may have to drop off. I’ll rummage down below and find some food. Might as well have some chow while the crowd gathers.”

Five minutes later, back in the engine cockpit, they ate crackers and canned cornbeef and washed the repast hurriedly down with tepid water, while, a scant two miles astern, the airplane sailed steadily in pursuit. The _F 8_ still did her sixty miles, the engines roaring without a break in their strident voices, but the airplane was evidently tuned to something over a hundred miles an hour, and the end of the race was near. They had chosen the midship compartment because of the added protection of the outboard engines, and beside them lay their automatics and ammunition. Close by, the parachutes were ready, the straps spread for quick action. To evade the airplane by any change of altitude was hopeless, for the dirigible maneuvered slowly. The pursuer came on some four hundred feet higher, the _F 8_ still maintaining her level of about three hundred feet above the earth. Hugh swallowed the last of his food and water, tossed the aluminum cup aside and picked up his automatic.

“I suppose they won’t give us much chance for potting ’em,” he said, “but we’ll have a try. They’ll probably come nosing down and rake us and dodge underneath or swing off again. We’ll have to work fast, old son.”

“Wonder if they’ll try for us or the balloon,” said Jack.

“Both, likely. If they have good sense they’ll squirt that gun at the bags, though. All they’ve got to do is to open a few of ’em and we’ll come to earth without a struggle.”

“Maybe we’d better shoot at their tank instead of at them,” Jack suggested. “It would be a better target.”

“Ye-es, but they probably won’t come close enough for these things to penetrate it. I’m for knocking a chip off one of their blocks,” replied Hugh grimly. “Ready, old son? All set? She’s starting down! Here she comes! Don’t waste your shots. And keep under cover.”

Straight toward the tail of the dirigible dropped the airplane from its path a quarter of a mile astern. Looking back under the rear of the envelope they could see the propeller become visible as the engine was shut off. In front of the observer the sun glinted on the little rapid-fire gun and the boys, crouching in the balloon cockpit, awaited the spurt of steel. It was difficult to judge the distance, however, for the airplane grew so rapidly in size as it dived that their vision became confused. And yet, when the face of the man in the observer’s seat became plain to them and still no bullets sang or spattered, they wondered. Then it was that a cry of joy arose from Hugh.

“He can’t work it!” he shouted above the engines’ clamor. “It’s jammed! Dan did for it! Let’s go, Jack!”

Hugh’s automatic crackled, its sound almost lost in the noise of the engines, and Jack’s followed. But the distance was still too great. As they opened fire they saw the man behind the machine-gun throw up a hand and turn his head toward his companion at the controls. Instantly the airplane dipped, again the engine roared and the machine shot upward and off to the right, at once lost behind the bulk of the great envelope. The boys sprang to the side of the boat and peered upward. For a long moment the foe was hidden from sight. Then she came into view again, hundreds of feet above them, and swung northward in a parallel course. Hugh seized the binoculars.

“He’s trying to fix the gun,” he reported. “Jack, if it won’t work for ’em we’re on even terms! Two to two, and automatics, son! We may make it yet! Beat it for’ard and see that your controls are all right. They won’t stay there long.”

Jack examined the plane controls, saw that the dirigible had fallen off her course a point or two and put her back, looked anxiously at the dials that registered the gas expansion and hurried back to Hugh’s side. “Everything’s all right,” he reported. “The expansion’s pretty high, but the valves haven’t discharged yet. Guess we’re getting into warmer air. Where’s the plane?”

“Still up there. Have a look with the glasses.” Hugh was busy at the engines with oilcan and waste, half the time suspended over space on the outriggers. “Last time I looked I could almost hear him blessing his luck in Spanish! Bet you anything Dan fixed that popgun for keeps. Probably he didn’t have time to put the airplane out of commission and so went at the gun. Good old two-fisted Dan! What’s he doing now?”

“Still fussing with it. They’ve slowed down to about our speed. If they’ll keep off another hour――――”

“They won’t, though. Hello, there’s a bit of a village over there. Guess we’re getting near civilization. And what’s that bluish streak to the north and east? Looks like mountains, eh?”

“Sort of. This desert’s getting cut up, Hugh. There’s a big gully down there, what they call an aroya. And there’s a lot more vegetation.”

“Yes, and we’re a lot more than three hundred feet above it, too, son. Guess the country’s sloping down toward the Rio. How about dropping a bit?”

“I’d feel safer up here, Hugh. I’m not sure we could get back if we had to. We’ll let her stay where she is awhile, I guess. If that line of mountains or hills, or whatever they are, get in our way we’ll need every inch of what we’ve got to go over, I think.”

“All right, I’ll leave it to you. Got your eye on the Roza Air Force?”

“Yes. He’s still―― No, he isn’t! He’s either got it fixed or he’s given it up. They’re coming back, I think!”

“Let ’em come. Might as well get it over with. Look, Jack, there’s something we haven’t seen for a while!” Hugh pointed over the side to where, a mile or so away, a man on a burro, followed by two other burros with packs, crawled across the desert. The figures were tiny, but, in the clear air, easily distinguishable. A trail of yellow-brown dust lay behind the traveler. Jack chuckled.

“Bet you he’s asking himself a lot of questions about us,” he said. “Probably never saw anything like this in life and is scared half out of his wits!”

“If he has any,” agreed Hugh, wiping his hands and turning his attention again to the airplane. “Get set, son. Here come the greasers!”

The enemy, although still flying at a safe distance, was gradually drawing closer. As Hugh spoke the wings tilted and the plane started down on a long curve that, it seemed, would carry her, if persisted in, far to the rear of the balloon. But when still several hundred yards away she straightened out and came directly at the dirigible.

“Is she going to ram us?” cried Jack.

“Not a bit of it! She’ll go over or under. Jack, that gun’s not working! He isn’t even pointing it! Stand by, old son, and give ’em what-for!”

There was a breathless moment of waiting. Straight as an arrow sped the airplane, a yellow-winged, brown-bodied hawk, her nose with its disc of light where the propeller whirled in the sunlight aimed at the center of the balloon. Jack stared fascinatedly, his automatic ready, his heart not far from his mouth. It seemed that the plane must surely wreck itself against the dirigible in another instant! And then something sang past him and ripped into the metal hull across the cockpit, and Hugh’s automatic and his own were speaking, and bullets spattered against the engine and hull and――the airplane flirted her tail into air and was gone from sight!

“Other side!” shouted Hugh. They tumbled across the cockpit. A hundred feet below, the airplane was again leveling out. Hugh’s automatic spoke and Jack emptied his, leaning far over the turtle-back. A jagged gash showed in the fabric of a wing, but the plane sped out of range. The boys reloaded quickly. “What a chance we had!” growled Hugh. “I wish they’d try that stunt again!”

But now the plane showed discretion and for a moment stood off to the east as though in flight. “Faking,” said Jack. “She’ll be back!” To his surprise, he realized that he wanted her to return, that he would be disappointed if she didn’t. His blood was up now and if it would have been of any use he would have gladly swung the _Fate_ around in pursuit! But the airplane had no intention of quitting. She was only jockeying for a point of attack. By rising a hundred feet or so above the dirigible she could approach behind the screening bulk of the envelope and only come into range at the last moment, and to this plan she maneuvered. Up she climbed, a fair quarter of a mile away, and then, increasing her speed, swung about at right angles to the _F 8’s_ course. A moment later she was hidden from the sight of Hugh and Jack, the big silvery bag overhead masking her.

“Watch over there!” directed Hugh. “She’ll come sudden when she comes. Don’t miss this time, for the love of lemons, Jack! And keep down yourself!”

The waiting became intolerable. They could get no glimpse of the airplane. She might be keeping course with the dirigible or swooping downward. There was no way of telling. Jack, his finger pressing nervously on the trigger of his weapon, craned his head, his body half along the port engine platform. Suddenly, above the roar of the engine close by he heard a new and shriller sound. Then something――a shadow, a gust of air, he never knew what――warned him, and he raised a shout to Hugh as he dropped back into the cockpit. He had a perception of Hugh crossing to his side of the boat, but almost before his shout had ceased a great yellow vision plunged hurtling into view only a score of yards away. So close was the enemy plane that he found himself staring for the fraction of a second into the black eyes of the foremost occupant. Then, seemingly without volition, instinctively, his finger pressed the trigger. The roaring of the two engines drowned the sound of the firing, but Jack knew without hearing, without seeing, that bullets were flying about him. Side by side for what seemed many long minutes balloon and airplane traveled, although afterwards Jack realized that something less than thirty seconds probably elapsed between the time that the yellow monster ranged alongside and the moment that it swung wildly outward and bore hesitantly to earth.

In that length of time Jack twice emptied his automatic, always keeping his straining gaze on the dark-skinned Mexican, who, his small black eyes aglint, glared back at him wickedly. Once he felt the impact of a bullet between elbow and shoulder, but there was no sense of pain nor of dismay. Nor did the wound, if wound it really were, interfere with his shooting. He was aware that Hugh was crouching beside him, firing between the edge of the cockpit and the underside of the engine platform, as he was, but he had no thought for anything save that sneering face peering from behind the machine-gun mount across the little space. Of a sudden he saw the head jerk aside, saw the eyes widen and himself felt a wild exultation. But the hand that held the pistol steadied again even as the mouth opened to shout a challenge of hate and defiance unheard in the clamor of the engines. And then the underbody of the plane heaved into sight, it staggered, veered from its course, righted itself and suddenly dropped out of range. Fifty feet below, it seemed to pause but only to again dip from side to side and again float down toward earth. But now its descent was faster and while Jack watched over the side, wondering, it crashed to the ground far below.