Part 29 (1/2)

A rifle cracked in the air, and a bullet struck the ground between two of the horses. Then came a sinister burr-r-r and shots rained near them.

It was a machine gun in one of the aeroplanes, flying so low now that the angle at which it was fired was not acute.

John was brave and his will was so strong that it had great control over his sensitive and imaginative mind. Yet he was never in his life more terrified. That vivid picture of primeval man fleeing with all his might from monsters of the air, grew more vivid every moment. He was fairly drenched in terror, as his dim ancestor must have been in like case, nor was he ashamed of it. He had one look each at his comrades, and their faces were ghastly white. He knew that his emotions were theirs too.

The bullets flew thicker, but aim is uncertain, when one is flying from a moving machine in the air, at speeding targets, and most of the bullets flew wide. Carstairs was grazed on the shoulder, and Wharton's horse was touched lightly on the flank, but gasping, both horses and riders, they plunged into the wood, reckless alike of trees and undergrowth, desperately seeking safety from the winged terrors that pursued them.

It was fortunate for the three fugitives that it was not the ordinary European wood, trimmed and pruned like a park. It was heavy with foliage, and there was much undergrowth, in which the horse of Carstairs tripped and fell, throwing him. But he did not begrudge that, as the vines and bushes not only broke his fall, but meant safety.

”Since you're down Carstairs,” said Wharton, ”it's the duty of a comrade to join you.”

He sprang off his own horse and stood, rifle in hand, among the bushes.

John also dismounted, although in more leisurely fas.h.i.+on. His heart had ceased to beat so heavily when they entered the wood. The immediate anger of being snapped up by those giants of the air pa.s.sed and the revulsion of feeling came. His pulses were still drumming in his ears, but he heard a louder throbbing above the trees. The angry and disappointed monsters were hovering there, still seeking their prey.

Bullets pattered on the leaves and twigs, but they went wide. The three horses s.h.i.+vered in terror, and the one that had been touched on the flank uttered a shrill neigh of distress. John took the lead.

”The undergrowth is thicker on our right,” he said. ”We must take our horse into it. They won't be able to get more than glimpses of us there.”

”Right!” said Carstairs, ”I think I can walk that far now. The strength is coming back into my knees, and I don't think they'll double under me.

I don't mind telling you fellows that I was never before in my life so scared.”

”Your confession is mine too,” said Wharton.

They reached the new refuge without harm, although more shots were fired from the planes. The density of the bushes there was due to a small stream flowing through the wood, and while the horses were still exposed, in a measure, they found almost complete cover for themselves.

The three lay down in the thicket and pointed upward the muzzles of their rifles.

The throbbing and droning over their heads had never ceased, and through the leaves they saw the armored planes hovering about not far above the tops of the trees. But the fugitives in their screen of leaf and thicket had become invisible.

”We'll have to chance it with our horses,” whispered Wharton, ”but for ourselves we may be able to give back as good as we send. Scott, are you a sharpshooter?”

”I'm a pretty good marksman, and I think I could hit one of those things if it should slow down.”

”I suggest,” said Carstairs, ”that when one of us fires he immediately move away at least six or eight yards. Then they won't be able to locate us by the shots.”

”Good for you old Britisher,” said Wharton, ”you do have moments of intelligence.”

”Wharton, I'd like to say as much for you.”

Both laughed but the laugh was uneasy and unnatural. It was merely the force of habit, compelling them to seek some sort of relief through words.

The planes had come together in a group for a few moments, but afterward they made a wide separation and flew about swiftly in irregular circles.

John knew that it was meant to disturb the aim of those below, because the flying men had certainly seen that they carried rifles.

John crouched under a bush, and with the muzzle of his high-powered rifle turned upward, continually sought a target through the leaves. In those moments of danger and fierce anger he did not have left a single scruple against taking the life of man. They had hunted him remorselessly in a strange and terrific way. His first illusion that they were gigantic birds of prey remained, and he would be doing a service to the world, if he slew them.

A rifle cracked almost in his ear and Wharton uttered a little cry of disappointment.

”I heard the bullet thud on the metal side of that Taube,” he said. ”It isn't fair fighting us this way.”

Then he and John, following the suggestion of Carstairs, promptly moved to another point in the bushes. Three bullets from the Taubes struck near the place they had just left. But John still watching had caught sight of a head and body, the two hands grasping a rifle projecting over the side of a Taube. Quick as a flash he fired, and with an aim that was literally as sure as death.