Jack looked in vain for any second figure near the fallen plane. If the
pilot had had an observer with him, which was most likely, considering
the fact that he had been using a bombing machine, the latter must have
been dispatched for relief some time before.
"There they are, Tom!" burst from the one who crouched close to the
machine gun, and pointing as he spoke. "Swoop down and let me give them
a volley!"
The Huns evidently realized what was coming, and feared that their
intended victim might after all escape their hands. Even as Jack spoke
there came a shot from below, and a bullet went screaming past close to
the ears of the Air Service Boys. It was followed by a second and a third
in quick succession.
What the marksmen hoped to do was either to kill the pilot or else to
strike some vulnerable part of the engine, thus disabling it and wrecking
the plane. Those were chances which had to be taken continually; but as a
rule the rapidity of flight rendered them almost negligible.
Jack waited no longer. The two men were about to fling themselves behind
friendly trees, and but a small chance remained that he might catch them
before they were able to shield themselves by these close-by trunks.
Jack, in his most energetic fashion, commenced to spray the vicinity with
a shower of leaden missiles. The chatter of the machine gun drowned any
cries from the two men below. The Yankee plane swooped past the spot
where the injured pilot still sat at bay, ready to sell his life dearly
if the worst came.
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