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Authors: Kenneth Robeson
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speck in the sky way behind us and a couple thousand feet below us for ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Huh?” said Smitty.
“Another plane,” said Mac, “following us.”
“It would take an awfully good plane to keep up with this job,” Smitty said. “You sure it isn’t just a spot before the eyes?”
“Look yourself,” snapped the Scot.
Smitty looked through binoculars. He could just make out that the speck was a plane.
The Avenger, without comment, veered far to the west. The speck behind did the same thing. He veered east again, saw a cloud, and plunged in. He spiraled in the cloud for two or three minutes and came out; and there was the speck, marking time in lazy circles till he should emerge.
“Following us, all right.”
“Look here,” said Nellie peevishly. “We’re supposed to be trailing the gang, not the gang trailing us.”
“It isn’t necessarily the gang’s plane,” said Benson evenly.
“It’s private. No military’s markings.”
Nellie made the next report. She stared through the plastic at the bow.
“Look there. Another plane, coming up ahead of us and swinging our way.”
The Avenger’s pale, deadly eyes took in this second plane. It was climbing fast, and as it rose it darted straight toward them.
The combined speed of these two machines hurtling at each other approached the speed of sound. In seconds the plane ahead was on them. Eight little rosebuds of flame appeared at its wing edges!
“They’re firing at us!” Smitty yelled. “Why, the—”
Benson kept ahead till it seemed he must ram the plane. Then he pulled the nose of his ship up gently, and the two rocketed past each other.
But for an instant he saw the goggled face of the enemy pilot.
The face was dark, and the pilot’s body had been small, almost monkeylike. The pilot of that plane was one of the monkey men, not a white man from the gang that had Heber.
Smitty had glimpsed the dark, goggled face, too. He said to Mac, “What do you know? An Indian! Where’d he get the dough for a plane like that?”
“Where’d he get the skill to run it?” was Nellie’s retort.
“Remember what Heber said?” Mac joined in. “Heber said the leader of the natives in the spot where Stahl was captured was educated in England. That must be him, tryin’ to shoot us down before we can go to his jungle kingdom and ‘ruin’ his subjects with white mon’s ‘civilization.’ ”
“We don’t want his doggoned kingdom,” said Smitty. “All we want is Stahl.”
“Apparently, he can’t read minds enough to know that,” Nellie said. “Oh-oh! Here we go again.”
The ship with the little dark man at the controls had banked at maximum steepness after passing The Avenger and was coming back on their tail, little flowers of fire again twinkling from the leading edges of the wings.
There probably wasn’t a better pilot in the air than Richard Benson. Promptly, he fell off to the left, rose again in a steep loop, and reversed positions.
The Indian began frantically to wiggle out of the line of fire. And then Mac shouted, “The one behind! Watch it!”
The Avenger had already seen the new peril.
While the two planes had been maneuvering, the ship that had been following them had caught up. Now, both bored at them from each side.
Mac had started for the rear gunner’s blister with his first glimpse of the second plane. He had his hands on the machine guns there when The Avenger’s calm voice came through the earphones.
“No, Mac. I’ll handle this.”
Almost as he spoke, the steely fingers of the man with the cold, pale eyes worked the trips of his guns. One short burst. Nellie and Smitty saw the plane to the left, at which The Avenger had suddenly darted like a cobra from heaven, fall away in a spiral that didn’t straighten for thousands of feet. Then it flattened out into a limping but safe course and made for an emergency landing.
Like a supermarksman calmly shooting birds on the wing, Dick had
“Huh?” said Smitty.
“Another plane,” said Mac, “following us.”
“It would take an awfully good plane to keep up with this job,” Smitty said. “You sure it isn’t just a spot before the eyes?”
“Look yourself,” snapped the Scot.
Smitty looked through binoculars. He could just make out that the speck was a plane.
The Avenger, without comment, veered far to the west. The speck behind did the same thing. He veered east again, saw a cloud, and plunged in. He spiraled in the cloud for two or three minutes and came out; and there was the speck, marking time in lazy circles till he should emerge.
“Following us, all right.”
“Look here,” said Nellie peevishly. “We’re supposed to be trailing the gang, not the gang trailing us.”
“It isn’t necessarily the gang’s plane,” said Benson evenly.
“It’s private. No military’s markings.”
Nellie made the next report. She stared through the plastic at the bow.
“Look there. Another plane, coming up ahead of us and swinging our way.”
The Avenger’s pale, deadly eyes took in this second plane. It was climbing fast, and as it rose it darted straight toward them.
The combined speed of these two machines hurtling at each other approached the speed of sound. In seconds the plane ahead was on them. Eight little rosebuds of flame appeared at its wing edges!
“They’re firing at us!” Smitty yelled. “Why, the—”
Benson kept ahead till it seemed he must ram the plane. Then he pulled the nose of his ship up gently, and the two rocketed past each other.
But for an instant he saw the goggled face of the enemy pilot.
The face was dark, and the pilot’s body had been small, almost monkeylike. The pilot of that plane was one of the monkey men, not a white man from the gang that had Heber.
Smitty had glimpsed the dark, goggled face, too. He said to Mac, “What do you know? An Indian! Where’d he get the dough for a plane like that?”
“Where’d he get the skill to run it?” was Nellie’s retort.
“Remember what Heber said?” Mac joined in. “Heber said the leader of the natives in the spot where Stahl was captured was educated in England. That must be him, tryin’ to shoot us down before we can go to his jungle kingdom and ‘ruin’ his subjects with white mon’s ‘civilization.’ ”
“We don’t want his doggoned kingdom,” said Smitty. “All we want is Stahl.”
“Apparently, he can’t read minds enough to know that,” Nellie said. “Oh-oh! Here we go again.”
The ship with the little dark man at the controls had banked at maximum steepness after passing The Avenger and was coming back on their tail, little flowers of fire again twinkling from the leading edges of the wings.
There probably wasn’t a better pilot in the air than Richard Benson. Promptly, he fell off to the left, rose again in a steep loop, and reversed positions.
The Indian began frantically to wiggle out of the line of fire. And then Mac shouted, “The one behind! Watch it!”
The Avenger had already seen the new peril.
While the two planes had been maneuvering, the ship that had been following them had caught up. Now, both bored at them from each side.
Mac had started for the rear gunner’s blister with his first glimpse of the second plane. He had his hands on the machine guns there when The Avenger’s calm voice came through the earphones.
“No, Mac. I’ll handle this.”
Almost as he spoke, the steely fingers of the man with the cold, pale eyes worked the trips of his guns. One short burst. Nellie and Smitty saw the plane to the left, at which The Avenger had suddenly darted like a cobra from heaven, fall away in a spiral that didn’t straighten for thousands of feet. Then it flattened out into a limping but safe course and made for an emergency landing.
Like a supermarksman calmly shooting birds on the wing, Dick had
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