e, so it is! And they are friends, twin foes of ours! Two Taubes, but
only one man in each, while there are two in this tight little machine!
They have certainly seen us, because they're bending in rapidly toward
us now!"

"What do you intend to do? Meet them and fight?"

"Not unless we have to do it. I've news for France which is worth more
than my life, or yours either for that matter--or more than my honor or
yours. No, John, we'll run for it with all our might, and the _Arrow_ is
one of the prettiest and sweetest little racers in all the heavens!"

Lannes' hand pressed upon the steering rudder, and the machine, curving
from its western course, turned toward the south. The motor throbbed
faster and louder and John became conscious almost at once that their
speed was increasing. Although the heavy cap was drawn down over his
ears he heard the wind whistling as it rushed past, and it was growing
much colder. In spite of himself he shivered, and he was sure it was the
cold, not fear.

John's nature was sensitive and highly intellectual, but his heart was
brave and his will powerful. He remembered that while two planes were in
pursuit only one man was in each pursuer while there were two in the
pursued. His gloved hand slipped down to the butt of the automatic.

He had no idea how fast they were going, but he knew the speed must be
terrific. He grew colder and colder. He wondered how Lannes, taut and
strained, bent over the steering rudder, could stand it, but he recalled
the words of Castelneau that he was the best flying man in the world.

Lannes, in truth, felt neither stiffness nor cold, then. The strain of
daring in the French nature which the Anglo-Saxon would call
recklessness responded fully and joyfully to the situation. Not in vain,
while yet so young, was he a king of the air. Every pulse in him
thrilled with the keen and extraordinary delight that comes only from
danger, and the belief in victory over it. His hand touched the rudder
as the fingers of a pianist touches the keys of a piano, and in either
case it was the soul of an artist at work.

Oh, it was a beautiful machine, the _Arrow_, strong, sinuous, graceful!
Sure like the darting bird! It answered the lightest pressure of his
hand upon the rudder, and he drew from it harmonies of motion that were
true music to him.

But while the hand on the rudder did its work his eyes swept the heavens
with a questing gaze. Had he been alone in the _Arrow_ h