Bullets still whizzed around the plane, and one glanced off its polished
side, but John's first nervous jerkiness in handling the machine had
probably saved him. The target had been so high in air, and of such a
shifting nature that the Uhlans had little chance to hit it.
He was now beyond the range of any rifle, and he drew a long breath of
relief that was like a deep sigh. Then he took a single downward glance,
and caught a fleeting glimpse of the Uhlans galloping away. Doubtless
they were making all speed back to their own army.
He flew on for a minute or two, searching the horizon eagerly, and at
last, he saw a tall hill, a low hill and a flash of water between. He
felt so much joy that he uttered a cry, and an echo of it came from a
point almost by his side.
"Did I hear firing, John?"
It was Lannes' voice, feeble, but showing all the signs of returning
strength, and again John uttered a joyous shout.
"You did," he replied. "It was Uhlans in a grove. I was flying low and
their bullets whistled around us. But the _Arrow_ has taken no harm. I
see, too, the hills and the stream which are our landmarks. We're about
to arrive, Philip, with our message, but there's been treachery
somewhere. I wish I knew who was in that French plane."
"So do I, John. It certainly came out of Paris. In my opinion it meant
to destroy us and keep our message from reaching the one for whom it was
intended. Who could it have been and how could he have known!"
"Feeling better now, aren't you, Phil?"
"A lot better.
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