This is not a healthy bit of space for
lone fellows in monoplanes."
The little plane slackened its speed, as it approached the tree, and
then sailed by it at a moderate rate. When it was opposite the flag a
spurt of flame came from the pistol of the man in it, and John actually
laughed.
"That was sheer spite," he said. "Did he think he could shoot our flag
away with a single bullet from a pistol when a machine gun has just
failed? That's right, turn about and make off as fast as you can, you
poor little mono!"
The monoplane also curved around the tree, but did not make a series of
circles. Instead, when its prow was turned northward it darted off again
in that direction, going even more swiftly than it had come, as if the
aviator were ashamed of himself and wished to get away as soon as
possible from the scene of his disgrace. Away and away it flew,
dwindling to a black speck and then to nothing.
John's shoulders shook, and Weber, looking at him, was forced to smile
too.
"Well, it was funny," he said. "Our flag is certainly making a stir in
the heavens."
"I wonder what will come next," said John. "It's like bait drawing birds
of prey."
The heavens were now beautifully clear, a vault of blue velvet, against
which anything would show. Far away the cannon groaned and thundered,
and the waves of air pulsed heavily, but John noticed neither now. His
whole attention was centered upon the flag, and what it might call from
the air.
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