"
"Then I hope that he never has done better sharp-shooting than he will
do today. Ah, there goes the machine gun!"
There was a rapid rat-a-tat, not so clear and distinct as it would have
been at the same distance on ground, and a stream of bullets poured from
the machine gun. But they passed between the _Arrow_ and the _Omnibus_,
and only cut the unoffending air. Meanwhile Wharton was watching. A
wrath, cold but consuming, had taken hold of him. The fact that he was
high above the earth, perched in a swaying unstable seat was forgotten.
He had eyes and thought only for the murderous machine gun and the man
who worked it. An instinctive marksman, he and his rifle were now as
one, and of all the birds of prey in the air at that moment Wharton was
the most dangerous.
The machine gun was silent for a minute. The riflemen in the Taubes on
the wings of the attacking force fired a few shots, but all of them went
wild. John, tense and silent, sat with his own rifle raised, but half of
the time he watched Wharton.
The two forces came a little nearer. Again the machine gun poured forth
its stream of bullets. Two glanced off the sides of the _Omnibus_, and
then John saw Wharton's rifle leap to his shoulder. The movement and the
flash of the weapon were so near together that be seemed to take no aim.
Yet his bullet sped true. The man at the machine gun, who was standing
in a stooped position, threw up his hands, fell backward and out of the
plane.
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