WHITE WINGS AND RED
Holding the Dragonfly barely higher than the wires he must top as he
took off, Don sent the craft toward the swamp.
As soon as they swept beyond the cottages that backed their small yards
on the undrained swamp, Chick sent overside his first white-light
parachute flare.
"It's only for safety's sake," he muttered. "That young Indian, if he
knows the swamp at all, has had time to get across to the Dart. But he
might try to fool us, and stop to hide. Not likely--but we must be
sure!"
He, and Garry, watched over the side, a little afraid that with the
craft of his forefathers the red-skinned John might so cleverly crouch
in the eel grass that they might not see him.
Don dropped the nose, however, allowing the Dragonfly barely to skim
the low patches of water, and clumps of gently waving marsh vegetation.
As soon as they got beyond the vivid glow of the light slowly floating
down toward the marsh, Don climbed the ship three hundred feet, came
around, side-slipping to lose altitude as soon after the next flare was
ignited and launched as he could.
By these tactics, continued for several minutes, the three chums
satisfied themselves that the Indian was at least not visible; and if
he remained hidden for that long they had him!
"By now," Garry decided, as he strained his eyes overside, "the police
must have gotten out here to surround the swamp. Mr. McLeod agreed to
get the Chief to bring all his force, and to send out his private
detectives, and get every waterman to help as guides."
Don, climbing away from the final flare, gestured ahead. As he gave a
glance backward he saw Garry's signal of agreement. They must get
within easier guarding distance of the Dart at the piling of the
boathouse.
As quickly as he saw that the swamp was being surrounded, the Indian
might resort to flying for escape. It was not known whether or not he
could fly the Dart; but Don surmised that he could. He had managed the
helicopter.
When they climbed, steadily going ahead, to a good altitude over the
swamp Garry turned his head, observing that Chick saw the same thing
that he did as a white, floating flare lighted up the terrain beneath
them.
There were two figures visible on the planking of the outer wharf at no
pains to conceal themselves.
Instead, they were feverishly unfastening the light airplane, and Don,
at Garry's touch, nodded to show that he already was aware of the fact.
"That Indian can fly!" Don muttered.
He braced his nerves for an unusual effort.
Chick, too, was taut with excitement; his nerves tingled with
expectancy; he would have little to do, yet he must be ready to play
what part might be possible.
Garry, less excitable, was inclined to feel misgivings.
"What I understand about ship design makes me think this won't be as
much a test of skill as it will be of performance," he murmured to
himself, not having the Gossport apparatus because it had been left in
the Dart.
"It is going to be a test between 'controllability' and
'maneuverability' this time," Garry added softly.
He realized that airplane design taught the truth that a craft with a
certain type of stabilizing fins, and control surfaces, might be very
safe and steady in the air, and yet not respond quickly to its stick
and rudder, because stability carried to that point might compel a
sacrifice of quick answering to control movements.
"That's the Dragonfly," he thought.
Light, speedy, almost "touchy" in its easy response to control, the
Dart, on the other hand, lacked that safety margin.
The Dragonfly could not go into and come out of aerial "stunt"
positions with the same facility that the Dart had. The Dart, though,
was so "touchy" that, with its margin of quick answering to controls,
quick "stunting" possibilities, it was far less easy to keep in stable
flying control.
"We can't out-maneuver the Dart, if they once get into the air," Garry
decided, "but, then, the Dart isn't as easy to hold steady as our 'bus
is. One thing in our favor will be that Don knows this ship better than
John understands the Dart. And--with Don against John," he thought,
whimsically, "it's a queer thing that our Dragonfly has wings of white
and the Dart is lacquered and doped in red."
He smiled, being of a calm, humorous character.
"White wings or red?" he added. "We'll have to see what we see!"
Don, almost over the boathouse at the moment, gave a swift look to
estimate the progress made by the two beneath him.
"It will take a minute to warm up that engine," he decided. "We can get
into position!" His plan was to make a swoop from a fair altitude, just
timed to take the steadier ship across the path of the other, and
slightly above it, as it took off.
"The propeller 'wash' will throw him out of control too low to catch
that touchy Dart," he told himself. "It will put them down before they
get high enough to be hurt badly. I don't want to be the means of
injuring anybody, if I can help it."
He came around, and gave a quick glance to see the progress of the
starting Dart. In the vivid light from a flare that Chick had put over
he saw that the red-winged craft was beginning to skip over the water.
It was headed into the wind.
"Why don't you tell him to dive?" screamed Chick, shivering with
excitement and biting at his lip in vexation. Garry had deliberately
ignored prodding by his younger comrade.
"Now!" Garry touched Don.
Has calmer nature had held in check his impulse to move too soon.
Exactly in sympathy with Garry's touch, Don decided that the time to
plunge, to rush past and above the Dart, and then to zoom away into the
sky for a turn, and an observation, was just right.
Full-gun, with nose lowered, the Dragonfly dashed toward its target,
coming up, in a gentle curve, just timed to sweep the turbulent air
disturbance of their propeller through the area into which the Dart was
just beginning to rise.
They swept with roaring engine across the sheet of water, their own
pontoons and wheel-trucks not twenty feet away from the red wings.
Up they zoomed; Don brought the nose around with as sharp a bank as he
deemed safe.
All three looked, expecting to see the Dart upset, and its occupant or
the pair, if the older Indian had joined his son for escape, struggling
in the murky water.
Instead, the Indian, with the cleverness that he had learned, as they
discovered at another time, from enlistment at a Navy training school,
had cut the gun, settling into the water again.
He had anticipated their maneuver.
Before they could get around and before Don could decide on whether to
repeat the dive or to discover some other way of preventing ascent, the
Dart strung in a boiling curve, one wingtip pontoon barely touching
water to help it swing, and, with the wind, leaving in the water a hot,
white seethe of broken wake, slanted sidewise to the breeze and rose.
With skill and quick yielding to control, the Dart swerved around into
the wind.
Straight away, climbing rapidly, the small craft went.
After it, gunning up to top speed, went the Dragonfly.
On a level, Don's speed about equaled the climbing speed of the angle
taken by the Indian.
"Will red wings get away from white wings?" murmured Garry.
"Catch him, Don!" screeched Chick, unable to hold his quivering nerves
as they made him tremble with eagerness. He felt like a coursing
greyhound, urged on a trail but held by a restraining leash, willing to
use his own effort, but restrained.
Garry, more controlled, watched.
Along the channel swept the strange chase.
Higher came the Dart. Straight at it, but some hundreds of yards to the
rear, tore the Dragonfly, white wings chasing red.
"When he gets on our level," Don murmured through clenched teeth, "his
speed will get him away. If there was anything to do----"
Answering its easy controls as he stopped, surprised, the Dart, almost
at their altitude, swerved.
Don, not expecting a turn, kicked rudder nevertheless, to swing on the
new flight path.
The Dart, still climbing, made almost a complete, 360 degree turn.
At the half-way point, almost half a circle accomplished, Don went
around on wingtip, to get the nose on a new point--he meant to make a
direct diagonal across the turn, to try to meet, or forestall, the Dart.
But the smaller ship's pilot, with gun full open, nose up, seemed
almost to leap upward before he reached the stalling point.
He had caused Don to lose the advantage of altitude.
"Clever!" Don conceded, seeing the effect of the ruse. "Now he has only
to fly straight away, and we will lose him in twenty miles."
Chick uttered a cry of surprise.
Garry's teeth shut tight in dismay.
Don caught his breath
Living up to the name, Dart, the lighter ship went into a wing-over, a
maneuver by which, dropping a wing, and thus executing a turn, as it
regained flying margin of speed, it exactly reversed the direction of
flight.
The Dart, instead of going away from the Dragonfly, had completely
altered the conditions: it was coming at the bigger craft.
Just above, and right over the Dragonfly came the other, full-gun.
Don felt the propeller stream tear at his right wing.
There his own ability, coupled with the great steadiness of the ship he
handled, saved the situation.
Gently, not forcing or over-controlling, he recovered stability.
"Why!" Don screamed, "he tried to upset--us!"
The pursued had turned pursuer!
Wingtip went down, came up, steadied. Don again had control.
Over went Chick's next flare, to light up the sky.
They picked up the enemy ship, quickly.
"He's made an Immelmann turn!" shouted Garry to Don. By that maneuver,
half a dive, half a climb, to get the ship to the top of a loop, and
then a barrel roll, half-way, to bring it again on its proper keel,
again the Dart was in position to swoop.
"He wants to drive us down, I think!" yelled Garry.
Although he could not hear for the roar of their own engine, Don also
saw that the greater maneuverability of the other gave him an advantage
they had not counted on. Thinking they were to be the hounds, and the
Indian the hare, the chums found the conditions reversed. The hare, in
his ruddy-winged craft, proposed to hunt down his adversary.
Don, realizing the danger to those with him, desiring no risk of life
or limb or property, in the light of the flare, not yet dying, held up
both hands in the old war-sign, "Kamerad!" and swiftly caught his stick
and throttle again.
In the other ship the arm of the pilot pointed downward.
He did not, however, try to enforce the order to descend by any more
swoops: instead, he maneuvered the light craft to a level with, and not
fifty feet beyond the Dragonfly.
Don, uncomprehending, puzzled that they were being ordered down, when
it had been his expectation to give that order to the other, let the
nose drop a trifle, cut the gun, and went on a gentle glide, showing
his intention to obey.
The young pilot, red of face, skilful of control, flew along, and as
they came almost on a level with the flare, burning still, he turned
his head for a glower of triumph toward his victims.
Don, his eyes turned that way to watch the wing separation, saw a look
of amazement change the triumphant scowl.
The Indian pilot put out and waved an arm--he pointed toward the
airport.
Don nodded, banked, submissively, so astonished and mystified that he
could not further plan. Why had that coppery face shown astonishment?
It was a puzzle added to many problems.
With the other craft riding hard, above them, circling swiftly, the
captors, now captives, obeyed the signal already given.
Over the edges of the swamps, searchers' parties showed lights as they
realized that the chase had ended, as they supposed. To them it
appeared that a ship was being compelled by a skilful adversary to go
back. That was true--but it was the pursuing ship that had capitulated.
Hardly had Don run out of speed, and, with Garry and Chick, leaped out
to clear the runway, before the lighter Dart came home.
"For the sake of all that's mysterious!" called Don as the Indian cut
his ignition. "We thought you were trying to escape. What made you turn
on us?"
"I thought you were the pilot I'm after--and I meant to get the man who
stole our treasure chart!" Again the chums were stupefied.