of black oily smoke. Drew signaled with his joy-stick, and I
knew what he meant: "Hooray! two down! It's our turn next!" But we
were still three or four minutes away. That was unfortunate, for a
balloon can be drawn down with amazing speed.

A rocket sailed into the air and burst in a point of greenish white
light, dazzling in its brilliancy, even in the full light of day.
Immediately after this two white objects, so small as to be hardly
visible, floated earthward: the parachutes of the observers. They had
jumped. The balloon disappeared from view behind Drew's machine. It
was being drawn down, of course, as fast as the motor could wind up
the cable. It was an exciting moment for us. We were coming on at two
hundred kilometres an hour, racing against time and very little time
at that. "Sheridan, only five miles away," could not have been more
eager for his journey's end. Our throttles were wide open, the engines
developing their highest capacity for power.

I swerved out to one side for another glimpse of the target: it was
almost on the ground, and directly under us. Drew made a steep virage
and dived. I started after him in a tight spiral, to look for the
observers; but they had both disappeared. The balloon was swaying
from side to side under the tension of the cable. It was hard to keep
it in view. I lost it under my wing. Tipping up on the other side, I
saw Drew release his rockets. They spurted out in long wavering lines
of smoke. He missed. The balloon lay close to the ground, looking
larger, riper than ever. The sight of its smooth, sleek surface was
the most tantalizing of invitations. Letting it pass under me again, I
waited for a second or two, then shut down the motor, and pushed
forward on the control-stick until I was falling vertically. Standing
upright on the rudder-bar, I felt the tugging of the shoulder-straps.
Getting the bag well within the sights, I held it there until it just
filled the circle. Then I pushed the button.

* * * * *

Although it was only eight o'clock, both Drew and I were in bed; for
we were both very tired, it was a chilly evening, and we had no fire.
An oil lamp was on the table between the two cots. Drew was sitting
propped up, his fur coat rolled into a bundle for a back-rest. He had
a sweater, tied by the sleeves, around his shoulders. His hands were
clasped around his blanketed knees, and his breath, rising in a cloud
of luminous steam,--