Another smoke flower
unfolded in the heavens, somewhat below the darting airship.
Both guns were in action now. Each fired at six-second intervals. All
about the flitting target the smokeballs burst--above it, below it, to
this side of it and to that. They polka-dotted the heavens in the area
through which the Frenchman scudded. They looked like a bed of white
water lilies and he like a black dragonfly skimming among the lilies.
It was a pretty sight and as thrilling a one as I have ever seen.
I cannot analyze my emotions as I viewed the spectacle, let alone try to
set them down on paper. Alongside of this, big-game hunting was a
commonplace thing, for this was big-game hunting of a magnificent kind,
new to the world--revolving cannon, with a range of from seven to eight
thousand feet, trying to bring down a human being out of the very
clouds.
He ran for his life. Once I thought they had him. A shell burst
seemingly quite close to him, and his machine dipped far to one side and
dropped through space at that angle for some hundreds of feet
apparently.
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