Page:Weird Tales Volume 8 Number 1 (1926-07).djvu/135

134 forward cockpit into the night. Once the port engine began to skip, but it settled back once more. That steady, reassuring drone was comforting. Lindley saw the still white face beside him, wondered if she realized how close they were to their journey's end.

Twenty minutes; a half-hour; forty minutes passed. The scientist had risen now and was peering ahead into the moonlit countryside. Had they missed the car—had there been some side road into which it had turned? Had it drawn up for the moment beside the wayside while the ship roared on overhead, oblivious of its quarry?

Fifty minutes. Lindley saw his father raise his hand, saw him point, far away into the night. Leaning forward he followed with his eye the pointing finger. There was nothing—no, no, there it was ten miles ahead, a huge, silver-skinned beetle on a ribbon of ashen gray! Even at that distance he caught the gleam of the moon shining on that peculiar glass dome in her steel cupola.

He saw his father reach down at his feet and laboriously hoist one of the heavy cylinders to the lip of the cockpit. Fumbling nervously with the controls he dipped the ship downward as far as he dared. It was necessary to be close. It would not be an easy shot. The bombs were clumsy cylinders, unwinged, and not intended for such work. He wondered if the force of contact would be sufficient to explode them. And the crash—if there was one—they must not be too low lest they be themselves blown into the skies!

Five miles now! Three! Two! Had they been noticed? They had one advantage—that of surprize. They would not be expected. Perhaps they could creep up near enough before their purpose was established. But now the car had evidently shot forward with increased speed. One mile flicked out behind them. Apparently they had been seen.

They were now over the speeding car! The time had come!

Lindley saw his father looking back for the signal. He raised his hand. The plane jerked upward, slightly.

No sound save the roar of their own engines! Had the thing refused to explode? But no—there was a muffled crash from below. It had exploded! But had it found its mark? He glanced over the side.

There beneath them was the speeding car—unscathed! They had missed it! He saw his father poise the second bomb on the edge of the cockpit and look back for the signal. Glancing down he saw they were still over the car. It was the moment. He raised his hand, saw the black speck hurtling earthward.

No sound this time. It had failed to explode! Lindley groaned inwardly. There was but one left. Failing this there remained only that last resort—driving the ship into the face of the speeding motor. Death for all in the car, probably. Death for all in the plane, certainly!

But what was that? A flash of purple! He saw his father recoil in the cockpit, felt his own fingers freeze on the controls!

It was the purple ray, searching for them there in the sky!

He shot the plane upward and banked sharply. One whisk of that sinister ray across the ship, one touch on the body of any of them and they would be gone! That swift turn of his had saved them for the moment. There had been just a flash of purple across her wings. He thought of his engines, knew from what he had read, that they might be stalled by the ray.

They in the car, having missed once, would try again. Turning backward he saw that purple finger in the sky behind them—searching—searching. They had evaded it for