Had one of his companions fallen and been dashed to death?
He could not tell--he had no time to wonder, even, for already the attacker was upon him, the swift Air Trust _epervier,_ one of the dreaded air-fleet of the world-monopoly! Gabriel had just time to swerve from the attack, and swoop aloft--dropping his next to last projectile as he did so--when the whirling shape zoomed past, swung round and once more charged.

He saw, vaguely, two men sat in it.

One was the pilot, a "Gray" or Cosmos mercenary.

The other--could it be?
Yes, there was no mistaking! The other was Slade himself, commander of the hireling army of Plutocracy! Out from the attacking 'plane jetted sadden spurts of fire.

Gabriel heard the zip-zip-zip of bullets; heard a ripping tear, as one of his canvas wings was punctured--God help him, had that explosive bullet struck a wire or a stay! Then, maddened to despair; and burning with fierce rage against this monster of the upper air that now was hurling death at him, he once more "banked," brought his machine sharp round, and charged, full drive, at the attacker! This tactic for a second must have disconcerted the Air Trust mercenaries.