But they passed between the _Arrow_ and the _Omnibus_, and only cut the unoffending air.

Meanwhile Wharton was watching.

A wrath, cold but consuming, had taken hold of him.

The fact that he was high above the earth, perched in a swaying unstable seat was forgotten.
He had eyes and thought only for the murderous machine gun and the man who worked it.

An instinctive marksman, he and his rifle were now as one, and of all the birds of prey in the air at that moment Wharton was the most dangerous.
The machine gun was silent for a minute.