Far at the edge of empty cloudland, now less blood-stained and becoming a ruddy pink under the risen sun, a solitary aerial jouster had grown visible.
The last attacker appeared a feeble gnat to dance thus alone in the eye of morning.

That one plane should, unaided, drive on at _Nissr's_ huge, rushing bulk, seemed as preposterous as a mosquito trying to lance a rhinoceros.

The major directed a careful lens at this survivor.
"He has his nerve right in his baggage with him," announced the Celt.
"Sure, he's 'there.' There can be no doubt he's seen the others fall.
Yet--what now?
He's turning tail, eh?
He's on the run ?" "Not a bit of it! He's driving straight ahead.

That was only a dip and turn, for better air.

Ah, but he's good, that fellow! There's a man after my own heart, Major.