"Where am I, now, I'd like to know?" he muttered. "Not dead, anyhow--not
_yet_!"
A continuous roar of explosions shuddered the air, mingled with the
booming of the mighty Falls. Shouts and cheers and the rattle of
machine-guns assailed his ear. The glare of the search-lights, through
the mist and steam, was darkened momentarily by thick, greasy coils of
smoke, shot through by violent flashes of light as explosions took
place.
Gabriel struggled to his feet, and peered about him,
"Still alive!" said he. "And I must get back into the fight! That's all
that matters, now--the fight!"
He knew not, yet, where he was; but this mattered nothing. His machine
had, in fact, fallen near the river bank, in the eastern section of
Prospect Park, beyond the Goat Island bridge--this region of the Park
having been left outside the fortifications, in the extension of the Air
Trust plant.
The trees, here, had saved his life. Had he smashed to earth a hundred
yards further north, he would have been shattered against high walls and
roofs.
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