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“Look to your guns, everybody!” cautioned Mr. Durban. “It’s no joke to be caught in an elephant herd with an unloaded rifle. Have you plenty of ammunition, Mr. Damon?”
“Ammunition? Bless my powder bag, I think I have enough for all the elephants I’ll kill. If I get one of the big beasts I’ll be satisfied. Bless my piano keys! I think I see them, Tom!”
He pointed off through the thick jungle. Surely something was moving there amid the trees; great slate-colored bodies, massive forms and waving trunks! The trumpeting increased, and the crashing of the underbrush sounded louder and nearer.
“There they are!” cried Tom Swift joyously.
“Now for my first big game!” yelled Ned Newton.
“Take it easy,” advised Mr. Anderson. “Remember to aim for the spot I mentioned to you as being the best, just at the base of the skull. If you can’t make a head shot, or through the eye, try for the heart. But with the big bullets we have, almost any kind of a shot, near a vital spot, will answer.”
“And Tom can fire at their TOES and put them out of business,” declared Ned, who was eagerly advancing. “How about it, Tom?”
“Well, I guess the electric rifle will come up to expectations. Say, Mr. Durban, they seem to be heading this way!” excitedly cried Tom, as the herd of big beasts suddenly turned and changed their course.
“Yes, they are,” admitted the old elephant hunter calmly. “But that won’t matter. Take it easy. Kill all you can.”
“But we don’t want to put too many out of business,” said Tom, who was not needlessly cruel, even in hunting.
“I know that,” answered Mr. Durban. “But this is a case of necessity. I’ve got to get ivory, and we have to kill quite a few elephants to accomplish this. Besides the brutes will head for the village and the natives’ grain fields, and trample them down, if they’re not headed back. So all together now, we’ll give them a volley. This is a good place! There they are. All line up now. Get ready!”
He halted, and the others followed his example. The natives had come to a stop some time before, and were huddled together in the jungle back of our friends, waiting to see the result of the white men’s shots.
Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon, and the two older hunters were on an irregular line in the forest. Before them was the mass of elephants advancing slowly, and feeding on the tender leaves of trees as they came on. They would reach up with their long trunks, strip off the foliage, and stuff it into their mouths. Sometimes, they even pulled up small trees by the roots for the purpose of stripping them more easily.
“Jove! There are some big tuskers in that bunch!” cried Mr. Durban. “Aim for the bulls, every one, don’t kill the mothers or little ones.” Tom now saw that there were a number of baby Elephants in the herd, and he appreciated the hunter’s desire to spare them and their mothers.
“Here we go!” exclaimed Mr. Durban, as he saw that Tom and the others were ready. “Aim! Fire!”
There were thundering reports that awoke the echoes of the jungle, and the sounds of the rifles were followed by shrill trumpets of rage. When the smoke blew away three elephants were seen prostrate, or, rather two, and part of another one. The last was almost blown to pieces by Tom Swift’s electric rifle; for the young inventor had used a little too heavy charge, and the big beast had been almost annihilated.
Mr. Durban had dropped his bull with a well-directed shot, and Mr. Anderson had a smaller one to his credit.
“I guess I missed mine,” said Ned ruefully.
“Bless my dress-suit case!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “So did I!”
“One of you hit that fellow!” cried Mr. Durban. “He’s wounded.”
He pointed to a fair-sized bull who was running wildly about, uttering shrill cries of anger. The other beasts had gathered in a compact mass, with the larger bulls, or tuskers, on the outside, to protect the females and young.
“I’ll try a shot at him,” said Tom, and raising his electric, gun, he took quick aim. The elephant dropped in his tracks, for this time the young inventor had correctly adjusted the power of the wireless bullet.
“Good!” cried Mr. Durban. “Give them some more! This is some of the best ivory I’ve seen yet!”
As he spoke he fired, and bowled over another magnificent specimen. Ned Newton, determined to make a record of at least one, fired again, and to his delight, saw a big fellow drop.
“I got him!” he yelled.
Mr. Anderson also got another, and then Mr. Damon, blessing something which his friends could not make out, fired at one of the largest bulls in the herd.
“You only nipped him!” exclaimed Mr. Durban when the smoke had drifted away. “I guess I’ll put him out of his misery!”
He raised his weapon and pulled the trigger but no report followed. He uttered an exclamation of dismay.
“The breech-action has jammed!” he exclaimed. “Drop him, Tom. He’s scented us, and is headed this way. The whole herd will follow in a minute.”
Already the big brute wounded by Mr. Damon had trumpeted out a cry of rage and defiance. It was echoed by his mates. Then, with upraised trunk, he darted forward, followed by a score of big tuskers.
But Tom had heard and understood. The leading beast had not taken three steps before he dropped under the deadly and certain fire of the young inventor.
“Bless my wishbone!” cried Mr. Damon when he saw how effective the electric weapon was.
There was a shout of joy from the natives in the rear. They saw the slain creatures and knew there would be much fresh meat and feasting for them for days to come.
Suddenly Mr. Durban cried out: “Fire again, Tom! Fire everybody! The whole herd is coming this way. If we don’t stop them they’ll overrun the fields and village, and may smash the airship! Fire again!”
Almost as he spoke, the rush, which had been stopped momentarily, when Tom dropped the wounded elephant, began again. With shrill menacing cries the score of bulls in the lead came on, followed this time by the females and the young.
“It’s a stampede!” yelled Mr. Anderson, firing into the midst of the herd. Mr. Durban was working frantically at his clogged rifle. Ned and Mr. Damon both fired, and Tom Swift, adjusting his weapon to give the heaviest charges, shot a fusillade of wireless bullets into the center of the advancing elephants, who were now wild with fear and anger.
“It’s a stampede all right!” said Tom, when he saw that the big creatures were not going to stop, in spite of the deadly fire poured into them.
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Shouting, screaming, imploring their deities in general, and the white men in particular for protection, the band of frightened natives broke and ran through the jungle, caring little where they went so long as they escaped the awful terror of the pursuing herd of maddened elephants. Behind them came Tom Swift and the others, for it were folly to stop in the path of the infuriated brutes.
“Our only chance is to get on their flank and try to turn them!” yelled Mr. Durban. “We may beat them in getting to the clearing, for the trail is narrow. Run, everybody!”
No one needed his excited advice to cause them to hurry. They scudded along, Mr. Damon’s cap falling off in his haste. But he did not stop to pick it up.
The hunters had one advantage. They were on a narrow but well-cleared trail through the jungle, which led from the village where they were encamped, to another, several miles away. This trail was too small for the elephants, and, indeed, had to be taken in single file by the travelers.
But it prevented the elephants making the same speed as did our friends, for the jungle, at this point, consisted of heavy trees, which halted the progress of even the strongest of the powerful beasts. True, they could force aside the frail underbrush and the small trees, but the others impeded their progress.
“We’ll get there ahead of them!” cried Tom. “Have you got your rifle in working order yet, Mr. Durban?”
“No, something has broken, I fear. We’ll have to depend on your electric gun, Tom. Have you many charges left?”
“A dozen or so. But Ned and the others have plenty of ammunition.”
“Don’t count—on—me!” panted Mr. Damon, who was well-nigh breathless from the run. “I—can’t—aim—straight—any—more!”
“I’ll give ’em a few more bullets!” declared Mr. Anderson.
The fleeing natives were now almost lost to sight, for they could travel through the jungle, ignoring the trail, at high speed. They were almost like snakes or animals in this respect. Their one thought was to get to their village, and, if possible, protect their huts and fields of grain from annihilation by the elephants.
Behind our friends, trumpeting, bellowing and crashing came the pachyderms. They seemed to be gaining, and Tom, looking back, saw one big brute emerge upon the trail, and follow that.
“I’ve got to stop him, or some of the others will do the same,” thought the young inventor. He halted and fired quickly. The elephant seemed to melt away, and Tom with regret, saw a pair of fine tusks broken to bits. “I used too heavy a charge,” he murmured, as he took up the retreat again.
In a few minutes the party of hunters, who were now playing more in the role of the hunted, came out into the open. They could hear the natives beating on their big hollow tree drums, and on tom-toms, while the witch-doctors and medicine men were chanting weird songs to drive the elephants away.
But the beasts came on. One by one they emerged from the jungle, until the herd was gathered together again in a compact mass. Then, under the leadership of some big bulls, they advanced. It seemed as if they knew what they were doing, and were determined to revenge themselves by trampling the natives’ huts under their ponderous feet.
But Tom and the others were not idle. Taking a position off to one side, the young inventor began pouring a fusillade of the electric bullets into the mass of slate-colored bodies. Mr. Anderson was also firing, and Ned, who had gotten over some of his excitement, was also doing execution. Mr. Durban, after vainly trying to get his rifle to work, cast it aside. “Here! Let me take your gun!” he cried to Mr. Damon, who, panting from the run, was sitting beneath a tree.
“Bless my cartridge belt! Take it and welcome!” assented the eccentric man. It still had several shots in the magazine, and these the old hunter used with good effect.
At first it seemed as if the elephants could not be turned back. They kept on rushing toward the village, which was not far away, and Tom and the others followed at one side, as best they could, firing rapidly. The electric rifle did fearful execution.
Emboldened by the fear that all their possessions would be destroyed a body of the natives rushed out, right in front of the elephants, and beat tom-toms and drums, almost under their feet, at the same time singing wild songs.
“I’m afraid we can’t stop them!” muttered Mr. Anderson. “We’d better hurry to the airship, and protect that, Tom.”
But, almost as he spoke, the tide of battle turned. The elephants suddenly swung about, and began a retreat. They could not stand the hot fire of the four guns, including Tom’s fearful weapon. With wild trumpetings they fled back into the jungle, leaving a number of their dead behind.
“A close call,” murmured Tom, as he drew a breath of relief. Indeed this was true, for the tide had turned when the foremost elephants were not a hundred feet away from the first rows of native huts.
“I should say it was,” agreed Ned Newton, wiping his face with his handkerchief. He, as well as the others, was an odd-looking sight. They were blackened by powder smoke, scratched by briars, and red from exertion.
“But we got more ivory in this hour than I could have secured in a week of ordinary hunting,” declared Mr. Durban. “If this keeps up we won’t have to get much more, except that I don’t think any of the tusks to-day are large enough for the special purpose of my customer.”
“The sooner we get enough ivory the quicker we can go to the rescue of the missionaries,” said Mr. Anderson.
“That’s so,” remarked Tom. “We must not forget the red pygmies.”
The natives were now dancing about, wild in delight at the prospect of unlimited eating, and also thankful for what the white men had done for them. Alone, the blacks would never have been able to stop the stampede. They were soon busy cutting up the elephants ready for a big feast, and runners were sent to tell neighboring tribes, in adjoining villages, of the delights awaiting them.
Mr. Durban gave instructions about saving the ivory tusks, and the valuable teeth, each pair worth about $1,000, were soon cut out and put away for our friends. Some had been lost by the excessive power of Tom’s gun, but this could not be helped. It was necessary to stop the rush at any price.
There was soon a busy scene at the native village, and with the arrival of other tribesmen it seemed as if Bedlam had broken loose. The blacks chattered like so many children as they prepared for the feast.
“Do white men ever eat elephant meat?” asked Mr. Damon, as the adventurers were gathered about the airship.
“Indeed they do,” declared Mr. Durban. “Baked elephant foot is a delicacy that few appreciate. I’ll have the natives cook some for us.”
He gave the necessary orders, and the travelers had to admit that it was worth coming far to get.
For the next few days and nights there was great feasting in that African village, and the praises of the white men, and power of Tom Swift’s electric rifle, were sung loud and long.
Our friends had resumed work on repairing the airship, and the young inventor declared, one night, that they could proceed the next day.
They were seated around a small campfire, watching the dancing and antics of some natives who were at their usual work of eating meat. All about our friends were numerous blazes for the cooking of the feasts, and some were on the very edge of the jungle.
Suddenly, above the uncouth sounds of the merry-making, there was heard a deep vibration and roar, not unlike the distant rumble of thunder or the hum of a great steamer’s whistle heard afar in the fog.
“What’s that?” cried Ned.
“Lions,” said Mr. Durban briefly. “They have been attracted by the smell of cooking.”
At that moment, and instantly following a very loud roar, there was an agonized scream of pain and terror. It sounded directly in back of the airship.
“A lion!” cried Mr. Anderson. “One of the brutes has grabbed a native!”
Tom Swift caught up his rifle, and darted off toward the dark jungle.
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“Here! Come back!” yelled Mr. Damon and Mr. Anderson, in the same breath, while the old elephant hunter cried out: “Don’t you know you’re risking your life, Tom to go off in the dark, to trail a lion?”
“I can’t stand it to let the native be carried off!” Tom shouted back.
“But you can’t see in the dark,” objected Mr. Anderson. He had probably forgotten the peculiar property of the electric rifle. Tom kept on, and the others slowly followed.
The natives had at once ceased their merrymaking at the roaring of the lions, and now all were gathered close about the campfires, on which more wood had been piled, to drive away the fearsome brutes.
“There must be a lot of them,” observed Mr. Durban, as menacing growls and roars came from the jungle, along the edge of which Tom and the others were walking just then. “There are so many of the brutes that they are bold, and they must be hungry, too. They came close to our fire, because it wasn’t so bright as the other blazes, and that native must have wandered off into the forest. Well, I guess it’s all up with him.”
“He’s screaming yet,” observed Ned.
Indeed, above the rumbling roars of the lions, and the crackling of the campfires, could be heard the moaning cries of the unfortunate black.
“He’s right close here!” suddenly called Tom. “He’s skirting the jungle. I think I can get him!”
“Don’t take any risks!” called Mr. Durban, who had caught up his own rifle, that was now in working order again.
Tom Swift was not in sight. He had now penetrated into the jungle— into the black forest where stalked the savage lions, intent on getting other prey. Mr. Durban and Mr. Anderson vainly tried to pierce the darkness to see something at which to shoot. Ned Newton had eagerly started to follow his chum, but could not discern where Tom was. A nameless fear clutched at the lad’s heart. Mr. Damon was softly blessing everything of which he could think.
Once more came that pitiful cry from the native, who was, as they afterward learned, being dragged along by the lion, who had grabbed him by the shoulder.
Suddenly in the dense jungle there shone a purple-bluish light. It illuminated the scene like some great sky-rocket for an instant, and in that brief time Ned and the others caught sight of a great, tawny form, bounding along. It was a lion, with head held high, dragging along a helpless black man.
A second later, and before the intense glare had died away, the watchers saw the lion gently sink down, as though weary. He stopped short in his tracks, his head rolled back, the jaws relaxed and the native, who was unconscious now, toppled to one side.
“Tom’s killed him with the electric rifle!” cried Mr. Durban.
“Bless my incandescent lamp! so he has,” agreed Mr. Damon. “Bless my dynamo! but that’s a wonderful gun, it’s as powerful as a thunderbolt, or as gentle as a summer shower.”
Mr. Durban seeing that the lion was dead, in that brief glance he had had of the brute, called to some of the natives to come and get their tribesman. They came, timidly enough at first, carrying many torches, but when they understood that the lion was dead, they advanced more boldly. They carried the wounded black to a hut, where they applied their simple but effective remedies for the cruel bite in his shoulder.
After Tom had shot several other of the illuminated charges into the jungle, to see if he could discover any more lions, but failed to do so, he and his friends returned to the anchored airship, amid the murmured thanks of the Africans.
Bright fires were kept blazing all the rest of the night, but, though lions could be heard roaring in the jungle, and though they approached alarmingly close to the place where our friends were encamped, none of the savage brutes ventured within the clearing.
With the valuable store of ivory aboard the Black Hawk, which was now completely repaired, an early start was made the next morning. The Africans besought Tom and his companions to remain, for it was not often they could have the services of white men in slaying elephants and lions.
“But, we’ve got to get on the trail,” decided Tom, when the natives had brought great stores of food, and such simple presents as they possessed, to induce the travelers to remain.
“Every hour may add to the danger of the missionaries in the hands of the red pygmies.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Anderson gravely, “it is our duty to save them.”
And so the airship mounted into the air, our friends waving farewells to the simple-hearted blacks, who did a sort of farewell war-dance in their honor, shouting their praises aloud, and beating the drums and tom-toms, so that the echoes followed for some time after the Black Hawk had begun to mount upward toward the sky.
The craft was in excellent shape, due to the overhauling Tom had given it while making the repairs. With the propellers beating the air, and the rudder set to hold them about two thousand feet high, the travelers moved rapidly over clearings, forests and jungles.
It was agreed that now, when they had made such a good start in collecting ivory, that they would spend the next few days in trying to get on the trail of the red pygmies. It might seem a simple matter, after knowing the approximate location of the land of these fierce little natives, to have proceeded directly to it. But Africa is an immense continent, and even in an airship comparatively little of the interior can be seen at a time.
Besides, the red pygmies had a habit of moving from place to place, and they were so small, and so wild, capable of living in very tiny huts or caves, and so primitive, not building regular villages as the other Africans do, that as Ned said, they were as hard to locate as the proverbial flea.
Our friends had a general idea of where to look for them, but on nearing that land, and making inquiries of several friendly tribes, they learned that the red pygmies had suddenly disappeared from their usual haunts.
“I guess they heard that we were after them,” said Tom, with a grim smile one day, as he sent the airship down toward the earth, for they were over a great plain, and several native villages could be seen dotted on its surface.
“More likely they are in hiding because they have as captives two white persons,” said Mr. Anderson. “They are fierce and fearless, but, nevertheless, they have, in times past, felt the vengeance of the white man, and perhaps they dread that now.”
They made a descent, and spent several days making inquiries from the friendly blacks about the race of little men. But scarcely anything was learned. Some of the negro tribes admitted having heard of the red pygmies, and others, with superstitious incantations and imprecations, said they had never heard of them.
One tribe of very large negroes had heard a rumor to the effect that the band of the pygmies was several days’ journey from their village, across the mountains, and when Tom sent his airship there, the searchers only found an impenetrable jungle, filled with lions and other wild beasts, but not a sign of the pygmies, and with no elephants to reward their search.
“But we’re not going to give up,” declared Tom, and the others agreed with him. Forward went the Black Hawk in the search for the imprisoned ones, but, as the days passed, and no news was had, it seemed to grow more and more hopeless.
“I’m afraid if we do find them now,” remarked Mr. Anderson at length, “that we’ll only recover the bodies of the missionaries.”
“Then we’ll avenge them,” said Tom quietly.
They had stopped at another native village to make inquiries, but without result, and were about to start off again that night when a runner came in to announce that a herd of big elephants was feeding not many miles away.
“Well, we’ll stay over a day or so, and get some more ivory,” decided Mr. Durban and that night they got ready for what was to prove a big hunt.
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“There they are!”
“My, what a lot of big ones!”
“Jove! Mr. Anderson, see those tusks!”
“Yes, you ought to get what you want this time, Mr. Durban.”
“Bless my hatband! There must be two hundred of them!” exclaimed Mr. Damon.
“I’m glad I recharged my rifle last night!” exclaimed Tom Swift. “It’s fully loaded now.”
Then followed exulting cries and shouts of the natives, who were following our friends, the elephant hunters, who had given voice to the remarks we have just quoted.
It was early in the morning, and the hunt was about to start, for the news brought in by the runner the night before had been closely followed by the brutes themselves, and at dawn our friends were astir, for scouts brought in word that the elephants, including many big ones, were passing along only a few miles from the African village.
Cautiously approaching, with the wind blowing from the elephants to them, the white hunters made their way along. Mr. Durban was in the lead, and when he saw a favorable opportunity he motioned for the others to advance. Then, when he noticed the big bull sentinels of the herd look about as if to detect the presence of enemies, he gave another signal and the hunters sank out of sight in the tall grass.
As for the natives, they were like snakes, unseen but ever present, wriggling along on their hands and knees. They were awaiting the slaughter, when there would be fresh meat in abundance.
At length the old elephant hunter decided that they were near enough to chance some shots. As a matter of fact, Tom Swift, with his electric rifle, had been within range some time before, but as he did not want to spoil the sport for the others, by firing and killing, and so alarming the herd, he had held back. Now they could all shoot together.
“Let her go!” suddenly cried Mr. Durban, and they took aim.
There was a fusillade of reports and several of the big brutes toppled over.
“Bless my toothbrush!” cried Mr. Damon, “that’s the time I got one!”
“Yes, and a fine specimen, too!” added Mr. Durban, who had only succeeded in downing a small bull, with an indifferent pair of tusks. “A fine specimen, Mr. Damon, I congratulate you!”
As for Tom Swift, he had killed two of the largest elephants in the herd.
But now the hunters had their work cut out for them, since the beasts had taken fright and were charging away at what seemed an awkward gait, but which, nevertheless, took them rapidly over the ground.
“Come on!” cried Mr. Durban. “We must get some more. Some of the finest tusks I have ever seen are running away from us!”
He began to race after the retreating herd, but it is doubtful if he would have caught up to them had not a band of natives, who had crept up and surrounded the beasts, turned them by shouts and the beating of tom-toms. Seeing an enemy in front of them, the elephants turned, and our friends were able to get in several more shots. Tom Swift picked out only those with immense tusks, and soon had several to his credit. Ned Newton also bagged some prizes.
But finally the elephants, driven to madness by the firing and the yells of the natives, broke through the line of black men, and charged off into the jungle, where it was not only useless but dangerous to follow them.
“Well, we have enough,” said Mr. Durban, and when the tusks had been collected it was found that indeed a magnificent and valuable supply had been gathered.
“But I have yet to get my prize ones,” said the old hunter with a sigh. “Maybe we’ll find the elephant with them when we locate the red pygmies.”
“If we do, we’ll have our work cut out for us,” declared Tom.
As on the other occasion after the hunt, there was a great feast for the natives, who invited tribes from miles around, and for two days, while the tusks were being cut out and cleaned, there were barbeques on every side.
It was one afternoon, when they were seated in the shade of the airship, cleaning their guns, and discussing the plans they had best follow next, that our travellers suddenly heard a great commotion amongst the Africans, who had for the past hour been very quiet, most of them sleeping after the feasts. They yelled and shouted, and began to beat their drums.
“Something is coming,” said Ned.
“Perhaps there’s going to be a fight,” suggested Tom.
“Maybe it’s the red pygmies,” said Mr. Damon. “Bless my—”
But what he was going to bless he did not say, for at that instant it seemed as if every native in sight suddenly disappeared, almost like magic. They sank down into the grass, darted into their huts, or hid in the tall grass.
“What can it be?” cried Tom, as he looked to see that his rifle was in working order.
“Some enemy,” declared Mr. Anderson.
“There they are!” cried Ned Newton, and as he spoke there burst into view, coming from the tall grass that covered the plain about the village, a herd of savage, wild buffaloes. On rushed the shaggy creatures, their long, sharp horns seeming like waving spears as they advanced.
“Here’s more sport!” cried Tom.
“No! Not sport! Danger!” yelled Mr. Durban. “They’re headed right for us!”
“Then we’ll stop them,” declared the young inventor, as he raised his gun.
“No! No!” begged the old hunter. “It’s as much as our lives are worth to try to stop a rush of wild buffaloes. You couldn’t do it with Gatling guns. We can kill a few, but the rest won’t stop until they’ve finished us and the aeroplane too.”
“Then what’s to be done?” demanded Mr. Anderson.
“Get into the airship!” cried Mr. Durban. “Send her up. It’s the only way to get out of their path. Then we can shoot them from above, and drive them away!”
Quickly the adventurers leaped into the craft. On thundered the buffaloes. Tom feared he could not get the motor started quickly enough. He did not dare risk rising by means of the aeroplane feature, but at once started the gas machine.
The big bag began to fill. Nearer came the wild creatures, thundering over the ground, snorting and bellowing with rage.
“Quick, Tom!” yelled Ned, and at that instant the Black Hawk shot upward, just as the foremost of the buffaloes passed underneath, vainly endeavoring to gore the craft with their sweeping horns. The air-travelers had risen just in time.
“Now it’s our turn!” shouted Ned, as he began firing from above into the herd of infuriated animals below him. Tom, after seeing that the motor was working well, sent the airship circling about, while standing in the steering tower, he guided his craft here and there, meanwhile pouring a fusillade of his wireless bullets into the buffaloes. Many of them dropped in their tracks, but the big herd continued to rush here and there, crashing into the frail native huts, tearing them down, and, whenever a black man appeared, chasing after him infuriatedly.
“Keep at it!” cried Mr. Durban, as he poured more lead into the buffaloes. “If we don’t kill enough of them, and drive the others away, there won’t be anything left of this village.”
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Seldom had it been the lot of Tom and his companions to take part in such a novel hunting scene as that in which they were now participating. With the airship moving quickly about, darting here and there under the guidance of the young inventor, the erratic movements hither and thither of the buffaloes could be followed exactly. Wherever the mass of the herd went the airship hovered over them.
“Want any help, Tom?” called Ned, who was firing as fast as his gun could be worked.
“I guess not,” answered the steersman of the Black Hawk, who was dividing his attention between managing the craft and firing his electric rifle.
The others, too, were kept busy with their weapons, shooting down on the infuriated animals. It seemed like a needless slaughter, but it was not. Had it not been for the white men, the native village, which consisted of only frail huts, would have been completely wiped out by the animals. As it was they were kept “milling” about in a circle in an open space, just as stampeded cattle on the western ranges are kept from getting away, by being forced round and round.
Not a native was in sight, all being hidden away in the jungle or dense grass. The white hunters in their airship had matters to themselves.
At last the firing proved even too much for the buffaloes which, as we have said, are among the most dreaded of African beasts. With bellows of fear, the leading bulls of the herd unable to find the enemy above their heads, darted off into the forest the way they had come.
“There they go!” yelled Mr. Durban.
“Yes, and I’m glad to see the last of them,” added Mr. Anderson, with a breath of relief.
“Score another victory for the electric rifle,” exclaimed Ned.
“Oh, you did as much execution as I did,” declared the inventor of the weapon.
“Bless my ramrod!” cried Mr. Damon. “I never shot so much in all my life before.”
“Yes, there is enough food to last the natives for a week,” observed Mr. Durban, as Tom adjusted the deflecting rudder to send the airship down.
“It won’t last much longer at the rate they eat,” spoke the young inventor with a laugh. “I never saw such fellows for appetites! They seem to eat in their sleep.”
There were many dead buffaloes, but there was no fear that the meat, which was much prized by the Africans, would be wasted. Already the natives were coming from their hiding places, knowing that the danger was over. Once more they sang the praises of the mighty white hunters, and the magical air craft in which they moved about.
With the elephants previously killed, the buffaloes provided material for a great feast, preparations for which were at once gotten under way, in spite of the fact that the blacks had hardly stopped eating since the big hunt began. But it was about all they had to do.
Some of the buffaloes were very large, and there were a number of pairs of fine horns. Tom and Ned had some of the blacks cut them off for trophies, and they were stored in the airship together with the ivory.
Becoming rather tired of seeing so much feasting, our friends bade the Africans farewell the next day, and once more resumed their quest. They navigated through the air for another week, stopping at several villages, and scanning the jungles and plains by means of powerful telescopes, for a sight of the red pygmies. They also asked for news of the sacking of the missionary settlement, but, beyond meager facts, could learn nothing.
“Well, we’ve got to keep on, that’s all,” decided Mr. Durban. “We may find them most unexpectedly.”
“I’m sorry if I have taken you away from your work of gathering ivory,” spoke Mr. Anderson. “Perhaps you had better let me go, and I’ll see if I can’t organize a band of friendly blacks, and search for the red dwarfs myself.”
“Not much!” exclaimed Tom warmly. “I said we’d help rescue those missionaries, and we’ll do it, too!”
“Of course,” declared the old elephant hunter. “We have quite a lot of ivory and, while we need more to make it pay well, we can look for it after we rescue the missionaries as well as before. Perhaps there will be a lot of elephants in the pygmies’ land.”
“I was only thinking that we can’t go on forever in the airship.” said Mr. Anderson. “You’ll have to go back to civilization soon, won’t you, Tom, to get gasolene?”
“No, we have enough for at least a month,” answered the young inventor. “I took aboard an unusually large supply when we started.”
“What would happen if we ran out of it in the jungle?” asked Ned.
“Bless my pocketbook! What an unpleasant question!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “You are almost as cheerful, Ned, as was my friend Mr. Parker, the gloomy scientist, who was always predicting dire happenings.”
“Well, I was only wondering,” said Ned, who was a little abashed by the manner in which his inquiry was received.
“Oh, it would be all right,” declared Tom. “We would simply become a balloon, and in time the wind would blow us to some white settlement. There is plenty of material for making the lifting gas.”
This was reassuring, and, somewhat easier in mind, Ned took his place in the observation tower which looked down on the jungle over which they were passing.
It was a dense forest. At times there could be seen, in the little clearings, animals darting along. There were numbers of monkeys, an occasional herd of buffaloes were observed, sometimes a solitary stray elephant was noted, and as for birds, there were thousands of them. It was like living over a circus, Ned declared.
They had descended one day just outside a large native village to make inquiries about elephants and the red pygmies. Of the big beasts no signs had been seen in several months, the hunters of the tribe told Mr. Durban. And concerning the red pygmies, the blacks seemed indisposed to talk.
Tom and the others could not understand this, until a witch-doctor, whom the elephant hunter had met some time ago, when he was on a previous expedition, told him that the tribe had a superstitious fear of speaking of the little men.
“They may be around us—in the forest or jungle at any minute,” the witch-doctor said. “We never speak of them.”
“Say, do you suppose that can be a clew?” asked Tom eagerly. “They may be nearer at hand than we think.”
“It’s possible.” admitted the hunter. “Suppose we stay here for a few days, and I’ll see if I can’t get some of the natives to go off scouting in the woods, and locate them, or at least put us on the trail of the red dwarfs.”
This was considered good advice, and it was decided to adopt it. Accordingly the airship was put in a safe place, and our friends prepared to spend a week, if necessary, in the native village. Their presence with the wonderful craft was a source of wonder, and by means of some trinkets judiciously given to the native king, and also to his head subjects, and to the witch-doctors (who were a power in the land), the good opinion of the tribe was won. Then, by promising rewards to some of the bolder hunters, Mr. Durban finally succeeded in getting them to go off scouting in the jungle for a clew to the red pygmies.
“Now we’ll have to wait,” said Mr. Anderson, “and I hope we get good news.”
Our friends spent their time observing some of the curious customs of the natives, and in witnessing some odd dances gotten up in their honor. They also went hunting, and got plenty of game, for which their hosts were duly grateful. Tom did some night stalking and found his illuminating bullets a great success.
One hot afternoon Tom and Mr. Damon strolled off a little way into the jungle, Tom with his electric weapon, in case he saw any game. But no animals save a few big monkeys where to be seen, and the young inventor scorned to kill them. It seemed too much like firing at a human being he said, though the natives stated that some of the baboons and apes were fierce, and would attack one on the slightest provocation.
“I believe I’ll sit down here and rest,” said Tom, after a mile’s tramp, as he came to a little clearing in the woods.
“Very well, I’ll go on,” decided Mr. Damon. “Mr. Durban said there were sometimes rare orchids in these jungles, and I am very fond of those odd flowers. I’m going to see if I can get any.”
He disappeared behind a fringe of moss-grown trees, and Tom sat down, with his rifle across his knees. He was thinking of many things, but chiefly of what yet lay before them—the discovery of the red dwarfs and the possible rescue of the missionaries.
He might have been thus day-dreaming for perhaps a half hour, when he suddenly heard great commotion in the jungle, in the direction in which Mr. Damon had vanished. It sounded as though some one was running rapidly. Then came the report of the odd man’s gun.
“He’s seen some game!” exclaimed Tom, jumping up, and preparing to follow his friend. But he did not have the chance. An instant later Mr. Damon burst through the bushes with every appearance of fright, his gun held above his head with one hand, and his pith helmet swaying to and fro in the other.
“They’re coming!” he cried to Tom.
“Who, the red pygmies?”
“No, but a couple of rhinoceroses are after me. I wounded one, and he and his mate are right behind. Don’t let them catch me, Tom!”
Mr. Damon was very much alarmed, and there was good occasion for it, as Tom saw a moment later, for two fierce rhinoceroses burst out of the jungle almost on the heels of the fleeing man.
Thought was not quicker than Tom Swift. He raised his deadly rifle, and pressed the button. A charge of wireless electricity shot toward the foremost animal, and it was dropped in its tracks. The other came on woofing and snorting with rage. It was the one Mr. Damon had slightly wounded.
“Come on!” yelled the young inventor, for his friend was in front of the beast, and in range with the rifle. “Jump to one side, Mr. Damon.”
Mr. Damon tried, but his foot slipped, and there was no need for jumping. He fell and rolled over. The rhinoceros swerved toward him, with the probable intention of goring the prostrate man with the formidable horn, but it had no chance. Once more the young inventor fired, this time with a heavier charge, and the animal instantly toppled over dead.
“Are you hurt?” asked Tom anxiously, as he ran to his friend. Mr. Damon got up slowly. He felt all over himself, and then answered:
“No, Tom, I guess I’m not hurt, except in my dignity. Never again will I fire at a sleeping rhinoceros unless you are with me. I had a narrow escape,” and he shook Tom’s hand heartily.
“Did you see any orchids?” asked the lad with a smile.
“No, those beasts didn’t give me a chance! Bless my tape measure! but they’re big fellows!”
Indeed they were fine specimens, and there was the usual rejoicing among the natives when they brought in the great bodies, pulling them to the village with ropes made of vines.
After this Mr. Damon was careful not to go into the jungle alone, nor, in fact, did any of our friends so venture. Mr. Durban said it was not safe.
They remained a full week in the native village, and received no news. In fact, all but one of the hunters came back to report that there was no sign of the red pygmies in that neighborhood.
“Well, I guess we might as well move on, and see what we can do ourselves,” said Mr. Durban.
“Let’s wait until the last hunter comes back,” suggested Tom. “He may bring word.”
“Some of his friends think he’ll never come back,” remarked Mr. Anderson.
“Why not?” asked Ned.
“They think he has been killed by some wild beast.”
But this fear was ungrounded. It was on the second day after the killing of the rhinoceroses that, as Tom was tinkering away in the engine-room of the airship, and thinking that perhaps they had better get under way, that a loud shouting was heard among the natives.
“I wonder what’s up now?” mused the young inventor as he went outside. He saw Mr. Durban and Mr. Anderson running toward the ship. Behind them was a throng of blacks, led by a weary man whom Tom recognized as the missing hunter. The lad’s heart beat high with hope. Did the African bring news?
On came Mr. Durban, waving his hands to Tom.
“We’ve located ’em!” he shouted.
“Not the red pygmies?” asked Tom eagerly.
“Yes; this hunter has news of them. He has been to the border of their country, and narrowly escaped capture. Then he was attacked by a lion, and slightly wounded. But, Tom, now we can get on the trail!”
“Good!” cried the young inventor. “That’s fine news!” and he rejoiced that once more there would be activity, for he was tired of remaining in the African camp, and then, too, he wanted to proceed to the rescue. Already it might be too late to save the unfortunate missionaries.
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The African hunter’s story was soon told. He had gone on farther than had any of his companions, and, being a bold and brave man, had penetrated into the very fastness of the jungle where few would dare to venture.
But even he had despaired of getting on the trail of the fierce little red men, until one afternoon, just at dusk he had heard voices in the forest. Crouching behind a fallen tree, he waited and saw passing by some of the pygmy hunters, armed with bows and arrows, and blowguns. They had been out after game. Cautiously the hunter followed them, until he located one of their odd villages, which consisted of little mud huts, poorly made.
The black hunter remained in the vicinity of the pygmies all that night, and was almost caught, for some wild dogs which hung around the village smelled him out, and attracted to him the attention of the dwarf savages. The hunter took to a tree, and so escaped. Then, carefully marking the trail, he came away in the morning. When near home, a lion had attacked him, but he speared the beast to death, after a hand-to-hand struggle in which his leg was torn.
“And do you think we can find the place?” asked Ned, when Mr. Durban had finished translating the hunter’s story.
“I think so,” was the reply.
“But is this the settlement where the missionaries are?” asked Tom anxiously.
“That is what we don’t know,” said Mr. Anderson. “The native scout could not learn that. But once we get on the trail of the dwarfs, I think we can easily find the particular tribe which has the captives.”
“At any rate, we’ll get started and do something,” declared Tom, and the next day, after the African hunter had described, as well as he could, where the place was, the Black Hawk was sent up into the air, good-bys were called down, and once more the adventurers were under way.
It was decided that they had better proceed cautiously, and lower the airship, and anchor it, sometime before getting above the place where the pygmy village was.
“For they may see us, and, though they don’t know what our craft is, they may take the alarm and hide deeper in the jungle with the prisoners, where we can’t find them,” said Tom.
His plan was adopted, and, while it had taken the native hunter several days to reach the borders of the dwarfs’ land, those in the airship made the trip in one day. That is, they came as far toward it as they thought would be safe, and one night, having located a landmark which Mr. Durban said was on the border, the nose of the Black Hawk was pointed downward, and soon they were encamped in a little clearing in the midst of the dense jungle which was all about them.
With his electric rifle, Tom noiselessly killed some birds, very much like chicken, of which an excellent meal was made and then, as it became dark very early, and as nothing could be done, they lighted a campfire, and retired inside their craft to pass the night.
It must have been about midnight that Tom, who was a light sleeper at times, was awakened by some noise outside the window near which his stateroom was. He sat up and listened, putting out his hand to where his rifle stood in the corner near his bunk. The lad heard stealthy footsteps pattering about on the deck of the airship. There was a soft, shuffling sound, such as a lion or a tiger makes, when walking on bare boards. In spite of himself, Tom felt the hair on his head beginning to creep, and a shiver ran down his back.
“There’s something out there!” he whispered. “I wonder if I’d better awaken the others? No, if it’s a sneaking lion, I can manage to kill him, but—”
He paused as another suggestion came to him.
The red pygmies! They went barefoot! Perhaps they were swarming about the ship which they might have discovered in the darkness.
Tom Swift’s heart beat rapidly. He got softly out of his bunk, and, with his rifle in hand made his way to the door opening on deck. On his way he gently awakened Ned and Mr. Durban, and whispered to them his fear.
“If the red pygmies are out there we’ll need all our force,” said the old elephant hunter. “Call Mr. Damon and Mr. Anderson, Ned, and tell them to bring their guns.”
Soon they were all ready, fully armed. They listened intently. The airship was all in darkness, for lights drew a horde of insects. The campfire had died down. The soft footsteps could still be heard moving about the deck.
“That sounds like only one person or animal,” whispered Ned.
“It does,” agreed Tom. “Wait a minute, I’ll fire an illuminating charge, and we can see what it is.”
The others posted themselves at windows that gave a view of the deck. Tom poked his electric rifle out of a crack of the door, and shot forth into the darkness one of the blue illuminations. The deck of the craft was instantly lighted up brilliantly, and in the glare, crouched on the deck, could be seen a powerful black man, nearly naked, gazing at the hunters.
“A black!” gasped Tom, as the light died out. “Maybe it is one from the village we just left. What do you want? Who are you?” called the lad, forgetting that the Africans spoke only their own language. To the surprise of all, there came his reply in broken English:
“Me Tomba! Me go fo’ help for Missy Illingway—fo’ Massy Illingway. Me run away from little red men! Me Christian black man. Oh, if you be English, help Missy Illingway—she most die! Please help. Tomba go but Tomba be lost! Please help!”
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Surprise, for the moment, held Tom and the others speechless. To be answered in English, poor and broken as it was, by a native African, was strange enough, but when this same African was found aboard the airship, in the midst of the jungle, at midnight, it almost passed the bounds of possibility.
“Tomba!” mused Tom, wondering where he had heard that name before. “Tomba?”
“Of course!” cried Mr. Anderson, suddenly. “Don’t you remember? That’s the name of the servant of Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, who escaped and brought news of their capture by the pygmies. That’s who Tomba is.”
“Yes, but Tomba escaped,” objected Mr. Durban. “He went to the white settlements with the news. How comes he here?”
“We’ll have to find out,” said Tom, simply. “Tomba, are you there?” he called, as he fired another illuminating charge. It disclosed the black man standing up on the deck, and looking at them appealingly.
“Yes, Tomba here,” was the answer. “Oh, you be English, Tomba know. Please help Missy and Massy Illingway. Red devils goin’ kill ’em pretty much quick.”
“Come in!” called Tom, as he turned on the electric lights in the airship. “Come in and tell us all about it. But how did you get here?”
“Maybe there are two Tombas,” suggested Ned.
“Bless my safety razor!” cried Mr. Damon “perhaps Ned is right!”
But he wasn’t, as they learned when they had questioned the African, who came inside the airship, looking wonderingly around at the many strange things he saw. He was the same Tomba who had escaped the massacre, and had taken news of the capture of his master and mistress to the white settlement. In vain after that he had tried to organize a band to go back with him to the rescue, but the whites in the settlement were too few, and the natives too timid. Then Tomba, with grief in his heart, and not wanting to live while the missionaries whom he had come to care for very much, were captives, he went back into the jungle, determined, if he could not help them, that at least he would share their fate, and endeavor to be of some service to them in their captivity.
After almost unbelievable hardships, he had found the red pygmies, and had allowed himself to be captured by them. They rejoiced greatly in the possession of the big black man, and for some strange reason had not killed him. He was allowed to share the captivity of his master and mistress.
Time went on, and the pygmies did not kill their prisoners. They even treated them with some kindness but were going to sacrifice them at their great annual festival, which was soon to take place. Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, Tomba told our friends in his broken English, had urged him to escape at the first opportunity. They knew if he could get away he would travel through the jungle. They could not, even if they had not been so closely guarded that escape was out of the question.
But Tomba refused to go until Mr. Illingway had said that perhaps he might get word to some white hunters, and so send help to the captives. This Tomba consented to do, and, watching his chance, he did escape. That was several nights ago, and he had been traveling through the jungle ever since. It was by mere accident that he came upon the anchored airship, and his curiosity led him to board her. The rest is known.
“Well, of all queer yarns, this is the limit!” exclaimed Tom, when the black had finished. “What had we better do about it?”
“Get ready to attack the red pygmies at once!” decided Mr. Durban. “If we wait any longer it may be too late!”
“My idea, exactly,” declared Mr. Anderson.
“Bless my bowie-knife!” cried Mr. Damon. “I’d like to get a chance at the red imps! Come on, Tom! Let’s start at once.”
“No, we need daylight to fight by,” replied Tom, with a smile at his friend’s enthusiasm. “We’ll go forward in the morning.”
“In the airship?” asked Mr. Damon.
“I think so,” answered Tom. “There can be no advantage now in trying to conceal ourselves. We can move upon them from where we are so quickly that they won’t have much chance to get away. Besides it will take us too long to make our way through the jungle afoot. For, now that the escape of Tomba must be known, they may kill the captives at once to forestall any rescue.”
“Then we’ll move forward in the morning,” declared Mr. Durban.
They took Tomba with them in the airship the next day, though he prayed fervently before he consented to it. But they needed him to point out the exact location of the pygmies’ village, since it was not the one the hunter-scout had been near.
The Black Hawk sailed through the air. On board eager eyes looked down for a first sight of the red imps. Tomba, who was at Tom’s side in the steering tower, told him, as best he could, from time to time, how to set the rudders.
“Pretty soon by-em-by be there,” said the black man at length. “Pass ober dat hill, den red devils live.”
“Well, we’ll soon be over that hill,” announced Tom grimly. “I guess we’d better get our rifles ready for the battle.”
“Are you going to attack them at once?” asked Mr. Damon.
“Well,” answered the young inventor, “I don’t believe we ought to kill any of them if we can avoid it. I don’t like to do such a thing but, perhaps we can’t help ourselves. My plan is to take the airship down, close to the hut where the missionaries are confined. Tomba can point it out to us. If we can rescue them without bloodshed, so much the better. But we’ll fight if we have to.”
Grimly they watched as the airship sailed over the hill. Then suddenly there came into view a collection of mud huts on a vast plain, surrounded by dense jungle on every side. As the travelers looked, they could see little creatures running wildly about. Even without a glass it could be noted that their bodies were covered with a curious growth of thick sandy hair.
“The red pygmies!” cried Tom. “Now for the rescue!”
Eagerly Tomba indicated the hut where his master and mistress were held. Telling his friends to have their weapons in readiness, Tom steered the airship toward the rude shelter whence he hoped to take the missionaries. Down to the ground swiftly shot the Black Hawk. Tom checked her with a quick movement of the deflecting rudder, and she landed gently on the wheels.
“Mr. Illingway! Mrs. Illingway! We have come to rescue you!” yelled the young inventor, as he stepped out on the deck, with his electric rifle in his hand. “Where are you? Can you come out?”
The door of the hut was burst open, and a white man and woman, recognizable as such, even in the rude skins that clothed them, rushed out. Wonder spread over their faces as they saw the great airship. They dropped on their knees.
The next instant a swarm of savage little red men surrounded them, and rudely bore them, strugglingly, back into the hut.
“Come on!” cried Tom, about to leap to the ground. “It’s now or never! We must save them!”
Mr. Durban pulled him back, and pointed to a horde of the red-haired savages rushing toward the airship. “They’d tear you to pieces in a minute!” cried the old hunter. “We must fight them from the ship.”
There was a curious whistling sound in the air. Mr. Durban looked up.
“Duck, everybody!” he yelled. “They’re firing arrows at us! Get under shelter, for they may be poisoned!”
Tom and the others darted into the craft. The arrows rattled on deck in a shower, and hundreds of the red imps were rushing up to give battle. Inside the hut where the missionaries were, it was now quiet. Tom Swift wondered if they still lived.
“Give ’em as good as they send!” cried Mr. Durban. “We will have to fire at them now. Open up with your electric rifle, Tom!”
As he spoke the elephant hunter fired into the midst of the screaming savages. The battle had begun.
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What the travelers had heard regarding the fierceness and courage of the red pygmies had not been one bit exaggerated. Never had such desperate fighting ever taken place. The red dwarfs, scarcely one of whom was more than three feet high, were strongly built, and there were so many of them, and they battled together with such singleness of purpose, that they were more formidable than a tribe of ordinary-sized savages would have been.
And their purpose was to utterly annihilate the enemy that had so unexpectedly come upon them. It did not matter to them that Tom and the others had arrived in an airship. The strange craft had no superstitious terror for them, as it had for the simpler blacks.
“Bless my multiplication tables!” cried Mr. Damon. “What a mob of them!”
“Almost too many!” murmured Tom Swift, who was rapidly firing his electric rifle at them. “We can never hope to drive them back, I’m afraid.”
Indeed from every side of the plain, and even from the depths of the jungle the red dwarfs were now pouring. They yelled most horribly, screaming in rage, brandishing their spears and clubs, and keeping up an incessant fire of big arrows from their bows, and smaller ones from the blowguns.
As yet none of our friends had been hit, for they were sheltered in the airship, and as the windows were covered with a mesh of wire, to keep out insects, this also served to prevent the arrows from entering. There were loopholes purposely made to allow the rifles to be thrust out.
Mercifully, Tom and the others fired only to disable, and not to kill the red pygmies. Wounded in the arms or legs, the little savages would be incapable of fighting, and this plan was followed. But so fierce were they that some, who were wounded twice, still kept up the attack.
Tom’s electric rifle was well adapted for this work, as he could regulate the charge to merely stun, no matter at what part of the body it was directed. So he could fire indiscriminantly, whereas the others had to aim carefully. And Tom’s fire was most effective. He disabled scores of the red imps, but scores of others sprang up to take their places.
After their first rush the pygmies had fallen back before the well-directed fire of our friends, but as their chiefs and head men urged them to the attack again, they came back with still fiercer energy. Some, more bold than the others, even leaped to the deck of the airship, and tried to tear the screens from the windows. They partly succeeded, and in one casement from which Ned was firing they made a hole.
Into this they shot a flight of arrows, and one slightly wounded the bank clerk on the arm. The wound was at once treated with antiseptics, after the window had been barricaded, and Ned declared that he was ready to renew the fight. Tom, too, got an arrow scratch on the neck, and one of the barbs entered Mr. Durban’s leg, but the sturdy elephant hunter would not give up, and took his place again after the wound had been bandaged.
From time to time as he worked his electric gun, which had been charged to its utmost capacity, Tom glanced at the hut where the missionaries were prisoners. There was no movement noticed about it, and no sound came from it. Tom wondered what had happened inside—he wondered what was happening as the battle progressed.
Fiercely the fight was kept up. Now the red imps would be driven back, and again they would swarm about the airship, until it seemed as if they must overwhelm it. Then the fire of the white adventurers was redoubled. The electric rifle did great work, and Tom did not have to stop and refill the magazine, as did the others.
Suddenly, above the noise of the conflict, Tom Swift heard an ominous sound. It was a hissing in the air, and well he knew what it was.
“The gas bag!” he cried. “They’ve punctured it! The vapor is escaping. If they put too many holes in the bag it will be all up with us!”
“What’s to be done?” asked Mr. Durban.
“If we can’t drive them back we must retreat ourselves!” declared Tom desperately. “Our only hope is to keep the airship safe from harm.”
Once more came a rush of the savages. They had discovered that the gas bag was vulnerable, and were directing their arrows against that. It was punctured in several more places. The gas was rapidly escaping.
“We’ve got to retreat!” yelled Tom. He hurried to the engine-room, and turned on the power. The great propellers revolved, and sent the Black Hawk scudding across the level plain. With yells of surprise the red dwarfs scattered and made way for it.
Up into the air it mounted on the broad wings. For the time being our friends has been driven back, and the missionaries whom they had come to rescue were still in the hands of the savages.