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Page 66
Tom Swift went to the engine room, while the last big tusks were
being stored away with the other ivory. Several parts of the motor
needed oiling, and Ned was assisting in this work.
"Going to start soon?" asked Mr. Durban, appearing in the doorway.
"Yes; why?" inquired Tom, who noted an anxious note in the voice of
the hunter.
"Well, I don't like staying longer in this jungle than I can help.
It's not healthy in the first place, and then it's a wild and
desolate place, where all sorts of wild beasts are lurking, and
where wandering hands of natives may appear at any time."
"You don't mean that the red pygmies will come back; do you?" asked
Ned.
"There's no telling," replied Mr. Durban with a shrug of his
shoulders. "Only, as long as we've got what we're after, I'd start
off as soon as possible."
"Yes, don't run any chances with those little red men," begged Andy
Foger, who had given himself up for lost when he and his companion
fell into their hands.
"Radder vould I be mit cannibals dan dose little imps!" spoke the
German fervently.
"We'll start at once," declared Tom. "Are you all aboard, and is
everything loaded into the airship?"
"Everything. I guess." answered Mr. Anderson.
Tom looked to the motor, saw that it was in working order, and
shoved over the lever of the gas machine to begin the generating of
the lifting vapor. To his surprise there was no corresponding hiss
that told of the gas rushing into the bag.
"That's odd," he remarked. "Ned, see if anything is wrong with that
machine. I'll pull the lever again."
The bank clerk stood beside the apparatus, while Tom worked the
handle, but whatever was the matter with it was too intricate or
complicated for Ned to solve.
"I can't see what ails it," he called to his chum. "You better have
a peep."
"All right, I'll look if you work the handle."
The passengers on the airship, which now rested in a little clearing
in the dense jungle, gathered at the engine room door, looking at
Tom and Ned as they worked over the machine.
"Bless my pulley wheel!" exclaimed Mr. Damon "I hope nothing has
gone wrong."
"Well something has!" declared the young inventor in a muffled
voice, for he was down on his hands and knees peering under the gas
apparatus. "One of the compression cylinders has cracked," he added
dubiously. "It must have snapped when we landed this last time. I
came down too heavily."
"What does that mean?" asked Mr. Durban, who did not know much about
machinery.
"It means that I've got to put a new cylinder in," went on Tom.
"It's quite a job, too, but we can't make gas without it!"
"Well, can't you do it just as well up in the air as down here?"
asked Mr. Durban. "Make an ascension, Tom, and do the repairs up
above, where we've got good air, and where--"
He paused suddenly, and seemed to be listening.
"What is it?" asked the young inventor quickly. There was no need to
answer, for, from the jungle without, came the dull booming of the
war drums of some natives.
"That's what I was afraid of!" cried the old elephant hunter,
catching up his gun. "Some black scout has seen us and is summoning
his tribesmen. Hurry, Tom, send up the ship, and we'll take care of
the savages."
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