Then he asked what they thought a very queer question. "Have you fellows enough petrol and oil to last you through to your next stop?"
"That's Aden," answered John; "we didn't fill to capacity at Freetown, and I'm afraid not. Why, what is the matter? Haven't you any fuel here for us?"
"I have plenty of both petrol and oil here for you," said the Scotchman, with another look toward the huts, "but I am afraid for your lives if you stay to put it aboard."
"How is that?" cried Tom, his usually smiling countenance growing sober for once, while his companions felt a vague uneasiness.
"It's this way," stated MacInnis. "About eight o'clock this morning the airplane that is racing you came in. It was the first machine of the kind the natives had ever seen, and they were greatly frightened, thinking Jobbajobba, one of their heathen devils, had appeared in the guise of a great bird, and was about to attack the children of the wicked of them. When the aviators climbed out, and they saw that they were human, they lost some of this fear, but remained at a respectable distance all the time the 'great bird was being given a drink.' Then two of the men—one was the slender and dark-complexioned fellow—went into the town sight-seeing. In the course of their rounds they stole the ivory head, set with gold eyes and teeth, off of the body of one of the tribe's most cherished idols, the god of Ogu Nogo. This was not discovered until the aviators had departed in their airplane, but then the Fulbees were wild with rage at the 'bird-men,' as they called them, and swore to kill them if they should ever return. To-night they observed you landing, as I did. They are now in hiding, probably with weapons, and are undoubtedly watching your every move, ready to strike when the time comes, thinking you to be those other fellows or men of as evil instincts. As I said, I fear for your lives if you tarry here." And as he finished he once more glanced nervously around at the huts and shacks in the gloom of the fast-gathering night.
But in that direction all was so quiet that John hopefully remarked: "I think they are too frightened to appear. We need more gasoline, as we have been running very hard and our tanks are low. We will hurry matters up, and three of us will fill while the other stands guard with a rifle."
Mr. MacInnis then helped John, Tom, and Paul carry the big square tins of British petrol, which is the same as American gasoline, from the field shelter to the Sky-Bird, where, in the course of a half-hour, two hundred gallons were poured into the tanks, also ten gallons of oil. In the meantime, Bob Giddings, rifle in hand, stood close by, alert for danger. He watched the nearest buildings of the natives sharply, but though he saw numbers of black figures skulking in the shadows among them, no sign of hostility was observed.
The Scotchman had signed his name to the document certifying to the stop of the flyers at Kuka,—the paper on which they were to secure certifications at every scheduled airport,—and they were just in the act of starting over to the field tank to get some water for the airplane's radiators, when, without a moment's warning a hair-raising chorus of yells broke out on the brooding night air, and scores of savage-looking figures sprang from the shadows of the buildings into the open field. They emerged in a long straggling line, hooting and brandishing guns, spears and bows. They advanced toward the airplane in peculiar hops and side jumps, as if fearing an attack upon themselves. Not once did they cease their blood-curdling shouts. Rapidly they neared the objects of their anger and hatred.
For a full five seconds the boys stood as if rooted in their tracks, too horrified and astounded to think or act. The sharp voice of the Scotchman, however, brought them to their senses.
"You've fooled here too long; it's too late to get away now! They're mad as wet hornets. Jump inside your cabin quick, and defend yourselves as well as you can!"