[CHAPTER XXI]
INTO THE DEPTHS
“What’s that?”
“Where’s my gun?”
“Get ready, everybody!”
“Turn on all the lights!”
These were only a few of the shouts that greeted Bob’s cry of warning. It was Jerry who thought to switch on the incandescents, illuminating the interior of the motorship, which had hitherto been in darkness. Every member of the party, save Bob, had fallen into a weary slumber.
The two Westerners, from long habit, had reached out for their weapons on the instant of opening their eyes, but the boys were not so trained. True, Bob had a gun, but he had left it in the pilot house when he went for a drink of water.
The yells of the Indians outside increased. Very likely, since they might have raised their voices in shouts at some Wild West show, with which they may have been connected, this was the first time, in many years, that they had given vent to the warwhoop; save perhaps in some tribal ceremonies. But now they were using their lungs to their full power.
“Come on!” cried Bob, in desperation. “We’ve got to fight ’em!” He was not a little worried lest his slight dereliction from duty should be held to be responsible for the surprise. But he need not have alarmed himself, since it was likely that no one could have seen the redmen sneak up amid that dense growth of forest.
“Hark!” cried Jim Nestor, as he sprang out of his bunk, with ready gun.