“What next?” asked Carl as the four boys leaped from their seats and gathered in a little group.
“Supper next!” shouted Jimmie.
“But we can’t all leave the machines!” declared Glenn.
“Don’t you ever worry about the machines being left alone!” asserted Ben. “Our lights will bring about a thousand people out here within the next ten minutes. Dark as it is, our machines were undoubtedly seen before we landed, and there’ll soon be an army here asking questions. We’ll have little trouble in finding English-speaking people in the mob.”
“I guess that’s right!” Jimmie agreed. “Here comes the gang right now!”
A jumble of English, Spanish and French was now heard, and directly a dozen or more figures were seen advancing across the field to where the flying machines had landed.
“There’s some one talking United States, all right!” Jimmie declared.
Directly the visitors came up to where the boys were standing and began gazing about, some impudently, some curiously and some threateningly.
“Keep your hands off the machines!” Glenn warned, as a dusky native began handling the levers.
The fellow turned about and regarded the boy with an impudent stare. He said something in Spanish which Glenn did not understand, and then walked away to a group of natives who were whispering suspiciously together.