King of the Air; Or, To Morocco on an Aeroplane

by Herbert Strang

“D’you think they’ve got wind of our former breakdown?”

“It’s not unlikely. News travels very fast in these countries that haven’t got the telegraph!”

When they arrived at the hill of the caves, there appeared to be no change in the situation. A small group of four or five men were squatting on the summit; more than a score were congregated below. All eyes were directed upwards as the airship again came into view, and the men laughed, recognizing how fruitless would be any renewed attempt to rescue the prisoners. They all carried rifles, and evidently intended to use them when the vessel came within range. But it passed too high above their heads, still going very slowly, and, so far from descending towards the cave, sailed on towards the sea. It crossed one of the adjacent hills, then sank a little, so that it was only visible then to the few men who kept watch above.

But a minute or two afterwards the occupants of the car, looking round, saw that these men were on their feet, gesticulating with great excitement.

“They’ve taken the bait!” cried Oliphant, laughing outright.

The men had noticed that the airship, instead of continuing its north-westerly course, had suddenly taken a turn to the left, and was making at tremendous speed straight for the village of Ain Afroo. Rising higher into the air, so that he could get a view over the shoulder of the hill, Tom saw that the whole body of horsemen, now joined by the sheikh and his party, were riding at a mad gallop for the village. By this time the airship was a mile ahead of them, and the two Englishmen laughed heartily as they watched the frantic efforts of the Moors to reduce the gap. They were left hopelessly behind, and were still more than a mile from the walls when the airship, hovering directly over the roof of the kasbah, began very slowly to drop earthwards as if a descent were going to be made on the spot where it had formerly rested.

The descent took a considerable time. Who was there to tell the frenzied horsemen that the accursed Firangi was playing with them? They urged their foaming steeds up the hill at a furious rate, making light of all obstacles, and extorting a tribute of admiration from the Englishmen for horses and riders alike. They clattered into the village, dashed through the street, pulled the horses up on their haunches at the door of the kasbah, flung themselves from the saddles, and poured into the patio and up the stairs.

The sheikh himself, by far the best mounted of the troop, was the first to arrive; and within a few seconds he sprang out of the opening on the roof, followed closely by several members of his household. But what was this? The airship, instead of resting on the flagged roof, was hundreds of feet above them, and, horror of horrors! sailing with terrific speed back towards the hill of the caves. For a few moments the Moors stood gazing in bewilderment, being joined by more men from below. Then, with hearty Moslem curses, they rushed back to the opening, toppling over one another, stumbling down the stairs in their haste. Down into the patio, out of the gate, on to their horses’ backs once more, and off they set, pell-mell after the airship.

But the horses were badly blown. There were four miles of heavy country to cover. And by the time they were again clear of the walls the airship was halfway to the hill.

Tom and his friend were hugely delighted with the success of their simple bit of strategy. They could see the horsemen like ants in the distance beneath, urging their poor panting horses to the utmost of their capacity.