“What?” screeched Fitz Mee, nervously dancing up and down. “What? Where?”
“A mountain!” yelled Bob. “See it? Away to the south! A big shiny mountain!”
“Yes!” moaned the goblin. “And that’s what’s drawing us!” He cast a despairing look behind them.
“Why—why,” he jerked out, “Bob, the Arabs are following us!”
“Oh, dear—dear!” muttered the boy. “Now we are lost!”
“We don’t dare to stop,” Fitz whimpered; “the Arabs’ll get us!”
“And we don’t dare to go ahead,” Bob whined; “we’ll fly against the side of that mountain and burst ourselves all to pieces!”
“Oh, dear!” groaned the goblin.
“Oh, dear!” moaned the boy.