“Pump the air-tank up good and tight, Fitz,” Bob commanded; “we don’t want to lose our air-ship and be left out here in the desert.”
“But the Arabs’ll get us, anyhow,” Fitz complained disconsolately. “There they come—only a few miles away!”
“Let ’em come!” the boy cried gleefully. “They’ll be sorry! Let me have that hand-satchel.”
“But what’re you going to do, Bob?”
“Just wait and see!” was the tantalizing answer.
CHAPTER IX
A WIRELESS MESSAGE TO HEADQUARTERS
