“I’ll fix that,” his comrade assured him. “When we’ve plucked the feathers off the geese, I’ll tie the bag of nuggets around the neck of one, and then we’ll turn ’em loose. The young fellow’ll find ’em and get the gold. And now we must hurry up and get through with this job and be off from this coast; the gooseherd may come back and bring his friends with him.”
The two diminutive aëronauts laboriously disentangled the geese and drove them to the immediate vicinity of the wrecked balloon. There they plucked the feathers off the quacking, quaking fowls, and refilled the balloon-bag and closed the rent. Then they turned the stripped and complaining birds loose, one meekly bearing the bag of gold; and finally they spliced the broken ropes of the car and were ready to resume their voyage.
“Jump in and pump up the tank a little, Bob,” Fitz cried joyfully. “I’ll be ready to weigh anchor when you say the word.”
But at that moment came the patter of many feet upon the dry sand, followed by a shower of clubs and stones that rattled about the car and the heads of its occupants, and instantly the balloon was surrounded by a crowd of gaping, leering villagers!
“Captured!” groaned Fitz Mee.
“Captured!” echoed Bob.
The villagers began to close in upon them, brandishing rude weapons and uttering hoarse cries of rage.
In sheer desperation the goblin squirmed and grimaced, and ended his ridiculous performance by uttering a blood-curdling “boo!”
The startled villagers fell back in indecision and alarm, tumbling over one another in frantic efforts to get out of reach of the little green sprite. Taking instant advantage of the respite, Bob whipped out his knife and cut the anchor rope, and with a smart jerk the balloon sprang aloft.
“Saved!” murmured the boy. “Saved, Fitz Mee!”