With a cry of despair the savage rushed to the edge of the car and was about to throw himself into empty air when Ben leaped forward to try to restrain him.
But it was too late.
As the boys' sturdy companion gallantly attempted to save the savage's life a flight of arrows whizzed up from below.
With a groan the man on the edge of the car pitched forward into open space, pierced to the heart with an arrow sped by one of his own tribesmen. Down he shot like a stone to the earth below, while the Golden Eagle—as if rejoicing in her escape, shot upward and onward.
CHAPTER IX
THE VOICE OF THE MOUNTAIN
Frank's wound fortunately turned out to be nothing very serious—though painful enough—and after it had been treated with antiseptics from the medicine chest he declared that, aside from the stiffness and soreness, he felt no ill effect.
"Those fellows certainly gave us a sample of what we may expect," remarked Harry, examining the hole in his shirt where the arrow had ripped through.
"It was quite as narrow an escape as I care to experience," agreed Frank. "How about you, Ben?"