He finally reached it, waded out, rushed away, and darting a scared look up at the Jove, he plunged into the bushes.
There he vanished.
“What a pity he escaped!” said Zamora, disappointedly.
“He wor wounded,” said Barney.
“It won’t be long before we meet him again, I feel quite confident,” remarked Frank, in dry tones.
“Gwine fo’ de schoonah?” queried the coon.
“Yes, yes, by all means—at once,” Frank replied.
“See!” muttered the Mexican, nervously, as he pointed at the vessel. “The crew seem to realize what has happened, and are preparing to sail away.”
“Drive the Jove over there, Barney,” cried Frank, quickly.
The airship was about five hundred feet above the sea, and she glided straight toward the schooner.