“Wake up! Wake up!” he shouted. “Listen to that!”
Daubing one hand across his sleep-dimmed eyes, Sandy gave vent to an ejaculation:
“For the love of Pete! Where did that come from?”
Immediately he broke forth in a howl of glee, pointing a finger at Toma. In all his long acquaintance with the young Indian, Dick had never seen the guide display any great amount of fear; yet he was frightened now. He sat huddled in his blankets, frozen with a nameless panic. Here was something beyond his ken and experience—to him an inexplicable, supernatural thing: A noise from the heavens, some horrible monster swooping down upon them from the black vault of the sky.
“What you—you call ’em that?” he finally stammered.
“Airplane,” said Sandy.
“A boat that flies through the air,” Dick elucidated. “What do you suppose it’s doing here?”
The sound grew louder and presently the plane alighted less than two hundred yards away. The boys raced madly along through the darkness, finally coming out in an open space, where they could see a dark blur and hear the sound of voices.
Approaching, Dick hailed them:
“Hello there! Who is it?”