“I—I can’t make them work!” panted Tom, struggling with the levers, “they’re stuck or something.”
“Great dolphins!” groaned the captain. “It’s all up with us then.”
Before Jack had time to inflate the already well-filled gas-bag sufficiently to rise, a wave of humanity broke over the side of the machine. There was no time to snatch up the rifles, hardly an instant in which even to raise their hands. Within ten seconds from the time the first spear whizzed through the air above the adventurers, crouching low in their craft, they were prisoners of Chekla’s tribe.
Here was a fine ending to all their hopes! From the yells and shouts that rose about them they guessed that they might look for scant mercy at the hands of the Indians, who evidently thought that they had had something to do with the stealing of the idol.
They were hustled out of the machine by a score of hands and marched none too gently toward the central building. As they went, they had the satisfaction of seeing the little stone god that was to have brought them good luck, stripped from the stanchions by some of the red-robed men.
It was held aloft while a low, dismal sort of chant filled the air. Many of the Indians prostrated themselves before the upheld image. Evidently its return was regarded as being a momentous occasion.
“What is going to be done with us?” Captain Sprowl demanded of the red-robed Indian who had acted as interpreter and who, with two of his companions, accompanied the boys and their friends to the central house.
But the interpreter affected not to hear.
“Looks mighty bad,” muttered the captain to Jack, who was alongside him; “in fact, I don’t see how it could be much worse. These fellows were inclined to think that we were all right and some sort of little tin gods ourselves, till they saw that pesky idol. Then it was all off.”
“It was all my fault for putting it there,” lamented Jack bitterly. “Well, it’s proved a fine mascot—I don’t think.”