“That’s fine,” muttered Tom; “a good beginning I must say.”
But their guardian was motioning to them to follow him. He had replaced the grating and concealed the rope ladder in some brush and rocks that grew near by. As they silently crept after their guide down a street of huts, they were all conscious of choking heart-beats and pulses that throbbed with uncomfortable rapidity. The slightest false step might bring the whole village down on them.
In this way they reached the end of the street and saw before them something that made them choke with delight. It was the huge, bulking outline of the Wondership. There she stood, seemingly as safe and sound as when they had left her.
With a whispered word to the captain that he had done all he dared, their guide left them here and slipped off among the shadows.
“The game is in our own hands now,” whispered the captain as they crept forward. “Go as silent as cats and we’re all right.”
On tip-toe, hardly daring to draw breath, they crept on toward the Wondership. It was like carrying a lighted torch above a pit full of dynamite. At any instant an explosion that would prove fatal to them all was liable to happen.
And suddenly it did.
As ill-luck would have it, one of Chekla’s subjects, either for hygienic or other reasons, had chosen to sleep out of doors that night. Tom’s foot struck him in the ribs, and with a yell that might have been heard a mile off the man sprang to his feet. Shouting at the top of his voice, he made for the village.
“Wow-ow! Now the fat’s in the fire!” gasped the skipper aghast at this unforeseen calamity. “Jack, if you can’t git that craft inter the air in five seconds or less, we’re gone coons!”
They set off on a run for the craft. All attempt at secrecy was useless now. It was simply a race against time. From the aroused village came a perfect babel of yells and shouts. Lights flashed. Savage imprecations resounded. The whole place was astir like a disturbed bee-hive.