“Then let her go!” cried Mr. Chadwick.
The great craft quivered and swayed and then rose straight up from the river while the astonished Indians yelled and then threw themselves on their faces in terror. Up like a bullet from a rifle the graceful craft shot, until it was soaring high above the tree tops. Then the panels were slid back and the passenger part of the machine was once more open to the air.
They looked down at the Indians. Dwarfed to mere specks they could see the Tupi-Guaranians gazing upward and shooting their bows and arrows and their blow-pipes,—the latter form of weapon believed to be peculiar to the Amazonian tribes.
“Well, that shows us what sort of a reception the Indians of this country are inclined to give us,” commented Mr. Chadwick.
“But consarn the pesky skunks, I reckon that this sky clipper can give ‘em all the go-by if it comes to that,” declared Captain Sprowl belligerently. “That way you boys have of turning it into a fort is certainly the greatest wrinkle I’ve struck in a long time.”
“And it’s a use for those panels of which we never dreamed,” cried Tom with enthusiasm.
“What’s the matter?” he asked the next minute, as Jack struggled with the steering wheel.
“I don’t know, the rudder appears to be jammed. Climb out astern there and take a look, will you? Or let Dick do it, he’s sitting behind.”
But Dick was having his hand bandaged, so the task fell to Tom. The young reporter’s dart wound was hurting considerably, and as a precaution against poison Mr. Chadwick, before he dressed the inflamed place, had ordered the boy to suck it so as to extract what poison was in it, in case the dart had been “doctored.” As an additional precaution he tied the boy’s arm above the wound with a handkerchief, twisting it till circulation was cut off.
Tom lifted the movable seat and made his way back to where the rudder frames and braces extended behind the craft like the tail of a bird. He leaned over to ascertain the cause of the trouble Jack had complained about.