Dave was quite as fully amazed and puzzled. Suddenly and unexpectedly a form had sprung into view just beyond one of the floats of the Albatross. It was that of a lithe person, young and energetic. To all appearance he was a negro, for hands and face at that distance were of seeming ebony hue.
This extraordinary person, a stranger to all who looked upon him, held leveled a short but heavy rifle. At once the watchers from the underbrush recognized it as one of several weapons provided for the arsenal of the giant airship before the Albatross had left Croydon.
“It’s the magazine rifle Mr. Dale showed us!” exclaimed Hiram. “Who’s the fellow holding it, and how did he get it?”
“Who is he, indeed?” murmured the airman, staring hard at the person who had so startlingly pronounced that mandatory word—“Halt!”
The outlaw leader had come to a dead stop. He dropped the arm of the professor, who took in this last strange incident of the moment in a very bewildered way.
“Stand still or I will fire,” rang out now in clear, vibrant tones.
Those of the band guarding the rest of the crew of the Albatross stood mute and staring, taken aback by the determined and threatening attitude of the person near the balloon.
“If one of your men so much as raises a weapon, I will shoot,” came floating distinctly on the still mountain air. “I hold a magazine rifle in my hand loaded for one hundred rounds, that will shoot eighty times in a minute. Order your men to put down their guns.”
The outlaw leader hesitated. Bang! ten times in incredibly rapid succession at a light pressure the formidable magazine rifle rang out, aimed, however, at the boughs of a nearby tree, some of the leaves of which fell in scraps and ribbands under the destructive effect of the powerful fusillade.
“One, two, three—I can pick them off before they can raise a trigger!” shouted the sable champion of the airship crew. “I’ll do it, too, if that order is not given double-quick.”