The failure of Carl, Harris and Jerrold to make a landing on the "island" has already been recorded.
They had seen the Hawk, moored at one edge of the cleared space, and they had seen Brady and the others; but, of course, it had been impossible for them to see anything of Matt. The young motorist, at that time, was bound hand and foot and lying on the cot in the hut.
With bullets flying around them and threatening injury to the Eagle, it was not policy to remain hovering over such a nest of desperate scoundrels very long.
"We'll get out of here," cried Harris, angrily, "and come back with men and guns enough to give those fellows a taste of their own medicine. Don't let any harm come to the air-ship, Jerrold. We're going to need her, later."
Just as Harris finished speaking, a bullet slapped into the motor and the machinery at once began to go wrong.
"Too late," responded Jerrold grimly; "they've already nipped us."
"Py chimineddy," roared Carl, "I vish I hat somet'ing vat I could shoot mit ad dem fillains!"
Limping and staggering, Jerrold managed to urge the Eagle out of harm's way.
"She won't drop on us, will she?" asked Harris, looking anxiously downward at the tree-tops.