The negroes, from what Matt could see of them, appeared to be laborers from some neighboring plantation. Nearly all of them were big and powerful, but ran to brute strength rather than to science.
The attack on the car, there was no doubt, had been engineered by Whistler. He recognized in Matt and his friends a source of peril, and by capturing the Hawk and injuring one or more of the boys, he would be able to reduce the peril to a minimum.
It had been strange, indeed, that the boys should have encountered their old enemy there on the bank of that Louisiana bayou. But Whistler, either acting for himself or in conjunction with Jurgens, was scheming to regain possession of the iron chest. Inasmuch as the chest was presumably still in the hands of Townsend, the man whom Matt and his friends were going to New Orleans to meet, there was a reason for Whistler and the boys being in that part of the country at the same time. So their meeting was not such a remarkable coincidence, after all.
The sight of the revolver threw the blacks into a panic. Those who had captured Carl sprang away from him and retreated warily toward the edge of the timber. At the same time, the others began to draw back from the car.
"Go for 'em, you cowards!" yelled Whistler, scrambling to his feet. "You're getting a dollar apiece, all around, for this, but by thunder you've got to earn it."
"Keep away from this air ship," shouted Matt sternly, posting himself near the end of the car. "The man who lays a hand on the Hawk does so at his own peril."
"Never mind him!" bawled Whistler, "Sail into 'em with stones if you can't do any better."
Stones could be used at fairly long range, and the negroes, screened by the shadows of the timber, began at once to act upon Whistler's suggestion. Missiles, large and small, began raining down upon the boys, banging against the car, slapping into the silken envelope of the gas bag, and menacing the motor. Something would have to be done, and quickly, or disaster would overtake the Hawk.
"Stay with the Hawk, Carl!" shouted Matt. "This way, Dick! We've got to scatter those fellows into the timber or they'll put a hole in the gas bag or do some damage to the motor."
As he spoke, Matt flung away in the direction of the timber line. With a whoop, Dick followed him. Before Matt had got half way to the timber, he was struck in the shoulder and knocked down. Half stunned, and with his whole right side feeling as though it was paralyzed, he rose to his knees.