“I only hope the gasoline hasn’t evaporated out of this lighter,” he muttered. “It’s a good, tight sort—well, here goes——”
He snapped the wheel. The spark ignited but did not light the wick.
Calmly, although his fingers trembled a little, he closed the small case again and waited until the wick had a chance to be covered for an instant to accumulate some gas. Also he wanted to control his own muscles.
Then again he whisked the small, steel wheel.
There was a spark and the wick sprang into yellow light.
Carefully he lowered the flame, while he opened the thumbscrew on the lantern burner. There came a slight puff of light, like a little explosion, a sizzling flare, and then the flame settled down to an even, vividly brilliant white glare.
Tom snapped shut the burner, shoved the lamp into place in the casing so it was behind the film.
“Crank her, Cliff,” he urged.
And, to the marvelling gasp of the Indians and the little shriek of amazement from Margery, there appeared on the sheet of muslin a square of gleaming white light, covering at once by a moving picture showing a marching army!
The Indians gasped, and several fell down on their faces.