"Not a bit. I was drawing on the reserve tank, hoping to get to civilization before I needed more. But its too late now. We will have to—"
"Bless my snow shoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Don't say we'll have to stay here—in Siberia! Don't say that. My wife—"
"No, we won't have to stay here if we can get a supply of kerosene," interrupted Tom. "The motor will burn that. The only trouble is that we may be detained. The authorities probably know us by this time, and are on the watch."
"Then get it before they know we are here," advised Ned.
"I'll try," said Tom, and he at once conferred with the elder Petrofsky. The latter said he was sure kerosene could be had in town, and, rather than risk going in themselves, they hired a wagoner who agreed, for liberal pay, to go and return with a quantity. Until then there was nothing to do but wait.
Meanwhile the crowd of curiosity seekers grew. They thronged around the airship, some of them meddling with various devices, until Tom had to order them away with gestures.
One particularly inquisitive man insisted on pulling or twisting everything, until he happened to touch a couple of live wires, giving himself quite a shock, and then he ran away howling. But still the crowd increased, and at last Mr. Petrofsky said:
"I don't like this, Tom?"
"Why not?" They were all inside the craft, looking out and waiting for the return of the man with the kerosene. The leak in the tank had proved to be a small one, and had quickly been soldered. It had been open a long time, which accounted for the large amount of gasolene escaping. "What don't you like, Mr. Petrofsky?"
"So many men surrounding us. I believe some of them are officers dressed in civilians' clothes, and a Russian officer never does that unless he has some object."