“I didn’t start this world flight to witness a skirmish between bandits and the soldiers,” said Tom, with grim humor. “I want to get under way again.”
“You will presently,” predicted Peltok.
In another moment, amid wild shouts, the cavalry opened fire on the Gypsies, some of whom shot in return, though most of the bandits, for they were little less, turned to flee.
There seemed to be a perpetual feud between these two bodies, one representing law and the other crime, for they did not stop to parley, but at once began fighting. And Tom Swift did not flatter himself that the soldiers had come merely to rescue him. No word had been sent asking for help.
“The Gypsies are bad,” explained Peltok, “and the forest rangers fight them whenever they can. See! They are on the run now!”
“That’s right!” echoed Ned.
“And it’s time for us to be on the move!” said Tom. “Get ready!” he called to his helpers.
The advent of the soldiers had scattered the savage men from in front of the aeroplane, and she could now speed over the level place and take off into the air.
A moment later, while the “pretty fight” was still going on, Tom pulled back the lever of the elevating plane. Up shot the Air Monarch, and amid yells of surprise from the horsemen, some of whom had evidently not expected the craft to do this, the machine sailed aloft and was soon winging its way toward cloudland, safe from further molestation on the part of the Yellow Gypsies.
“Those rangers, or whatever they are, came in the nick of time,” said Tom when he had turned the management of the ship over to Brinkley while he and Ned went to make some calculations regarding their course. “We couldn’t have stood much more delay.”