“But, man alive, why not? They’ll kill us if we don’t. Look at their savage faces!”
“They’re regular fiends!” said Peltok. “They’ll not only capture us, but they’ll torture us before they eventually kill us. This tribe is one of the worst of the Malay pirate bands!”
“I haven’t the least doubt of it,” assented Tom. “But at best we can kill only a few of them before the rest will swarm over us.”
“There’s something in that,” agreed Hartman. “But still we shall have to do something. They’ll capture the ship if we don’t! Get down off that!” he yelled as one of the boats was suddenly paddled forward and a Malay, horribly decked out in war paint and feathers, leaped up on one of the plane’s wings. Impulsively Hartman jumped outside and pushed the pirate off the airship into the water, where he fell with a splash.
This did not disconcert him, however, for the Malays were like fishes in the ocean, and he swam back to his canoe while his companions laughed.
At this Tom Swift’s face brightened and he exclaimed:
“We have a chance. Any tribe, no matter how savage, that can see the funny side of life is open to reason.”
“Do you mean you’re going to reason with these fellows?” asked Ned. “What’s the idea? We can’t hang around here making those fellows laugh and getting them into good humor so they’ll let us go. If you’re going to win this race, Tom——”
“I’m going to do my best to win it,” was the answer. “But harsh measures may be the very worst sort we could adopt. I have an idea we can escape from these pirates by a little strategy.”
“What kind?” Ned wanted to know.