"
They discussed this plan at some length, and agreed that it was the
best thing to do. Mr. Durban had a map of the country around the
center of Africa, and he marked on it, as nearly as he could, the
location of the pygmies' country, while Mr. Anderson also had a
chart, showing the location of the mission which had been wiped out
of existence. It was in the midst of a wild and desolate region.
"We'll do the best we can," declared Tom, "and I think we'll
succeed. We ought to be there in about a week, if we have no bad
luck."
All that night the Black Hawk flew on over Africa, covering mile
after mile, passing over jungle, forest, plains, rivers and lakes,
and, doubtless, over many native villages, though they could not be
seen.
Morning found the travelers above a great, grassy plain, dotted here
and there with negro settlements which were separated by rivers,
lakes or thin patches of forest.
"Well, we'll speed up a bit," decided Tom after breakfast, which was
eaten to the weird accompaniment of hundreds of native warning-
drums, beaten by the superstitious blacks.
Tom went to the engine room, and turned on more speed. He was about
to go back to the pilot house, to set the automatic steering
apparatus to coincide with the course mapped out, when there was a
crash of metal, an ominous snapping and buzzing sound, followed by a
sudden silence.
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