The captives
looked up, saw the airship, and made frantic motions for help. It
was too far off, yet, to hear their voices. But the distance was
lessening every moment, for Tom had speeded the motor to the highest
pitch.
"What are you going to do?" demanded Ned.
"I'll show you," answered his chum. "Take some of those bombs, and
be ready to drop them overboard when I give the word."
"But we may kill those white people," objected Ned.
"Not the way I'm going to work it. You drop them when I give the
word."
Tom steered the airship toward the head of the throng of blacks. The
captives were in the rear, and the van of the strange procession was
near the edge of the jungle now. Once the red dwarfs got into the
tangle of underbrush they could never be found, and their captives
would die a miserable death.
"We've got to stop them," murmured Tom. "Are you ready, Ned?"
"Ready!"
"Then drop the bombs!"
Ned dropped them. A sharp explosion was heard, and the head of the
procession was blown apart and thrown into confusion. The throng
halted.
"Drop more!" cried Tom, sending the ship about in a circle, and
hovering it over the middle of the press of savages.
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