"Bless my pulley wheel!" exclaimed Mr. Damon "I hope nothing has
gone wrong."
"Well something has!" declared the young inventor in a muffled
voice, for he was down on his hands and knees peering under the gas
apparatus. "One of the compression cylinders has cracked," he added
dubiously. "It must have snapped when we landed this last time. I
came down too heavily."
"What does that mean?" asked Mr. Durban, who did not know much about
machinery.
"It means that I've got to put a new cylinder in," went on Tom.
"It's quite a job, too, but we can't make gas without it!"
"Well, can't you do it just as well up in the air as down here?"
asked Mr. Durban. "Make an ascension, Tom, and do the repairs up
above, where we've got good air, and where--"
He paused suddenly, and seemed to be listening.
"What is it?" asked the young inventor quickly. There was no need to
answer, for, from the jungle without, came the dull booming of the
war drums of some natives.
"That's what I was afraid of!" cried the old elephant hunter,
catching up his gun. "Some black scout has seen us and is summoning
his tribesmen. Hurry, Tom, send up the ship, and we'll take care of
the savages.
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