“We ought to have seen to it before we started out,” said Jack.  “We haven’t had it loose since that time we anchored above the Brazilian forest.”

The farmer’s angry voice hailed them from below.

“Hey there!  Don’t yew move a foot till we’ve had a reck’nin’.”

“I am awfully sorry,” said Jack.  “It was an accident you see.  We——­”

“Don’t care what it was.  Thet thar was a new roof.  Don’t you move a step till Si here gits ther constabule.”

“We’ll pay you for the roof,” said Jack apologetically.  “After all it isn’t much damaged.”

Indeed it appeared as if the damage was not so great as they had at first imagined.  After tearing off some shingles the grapple had caught in a beam and was prevented from doing further harm.

“Yes, yew’ll pay, and yew’ll go ter jail tew,” declared the farmer.  “Consarn it all, what’s the country comin’ tew?  Las’ week tew pesky dod-ratted balloonists hit Hi Holler on ther head with a bag of sand, and now yew come along in thet thar contraption and try to bust up my dryin’ roof.  I’ll have ther law on yer.”

Matters began to look serious.  Jack had no doubt but what the farmer would accept a money payment for the damaged roof.  But it appeared that the old fellow was bent on more stringent vengeance.

In the meantime Tom had been busy in the stern of the craft and had succeeded in getting the grapnel loose from the beam into which its sharp points had dug.  It was not till that moment that the farmer observed him.

He leveled his shotgun at the balloon of the Wondership.

“Don’t yew dare ter move er I’ll bust a hole right plumb through that ther airbag of yourn,” he said.

“Can’t you be reasonable?” asked Jack.  “Here’s my name.”  He wrote his name and address on a slip of paper and threw it down.

But the irate farmer paid no attention to the missive.  He kept his gun steadily trained on the Wondership.

“Move an’ I’ll bust yer!” he said grimly.

A buggy drove out of the yard.  It raced through the gate and then struck the highroad leading to Rayburn.

“Thar’ goes Si arter ther constabule,” said the farmer, licking his thin lips as if with relish.  “Hi Ketchum is a rare one arter automobubblists.  I reckon he’ll be right smart tickled to death when he hears I got a whole airship fer him ter ’rest.”

“Bother the old grouch,” muttered Tom, as he climbed back into the Wondership, the bag of which was deflated just enough to keep her at rest on the roof.

“He’s evidently mighty serious in his intentions,” said Jack, with a troubled face.  “What are we going to do?”

There was a sudden puff of wind and the big yellow balloon bag swayed slightly.

Instantly the farmer’s finger crooked on his trigger.  He thought the boys were going to give him the slip.

“No you don’t,” he shouted, “you don’t fool Ezry Perkins that ’er way!”