NEWS OF THE RED PYGMIES

Seldom had it been the lot of Tom and his companions to take part in such a novel hunting scene as that in which they were now participating.  With the airship moving quickly about, darting here and there under the guidance of the young inventor, the erratic movements hither and thither of the buffaloes could be followed exactly.  Wherever the mass of the herd went the airship hovered over them.

“Want any help, Tom?” called Ned, who was firing as fast as his gun could be worked.

“I guess not,” answered the steersman of the Black Hawk, who was dividing his attention between managing the craft and firing his electric rifle.

The others, too, were kept busy with their weapons, shooting down on the infuriated animals.  It seemed like a needless slaughter, but it was not.  Had it not been for the white men, the native village, which consisted of only frail huts, would have been completely wiped out by the animals.  As it was they were kept “milling” about in a circle in an open space, just as stampeded cattle on the western ranges are kept from getting away, by being forced round and round.

Not a native was in sight, all being hidden away in the jungle or dense grass.  The white hunters in their airship had matters to themselves.

At last the firing proved even too much for the buffaloes which, as we have said, are among the most dreaded of African beasts.  With bellows of fear, the leading bulls of the herd unable to find the enemy above their heads, darted of into the forest the way they had come.

“There they go!” yelled Mr. Durban.

“Yes, and I’m glad to see the last of them,” added Mr. Anderson, with a breath of relief.

“Score another victory for the electric rifle,” exclaimed Ned.

“Oh, you did as much execution as I did,” declared the inventor of the weapon.

“Bless my ramrod!” cried Mr. Damon.  “I never shot so much in all my life before.”

“Yes, there is enough food to last the natives for a week,” observed Mr. Durban, as Tom adjusted the deflecting rudder to send the airship down.

“It won’t last much longer at the rate they eat,” spoke the young inventor with a laugh.  “I never saw such fellows for appetites!  They seem to eat in their sleep.”

There were many dead buffaloes, but there was no fear that the meat, which was much prized by the Africans, would be wasted.  Already the natives were coming from their hiding places, knowing that the danger was over.  Once more they sang the praises of the mighty white hunters, and the magical air craft in which they moved about.

With the elephants previously killed, the buffaloes provided material for a great feast, preparations for which were at once gotten under way, in spite of the fact that the blacks had hardly stopped eating since the big hunt began.  But it was about all they had to do.