On rushed the Black Hawk.  There was to be no concealment this time, and Tom did not care how much noise the motors made.  Accordingly he turned on full seed.

It was not long before the big plain was again sighted.  Everything was in readiness, and the bombs were at hand to be dropped overboard.  Tom counted on the natives gathering together in great masses as soon as they sighted the airship, and this would give him the opportunity wanted.

But something different transpired.  No sooner was the craft above the village, than from all the huts came pouring out the little red men.  But they did not gather together—­at least just then.  They ran about excitedly, and it could be seen that they were bringing from the huts the rude household utensils in which they did their primitive cooking.  The women had their babies, and some, not so encumbered, carried rolls of grass matting.  The men had all their weapons.

“Bless my wagon wheel!” cried Mr. Damon.  “What’s going on?”

“It looks like moving day,” suggested Ned Newton.

“That’s just what it is!” declared Mr. Durban.  “They are going to migrate.  Evidently they have had enough of us, and they’re going to get out of the neighborhood before we get a chance to do any more damage.  They’re moving, but where are the white captives?”

He was answered a moment later, for a crowd of the dwarfs rushing to a certain hut, came out leading two persons by means of bark ropes tied about their necks.  It was too far off to enable Tom or the others to recognize them, but they could tell by the clothing that they were white captives.

“We’ve got to save them!” exclaimed the young inventor.

“How?” asked Mr. Damon.  And, indeed, it did seem a puzzle for, even as Tom looked, the whole tribe of red imps took up the march into the jungle, dragging the white persons with them.  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.