“Where’s the electric rifle?” asked Ned.  “Get that out, Tom!”

“Wait!” suggested Mr. Durban.  “This is serious!  It looks as if they were going to attack us, and they have us at a disadvantage.  Our only safety is in flight, but as Tom says we can’t go up until the gas machine is fixed, he will have to attend to that part of it while we keep off the black men.  Tom, we can’t spare you to fight this time!  You repair the ship as soon as you can, and we’ll guard her from the natives.  And you’ve got to work lively!”

“I will!” cried the young inventor.  “It’s luck we have a spare cylinder!”

Suddenly there was a louder shout in the jungle and it was followed by a riot of sound.  War drums were beaten, tom-toms clashed and the natives howled.

“Here they are!” cried Mr. Anderson.

“Bless my suspenders!” shouted Mr. Damon.  “Where is my gun?”

“Here, you take mine, and I’ll use the electric rifle,” answered the elephant hunter.  As he spoke there was a hissing sound in the air and a flight of spears passed over the airship.

The defenders slipped outside, while Tom, with Ned to help him, worked feverishly to repair the break.  They were in a serious strait, for with the airship practically helpless they were at the mercy of the natives.  And as Tom glanced momentarily from the window, he saw scores of black, half-naked forms slipping in and out among the trees and trailing vines.

Soon the rifles of his friends began to crack, and the yells of the natives were changed to howls of anguish.  The electric weapon, though it made no noise, did great execution.

“I only hope they don’t puncture the gas bag,” murmured Tom. as he began taking the generating machine apart so as to get out the cracked cylinder.

“If they do, it’s all up with us,” murmured Ned.

After their first rush, finding that the white men were on the alert, the blacks withdrew some distance, where their spears and arrows were not so effective.  Our friends, including Andy Foger, and the German, kept up a hot fire whenever a skulking black form could be seen.

But, though the danger from the spears and arrows was less, a new peril presented itself.  This was from the blow guns.  The curious weapons shot small arrows, tipped with tufts of a cottony substance in place of feathers, and could be sent for a long distance.  The barbs were not strong enough to pierce the tough fabric of the gas bag, as a spear or arrow would have done, but there was more danger from them to our friends who were on deck.

“Those barbs may be poisoned,” said Mr. Durban, “and in case any one is wounded, the wound, though it be but a scratch, must be treated with antiseptics.  I have some.”

This course was followed, the elephant hunter being wounded twice, and Andy Foger and Mr. Damon once each.  There was not a native to be seen now, for they were hiding behind the trees of the jungle, but every now and then a blowgun barb would whizz out of the forest.