TO THE RESCUE
“WHAT are we going to do, Tom?” asked Ned of his chum, beside whom he
stood in the forward part of the airship as it settled down in the midst
of the Yellow Gypsies.
“Let’s wait and see which way the cat jumps,” was the answer. “These
chaps may not be as bad as Peltok thinks they are.”
“They look nasty enough,” commented Brinkley.
“I wouldn’t like to meet ’em after dark,” said Hartman, to which Ned
added:
“Well, we’re going to be with ’em after dark, all right.”
It was evident that this would be the case, for Peltok, who had run back
to the motor room after the ship landed, now came out to say:
“There’s a puncture in the port radiator. Hole right through it.”
“How do you account for that?” asked Tom, quickly.
“Looks like a bullet hole,” said the machinist, while the Yellow
Gypsies, their number now greatly increased, crowded closer in on the
disabled ship.
“Must have come from one of the bullets fired by the Turks,” said Tom.
“Probably it caused a slow leak, and that’s why it didn’t develop until
just now.”
“But what about these chaps?” asked Ned. “They evidently mean business!”
There could be little doubt of this, for, with savage cries, many of the
yellow-faced men were swarming over the craft. Their complexions were of
a peculiar hue of yellow, somewhat like Chinese, yet they did not have
the cast of features of the Celestials.
“They’ve got their knives out!” cried Ned. “They’ll slit the wing
fabric, Tom, and then we shall be in bad.”
“They won’t slit my wing fabric!” the young inventor said, with a
chuckle. “It’s aluminum. They can’t cut it, but they might bend it. Get
off there, you yellow beggars!” he yelled at the Gypsies, but they did
not seem at all impressed and only laughed sneeringly.
“Let me try to talk to them,” suggested Peltok.
“Do you speak their lingo?” asked Hartman.
“He talks anything, including United States!” declared Ned, with a
laugh, though the situation was anything but funny. The scowling Yellow
Gypsies seemed bent on mischief—as though they resented the coming of
the airship.
Peltok took his position at one of the windows, held up his hands for
silence, which came grudgingly from the nomads, and began to address
them. His words had a peculiar snarling quality.
But what he said seemed to be understood, for there were murmurs among
the men as though they were about to make reply. Peltok continued,
speaking more rapidly and emphatically.
“What are you telling them?” asked Tom when the interpreter paused for
breath.
“I had to romance a little,” was the answer. “I said we were strangers
from the stars who had come to visit our earthly friends.”
“Will they believe you?” asked Tom.
“I don’t know,” was the doubtful reply. “They don’t seem to think I am
telling the truth. I tried to impress them with our supernatural origin.
I’m sure they never saw an aeroplane before and know nothing about it.
But if we could impress them in some way and make them believe we are
supernatural characters we might get them to withdraw. I’ll try it
again.”
Once more he addressed the Yellow Gypsies, but did not seem to be making
much of an impression. They hooted and cried sneeringly and more than
one shook a gun or a knife at Peltok.
“What are they saying?” asked Tom.
“They say they don’t believe me. They say we look just like themselves
except for color, and they think this is only a new kind of railroad
train, which of course they are more or less familiar with. I’m afraid
they’re going to rush us.”
It did look so, for the Gypsies were now gathering on all sides of the
craft, hemming her in. As a matter of fact, even without the savage men,
the _Air Monarch_ could not have risen until the leaky radiator was
repaired.
“If we could only impress them in some way!” murmured Peltok.
“I’ll impress them!” cried Tom, starting for the motor control room.
“Start the land motor!” he cried to the two machinists.
“What are you going to do?” asked Ned.
“Use our wheels and roll along!” Tom answered. “I’ll plow through that
bunch if they don’t get out of the way, but I think they’ll get all
right. If we can’t sail through the air we’ll travel on land until we
get out of the Gypsy country. Start the motor!”
There was a special machine for operating the craft when on land, and
Brinkley and Hartman sprang to get this going. Peltok went to their aid,
and Ned took his place beside Tom.
The Yellow Gypsies seemed about ready to make the attack, but at the
sign of this activity on the strange craft they hung back. This was the
very opportunity for which Tom Swift had been waiting.
“Here we go!” he cried, as he pulled the lever meshing the gears of the
land wheels. The _Air Monarch_ leaped forward, and Tom slued her around
until her blunt nose pointed to the crowd where it was thinnest. “I’ll
ram them!” the inventor shouted.
Some of the Yellow Gypsies seemed to understand what was going to happen
and yelled to their companions to leap out of the way. But those
directly in front of the craft seemed stubborn, and held their ground.
“You’ll run right over them and kill a lot, Tom!” Ned warned. “That may
set them wild!”
“I won’t run over any of them!” said the other with a grim smile.
The machine was careening on over the uneven ground, but still the
Gypsies in front did not budge. And then, when it seemed that the
aluminum nose of the craft would push into their midst and the big
wheels crush them, Tom suddenly pulled on a lever over his head as he
stood at the steering wheel.
Instantly a white vapor was projected straight into the faces of the
Yellow Gypsies. This seemed to knock them over as if a hail of bullets
had hit them. They fell in heaps. Tom quickly turned the nose of the
_Air Monarch_, and those now in its path scrambled to one side so that a
lane was left for Tom to guide his craft down.
Though the windows of the cabin were all closed Ned caught a whiff of a
powerful, pungent chemical.
“What is it, Tom?” he cried.
“Ammonia gas!” was the answer. “I rigged up two tubes, forward and aft,
to project ammonia. I thought we might get in a tight corner some day,
and it would help. We won’t get much of it inside here, but it’s strong
out there!”
And strong it was, for the stuff, though it would have no lasting ill
effects, actually knocked the victims down, rendering them helpless.
When those on either side saw what had happened to their comrades in
front, the horde of Yellow Gypsies melted away like dew under the hot
sun. Tom guided his craft past those who were knocked out, taking care
not to run over any, and in a short time had run out of the forest
clearing to a smooth, level road that led onward in the direction he
wished to travel.
“Good work, Tom!” cried Ned, when they were safe for at least a time.
“That ammonia gas was a wonderful idea!”
Peltok, opening a window at the rear of the ship, which was rapidly
moving out of the zone of the powerful smell, called back to the
discomfited Gypsies, some of whom were now reviving.
“I told you we were from the stars!” the interpreter said in the Gypsy
tongue. “And doubtless you saw not only stars but suns, moons, and
comets!”
Then the machine moved onward, now traveling on land, of course, not so
fast as in the air.
“But we’ll get to some quiet place where we can lay to and mend that
leaky radiator,” declared Tom.
Presently they reached a broad, level plain which would make an ideal
starting field in the morning.
“We’ll have to work all night, if necessary, on that radiator,” Tom
said. “This is our second delay. We can’t afford many more.”
The Gypsies seemed to have been left behind as night settled down. The
travelers were in a lonely stretch of country. For this, however, they
were glad. While Tom and Ned got the supper, the three mechanics worked
on the punctured radiator. Presently, in one of the water coils, a
bullet was found, undoubtedly fired by the Turkish party.
Mending the leak was not as easy as had been hoped and it was well on
toward morning before the _Air Monarch_ was again ready to justify her
name. It was found to be impossible to travel along on land while
repairs were being made, owing to their delicacy. On other occasions
this might not be the case.
“Get a little rest, men, and we’ll hop off early in the morning,” Tom
said, and while he and Ned stood watch, the other three got some much
needed sleep.
The sun was just tinting the east when the signal for getting under way
was once more given, but just as the craft was starting to taxi over the
plain, to get momentum to mount toward the sky, there came rushing
toward the travelers those same Yellow Gypsies again, only five times as
many.
“They’re after us this time for sure!” yelled Peltok, who caught some of
the threatening yells. “They are going to be revenged on us for what we
did last night.”
“What a mob!” cried Ned as hundreds of the Gypsies rushed toward the
airship, which was all ready to leave.
Tom tried to increase his speed to take off before the angry and savage
warriors could approach, but the motors were cold and not running at
their best.
“Ram them!” advised Ned, and it seemed to be the only thing to do. Some
would, undoubtedly, be killed when the craft crushed its way through
them, but she might soon rise above them and all would be well, save
that they would probably send a volley of shots after the travelers.
Tom had about decided to do this, terrible as it seemed, when Peltok,
who was looking from a rear window cried:
“Here they come! Here they come to the rescue!”
“Who?” asked Ned.
“The forest patrol—like your state police. They’ll scatter these Yellow
Gypsies!”
Then all those in the airship saw a squad of Persian mounted men
sweeping across the plain toward them. This squad at once opened fire on
the horde that sought to stay Tom Swift in his world flight.