Be that as it may, every one of the dusky figures below had vanished as though the earth had swallowed them up. A strange if not foreboding stillness hung over the town. You would have thought it contained not a single being, at least not one who was awake. All at once John, who had been intently looking around the outskirts of the town, observed an open spot marked with the welcome sign of a white T. He joyfully called the attention of his comrades to this, and as they looked they saw the form of a man emerge from the shadows bordering the field and wave his arms upward at them. From the fact that this person was attired in European costume, they judged he must be Mr. MacInnis, the Scotch trader who had been appointed to look after their fuel interests at this point. It was a novel experience to be able to make a landing unhampered by throngs of curious inhabitants, as they now did. The field was quite level, though sandy, as might be expected so close to the big desert, and they had to dodge several clumps of small growths, presumably juju trees, before they could taxi to a stop. The man in linen now rushed up to them, and introduced himself as Mr. MacInnis. He hurriedly shook hands with the boys, displaying, they thought, great nervousness while greeting them, and several times he turned his head and looked in the direction of the nearest shacks of the town. Then he asked what they thought a very queer question. "Have you fellows enough petrol and oil to last you through to your next stop?" "That's Aden," answered John; "we didn't fill to capacity at Freetown, and I'm afraid not. Why, what is the matter? Haven't you any fuel here for us?" "I have plenty of both petrol and oil here for you," said the Scotchman, with another look toward the huts, "but I am afraid for your lives if you stay to put it aboard." "How is that?" cried Tom, his usually smiling countenance growing sober for once, while his companions felt a vague uneasiness.