Perhaps that was well, for several rifles were again fired behind them and they heard the bullets whistle above their heads. "Low bridge, Mark!" cried the old hunter, meaning for the boy to keep close to the earth. "I've got my gun." "Don't fire on them, Andy," responded young Sampson, remembering the professor's warning. "We don't know who they are or what they mean by their actions." "We don't want to be shot down without making any fight; do we?" cried Andy. "Let us escape without a fight if possible," urged the cautious youth, feeling sure that Professor Henderson would approve of this advice. But the pounding of many feet approaching over the rising ground--evidently, as Mr. Henderson had said, the foothills of the mountain range--warned Mark and the hunter to keep still. In the partial light they saw a group of tall men, all armed, running past them in the direction the wounded _Snowbird_ had been blown. "Hush!" whispered Andy. "Indians!" Mark had seen their long hair and beardless faces, and believed the hunter was right. The enemy were dressed in clothing of skins and were without hats. Yet Mark knew that the Indians of Alaska were much different from the savages of the western territories of the United States. He did not believe these Alaskan aborigines would attack white men. It was growing lighter about them every moment. The lad and the tall hunter arose and stood listening for a further alarm--or for some cry from their comrades in the flying machine. As the light increased they saw that they were in a grove of huge trees. Somehow the _Snowbird_ had fluttered away through these forest monarchs and was now out of sight. "I wonder what's happened to them?" gasped Mark. "Them Indians haven't attacked yet," growled Andy Sudds. "If they begin to shoot we'll know which way to go, and we'll foller them." But the first sound they heard came from behind them. There was the crash of heavy footsteps and a big man suddenly came panting up the slope. Cold as it was, his shirt was open at the neck, he was bare-headed, and he had not stopped to pull on his boots when he arose from his bed. In his right hand he carried a battered "fish-horn," and without seeing Mark and Andy he stopped and put this instrument to his lips, blowing a blast that made his eyes bulge and his cheeks turn purple. "Hold on, Mister!" ejaculated the hunter. "What you got to sell? Or be you callin' the cows?" "Mercy on me!" cried the fat man, and in a high, squeaky voice that seemed to be a misfit for his huge body. "I am sure I'm glad to meet you. You must have just arrived," and he squinted at the strangely clad hunter and his boy companion, for Mark wore a helmet with ear-tabs. "We just landed, that's sure," admitted Andy. "From an airship, I fancy," exclaimed the other. "That is what is the matter with my Aleuts, then. They never have seen such a thing as an airship, I'll be bound. Have they hurt any of your party?"