"Put a charge into 'em, sir!" cried Hurst. "Them small shot'll soon clear 'em away. You'll hear the varmints holler." It seemed to be a reasonable course to take, and at once Dick lifted his gun and sent the contents of two cartridges swishing amongst the trees. Not a cry followed, but the curious twang of bows was not again heard, while no more arrows flew across the clearing. "Then we'll push on toward the ship. Now, Alec, feel fit for it?" "Perfectly--never more so. I admit that at first the shock of the wound and the pain rather made me feel funny. But I'm right now. Go ahead. Sorry to have been such a bother." In single file now, Dick leading, Able Seaman Hawkins immediately behind, and Hurst in rear, armed with his clasp knife, the quartet struck out for the airship. Once Dick imagined that he caught a fleeting glimpse of a native to his right. Then he thought he must have been mistaken. A minute later the wireless mast at the top of the airship met his view, with its tiny fluttering Union Jack attached to it. "Hooray!" he shouted. "There at last. I'm beginning to wonder what has happened to the other three who set out with us." He turned to speak to his comrades, took another step forward, and then disappeared into an enormous pit dug for that purpose. There he was received by a dozen or more active natives, and before Mr. Dicky Hamshaw could quite recover his senses, he was flat on his face on the sticky clay, his arms drawn up behind him, while the dozen natives already mentioned were busily engaged in winding green creepers about his ankles and knees and wrists and elbows. Not a sound escaped them. Not a blow was delivered, though Dick struggled fiercely. As to his companions he had no knowledge of them. They gave no shout, as one might have expected had they been attacked; there was not so much as a call to show that they had missed their leader. Only the birds still chattered above, while one could dimly hear the roar of the stream tumbling down the valley. Perhaps it was three minutes later when Dick, trussed like a fowl, was caught in the arms of a number of stalwart natives and pitched upward, so that he landed in the jungle. Then his weight was shouldered, and thereafter he only knew that he was being carried through the jungle, that often enough his body was bruised against overhanging branches, and that the most noticeable thing about his captors was their surprisingly strong odour. For the rest, they were tall, muscular men, exceedingly well made, and boasting of an abundance of hair, a regular mop, in fact, which covered their heads. "Real beauties," thought Dick, still rather breathless after such a surprise, but not in the least downhearted. "Handsome chaps, without a doubt, but, my word, they do just smell a trifle. Seems to me that they must anoint their bodies with something composed of dead fish and glue. Ugh! 'Pon my word, it makes me feel quite giddy."