  Fitz Mee let out a frantic yell as he descended; Bob echoed it. “I’m a goner!” squeaked the goblin as he alighted on the lion’s back. “Goner!” screamed the boy, in unison. The lion, no doubt coupling the sudden arrival of the little green sprite with the unusual condition of the spring he had always known, went mad with fright. He stuck his tail between his hind legs, gave a snort, followed by a prolonged and doleful whine, and scampered away among the trees and across the sands of the desert, the goblin clinging to his mane. “Oh, dear—dear!” moaned the boy. “What am I to do? What can I do? Poor old Fitz Mee! Poor old Convulsions! The lion’ll shake him off out there—and—and eat him up! And I can’t help him! I don’t dare to go to his aid; the other beasts would eat me! Was ever a boy in such a pickle! Oh, I wish I was back home! I do—I do! I was a fool to come on such a wild adventurous trip, anyhow! Poor old Fitz Mee! Poor old Epilepsy! Gone! Lost! And here I am down here in the desert—with miles of trackless sands He wrung his hands and wept. At last, however, he muttered sleepily: “Poor unlucky old Fitz! He’s always getting into trouble and danger; he’s always tumbling out of the balloon. I’ve rescued him two or three times; but I can’t go on rescuing him every few hours. He’ll have to look out for himself this time; I can’t do anything for him. And,”—yawning,—“I’m so—so sleepy. I’ve just got to—sleep; that’s all—all—there is—” He sank upon the bottom of the car and lost all sense of his surroundings. “Bob! Oh, Bob!” Someone was calling him—someone in the far distance, he thought. “Huh!” ever so drowsily. “Bob! Bob Taylor! Wake up!” “Hel—hello!” the boy grunted. “Here! Wake up, you lazy pest! Do you hear me? Ah-hah! Do you feel me?” “Ouch!”—petulantly—“Quit! Quit, I say!” Someone was twitching and pinching the lad’s ear. He stirred, opened his eyes, flounced over upon his stomach and raised his head. There stood the Little Green Goblin of Goblinville, grinning down at him. “Fitz!” the boy cried, springing to his feet and holding out his hand. “Fitz Mee!” The goblin continued to grin and bat his pop eyes—saucily, perversely. Daylight was just breaking. “When—when did you get back?” Bob inquired, embarrassed by his comrade’s manner. “Just got back, my friend,” Fitz croaked hoarsely; “and a time I’ve had getting you awake. I called and called from the ground, but you slept on. So I had to climb the tree; and then yell at you—and yell again and again, and shake you, and pinch you. You must have been greatly worried over my disappearance and danger! Oh, yes! Sure! You couldn’t sleep at all, you were so worried!” “Fitz, I was worried,” the boy replied sheepishly. “Of course!” the goblin sneered. “That’s what I said—you were so worried you couldn’t sleep!” “You may say what you please,” Bob insisted, “but I was worried—worried like everything. I thought I’d never see you again.” “And no doubt you searched for me, seeking to rescue me from my perilous position!” Fitz continued sarcastically. “Why, to be sure you did! Oh, my!—yes, indeed!” “No, I didn’t hunt for you,” Bob returned thickly, a hint of tears in his voice. “You didn’t?” snappishly. “No.” “Well, why didn’t you—huh?” “How could I, Fitz, with wild beasts all around me?” “Well,”—crustily,—“maybe there wasn’t wild beasts all around me! Hey, Bob Taylor!” “You’re unreasonable, Fitz!” angry now. “Of course, you were in danger. But what would have been the use of my rushing into danger when I couldn’t help you a bit by doing it? I couldn’t whip all those wild animals and snatch you away from them. Now, could I?” “No, I suppose you couldn’t,”—sullenly and rather reluctantly admitting the truth. “But it did make me mad, Bob, to find you sleeping so comfortably and soundly after the terrible time I’ve had.” “Did you have a bad time, Fitz?” “Did I? Well, I rather guess I did!” “How far did the lion carry you?” “About a hundred miles.” “Oh, not that far!” “How do you know, smarty? You weren’t there!” “Well—well! Maybe he did. But why didn’t you stop him before he went so far?” “Stop him! Bob Taylor, I just wish you’d have to take a ride on a lion once! Stop him! I did try to. I yelled and yelled at him to stop; but he just went the faster.” “Well, why didn’t you let loose and roll off, then?” “Just because I couldn’t—that’s why.” “You couldn’t?” “No, I couldn’t!” irritably. “Why?” “Why? Bob, you’re foolish! Just because he went so fast I was afraid to let loose—afraid the fall might hurt me.” Bob laughed. “Laugh!” muttered Fitz, gritting his teeth. “You think you’re smart!” “But how did you get off? How did you get away from the lion?” the boy suggested. “He stumbled and fell—and threw me off.” “Oh!” “Uh-huh.” “Well, didn’t he try to eat you up, then?” “Eat me up? No, he was dead.” “Dead?” “That’s what I said.” “Why, what killed him?” “I don’t know; I didn’t stop to find out.” “What do you think killed him?” “I think he just ran himself to death.” “Oh, Fitz!” “Or he was scared to death.” “Take care!” “Or died from heart disease.” “Fitz Mee, you’re yarning to me; you’ve been yarning to me about your adventure all the way through.” “Look here!” Fitz cried, grinning impishly. “Wasn’t I on the lion’s back the last you saw of me?” “Yes.” “And wasn’t he carrying me off across the sands?” “Yes.” “Well, haven’t I come back alive—without a hurt or scratch?” “Yes, I guess so.” “Well, then, you’ve no good reason to doubt my story. And, Bob, I can tell you something else—something that will surprise you and test your credulity.” “Let’s hear it.” “How did I get back here—from a hundred miles away, do you suppose?” “I’ve no idea.” “I fell in with a caravan of Arabs, and they brought me.” “What!” “Yes.” “Where are the Arabs now?” “Right out there. See ’em?” Bob looked in the direction indicated. There, sure enough, was a number of Arabs with horses and camels rapidly approaching the oasis. The boy turned to his companion and murmured reproachfully: “Fitz, you’re a big story-teller—that’s what you are. Just now you happened to see those Arabs, and you put them into your story. You’ve been spinning a big yarn to me. I’ll bet the lion didn’t carry you but a short distance out on the sands; then you came to your senses, got over your surprise, and rolled off and made your way back. I believe you’ve been here ever since shortly after I went to sleep. Now, haven’t you?” Fitz Mee grinned broadly; but would make no reply to the charge. Instead, he said: “Bob, we’d better be getting away from here. Those Arabs have been travelling all night, taking advantage of the cool air; and now “My!” Bob ejaculated sharply. “What?” his companion asked, in keen concern. “I was just thinking about the spring—about its being charged with electricity.” “Whew!” whistled the goblin. “I hadn’t thought of that. We’d better get away from here before those Arabs discover what we’ve done to the spring, Bob. They’ll be mad when they find out; and they might shoot us with the long guns they carry. Sh! There comes one with a camel now.” The two aËronauts kept perfectly quiet. The Arab swiftly approached the spring, leading his camel and hugging an empty waterskin to his breast. The beast of burden tried to get at the tempting water, and its owner tried to keep it back, scolding and jerking at the halter-rope. But the camel succeeded “You’ve played the mischief, Bob!” Fitz Mee grumbled, but grinning in spite of himself. “Untie that rope; let’s get out of here.” The boy was prompt to obey. Fitz released the air; and the balloon began to rise slowly, steadily, floating out over the shining sands. At that moment, however, the whole band of Arabs put in an appearance at the edge of the oasis; and, with shouts and imprecations, raised their guns and fired at the rising air-ship. The bullets whistled around the two adventurers, causing them to drop precipitately to the bottom of the car. “You hurt, Bob?” Fitz inquired. “No. You?” “No.” “Bully!” “That’s what I say!” “But, Fitz, that was a close shave.” “Too close for comfort.” “Look here! One bullet went through the basket.” “Yes and look there! Another one went through the balloon-bag.” “They didn’t do any harm, though—eh?” “No.” “I’m glad they didn’t. And now I want to get out of this country; I’m tired of it.” “So am I. And I’ll set the needle north-east, for Goblinville; and away we’ll go. Hurrah!” “Hurrah!” the boy echoed. “Well—well!” the goblin mumbled irritably, fumbling at the selector. “What’s the matter now, Fitz?” Bob cried impatiently, stooping to ascertain the cause of his companion’s exclamatory remark. “The selector’s out of fix again, Bob. The needle won’t point any way but south.” “And—and, Fitz!” “Huh!” springing erect. “See how fast we’re going directly south.” “Yes,” nodding gravely, “and there’s hardly any power at all turned on.” “Shut it all off, Fitz.” “I will,” croaked the goblin. And he did so. Still the balloon slowly drifted southward. “What are we to do, Fitz?” “Indeed I don’t know,” the little green fellow answered dejectedly. “We’re going faster again.” “I see.” “Well, we’ve got to do some—” The boy broke off abruptly; then cried in great excitement: “Look! Look, Fitz!” “What?” screeched Fitz Mee, nervously dancing up and down. “What? Where?” “A mountain!” yelled Bob. “See it? Away to the south! A big shiny mountain!” “Yes!” moaned the goblin. “And that’s what’s drawing us!” He cast a despairing look behind them. “Why—why,” he jerked out, “Bob, the Arabs are following us!” “Oh, dear—dear!” muttered the boy. “Now we are lost!” “We don’t dare to stop,” Fitz whimpered; “the Arabs’ll get us!” “And we don’t dare to go ahead,” Bob whined; “we’ll fly against the side of that mountain and burst ourselves all to pieces!” “Oh, dear!” groaned the goblin. “Oh, dear!” moaned the boy. “Bob!” “What, Fitz?” “Which would you rather—be eaten up by the Arabs, or bursted up by the mountain?” “Why, neither, you silly old thing!” pettishly. “We’ve got to choose, Bob.” “Well, we haven’t!” “What else can we do, Bob?” “I know!” brightly. “An idea has just come to me, Fitz.” “Oh! what is it, Bob?” joyfully. “You’ll see—in time. Stop the balloon.” “Bob, I can’t stop it!” “That’s so. Well, pump up the tank and send the balloon to the ground.” “It’ll spill us out, Bob, at the rate we’re going.” “Let it spill!”—recklessly. “All right! Here goes!” Fitz worked industriously at the pump; and the air-ship began to drop swiftly. Soon it was within a few feet of the ground, flying along rapidly. “Hold on to the car when it strikes,” Bob cautioned his companion, “or the balloon, relieved of our weight, will fly up—and away from us.” “I understand,” Fitz replied. Bump! The car struck the earth, throwing its occupants sprawling; but they hung on. Bump! Bump! Then it dragged along the sand for some distance; and at last came to a stop. “Pump the air-tank up good and tight, Fitz,” Bob commanded; “we don’t want to lose our air-ship and be left out here in the desert.” “But the Arabs’ll get us, anyhow,” Fitz complained disconsolately. “There they come—only a few miles away!” “Let ’em come!” the boy cried gleefully. “They’ll be sorry! Let me have that hand-satchel.” “But what’re you going to do, Bob?” “Just wait and see!” was the tantalizing answer. |
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