Tom went to the engine room, and turned on more speed. He was about to go back to the pilot house, to set the automatic steering apparatus to coincide with the course mapped out, when there was a crash of metal, an ominous snapping and buzzing sound, followed by a sudden silence.
"What's that?" cried Ned, who was in the motor compartment with his chum.
"Something's gone wrong!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he sprang back toward the engine. The propellers had ceased revolving, and as there was no gas in the bag at that time, it having been decided to save the vapor for future needs, the Black Hawk began falling toward the earth.
"We're going down!" yelled Ned.
"Yes, the main motor has broken!" exclaimed Tom. "We'll have to descend to repair it."
"Say!" yelled Mr. Damon, rushing in, "we're right over a big African village! Are we going to fall among the natives?"
"It looks that way," admitted Tom grimly, as he hastened to the pilot house to shift the wings so that the craft could glide easily to the ground.
"Bless my shoe blacking!" cried the eccentric
