The natives, who had looked up at his cry of pain, again prostrated
themselves, kicking their toes against the ground in a terrified
tattoo at this new evidence of the god's powers.
The situation was growing somewhat strained by this time, and Rob did
not know what the savages would decide to do next; so he thought it
best to move away from them, since he was unable to rise to a greater
height. He turned the indicator towards the south, where a level
space appeared between the trees; but instead of taking that direction
he moved towards the northeast, a proof that his machine had now become
absolutely unreliable. Moreover, he was slowly approaching the fire,
which, although it had ceased blazing, was a mass of glowing red embers.
In his excitement he turned the indicator this way and that, trying to
change the direction of his flight, but the only result of his
endeavor was to carry him directly over the fire, where he came to a
full stop.
"Murder! Help! Fire and blazes!" he cried, as he felt the glow of
the coals beneath him. "I'll be roasted, after all! Here; help,
Fatty, help!"
The fat chief sprang to his feet and came to the rescue.
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