plainly now--a confused murmur of voices--many
of them--the sound coming under the slowly raising stone doorway.

"Who can it be--there's a lot of them," murmured Ned.

Tom did not answer. Instead he silently sped back to where they had
slept and got his automatic revolver.

"Better get yours," he said to his companions. "It may be a rescue
party, though I don't see how any one could know we were in here, or
it may be--"

He did not finish. They all knew what he meant, and a moment later
four strained and anxious figures stood on the inner side of the
stone door, revolvers in hand, awaiting what might be revealed to
them. Would it be friend or foe?

At Tom's feet lay the golden head--the hollow head of the statue.
The scene was illumined by a flickering gas torch--the last one, as
the others had burned out.

Slowly the stone went up, very slowly, for it was exceedingly heavy
and the mechanism that worked it was primitive. Up and up it went
until now a man could have crawled under. Ned made a motion as if he
was going to do so, but Tom held him back.

Slowly and slowly it went up. On the other side was a very babble of
voices now--voices speaking a strange tongue. Tom and his companions
were silent.

Then, above the other voices, there sounded the tones of some one
speaking English. Hearing it Tom started, and still more as he noted
the tones, for he heard this said:

"We'll be inside in a minute, dad, and I guess we'll show Tom Swift
that he and his crowd can't fool us. We've got to the city of gold
first!"

"Andy Foger!" hoarsely whispered Tom to Ned.

The next moment the stone gate went up with a rush, and there, in
the light of the gas torch, and in the glare of many burning ones of
wood, held by a throng of people on the other side, stood Andy
Foger, his father, Delazes, and a horde of men who looked as wild as
savages.

For a moment both parties stood staring at one another, too startled
to utter a sound. Then as Tom noticed that some of the natives, who
somewhat resembled the ancient Aztecs, had imitation human heads
stuck on the ends of poles or spears, he uttered two words;

"Head-hunters!"

Like a flash there came to him the warning of the African
missionary: "Beware of the head-hunters!" Now they were here--being
led on by the Mexican and the Fogers--the enemies of our friends.

For another moment there was a silence, and then Andy Foger cried
out:

"They're here! Tom Swift and his part