yells and the beating of drums and tom-toms.

"Bless my fountain pen!" cried Mr. Damon. "What are we going to do?"

"Stop them if we can," answered Tom coolly. "Ned, you and I and Mr.
Damon will form a rear guard. San Pedro, take the mules and the men,
and make as good time as you can in advance. We'll take three of the
fastest mules, and hold these fellows back with the electric rifles,
and when we've done that we'll ride on and catch up to you."

"Very good," said San Pedro, who seemed relieved to know that he did
not have to do any of the fighting.

Three of the lighter weight mules, who carried small burdens, were
quickly relieved of them, and mounting these steeds in preference to
the ones they had been riding since they took the trail, Tom, Ned
and Mr. Damon dropped back to try and hold off the enemy.

They had not far to ride nor long to wait. They could hear the
fierce yells of the victorious tribesmen as they came back to their
ruined village, and though there were doubtless sad hearts among
them, they rejoiced that they had defeated their enemies. They knew
they could soon rebuild the simple grass huts.

"Small charges, just to stun them!" ordered Tom, and the electric
rifles were so adjusted.

"Here's a good place to meet them," suggested Ned, as they came to a
narrow turn in the trail. "They can't come against us but a few at a
time, and we can pump them full of electricity from here."

"The very thing!" cried Tom, as he dismounted, an example followed
by the others. Then, in another moment, they saw the blacks rushing
toward them. They were clad in nondescript garments, evidently of
their own make, and they carried clubs, spears, bows and arrows and
blow guns. There was not a firearm among them, as they passed on
after the party of our friends whom they had seen from the battle-hill.
They gave wild yells as they saw the young inventor's friends.

"Let 'em have it!" called Tom in a low voice, and the electric
rifles sent out their stunning charges. Several natives in the front
rank dropped, and there was a cry of fear and wonder from the
others. Then, after a moment's hesitation they pressed on again.

"Once more!" cried Tom.

Again the electric rifles spoke, and half a score went down
unconscious, but not seriously hurt. In a few hours they would be as
well as ever, such was the merciful charge that Tom Swift and the
others used in the rifles.

The third time they fired, and this was too much