ot embers.

There was a moment's pause, and then a blinding flash of blue fire
lighted up the woods, and a dull rumble, as when gun-powder is lighted
in the open followed. A great cloud of white smoke arose, as the vivid
blue glare died away, and it seemed as if a great wind swept over the
place. Several of the masked lads were knocked down by the explosion,
and when the rumble died away, and deep blackness succeeded the intense
blue light, there came cries of pain and terror. The fire had been
scattered, and extinguished by the explosion which Tom, though still
bound to the tree had caused to happen in the midst of the Deep Forest
Throng. Then, as the smoke rolled away, Andy Foger cried:

"Come on, fellows! Something's happened. I guess a volcano blew up!"

CHAPTER IX

TOM IS RESCUED

The Deep Forest Throng needed no urging to flee from the place of the
mysterious explosion. Their prisoner, helpless as he had seemed, had
proved too much for them. Slipping and stumbling along in the darkness,
the masked lads had but one thought--to get away before they saw more
of that blue fire, and the force of the concussion.

"Gee! My eyebrows are all singed off!" cried Sam Snedecker, as he tore
loose his mask which had been rent in the explosion, and felt of his
face.

"And my hands are burned," added Pete Bailey. "I stood closer to the
fire than any of you."

"You did not! I got the worst of it!" cried Andy. "I was knocked down
by the explosion, and I'll bet I'm hurt somewhere. I guess--Oh! Help!
I'm falling in a mud hole!"

There was a splash, and the bully disappeared from the sight of his
companions who, now that the moon had risen, could better see to flee
from their prisoner.

"Help me out, somebody!" pleaded Andy. "I'm in a mud hole!"

They pulled him out, a sorry looking sight, and the red-haired lad,
whose locks were now black with muck, began to lament his lot.

"Dry up!" commanded Sid Holton. "It's all your fault, for proposing
such a fool trick as capturing Tom Swift. We might have known he would
get the best of us."

"What was that stuff he used, anyhow?" asked Cecil Hedden, the lad
responsible for the organization of the Deep Forest Throng. "He must
be a wonder. Does he do sleight-of-hand tricks?"

"He does all sorts of tricks," replied Pete Bailey, feeling of a big
lump on his head, caused by falling on a stone in the mad rush. "I
guess we were chumps to tackle him. He must have put some ki