Chapter XVII. Shots from Above - Page 2

band of natives, who had crept up and surrounded the beasts, turned them by shouts and the beating of tom-toms. Seeing an enemy in front of them, the elephants turned, and our friends were able to get in several more shots. Tom Swift picked out only those with immense tusks, and soon had several to his credit. Ned Newton also bagged some prizes.

But finally the elephants, driven to madness by the firing and the yells of the natives, broke through the line of black men, and charged off into the jungle, where it was not only useless but dangerous to follow them.

"Well, we have enough," said Mr. Durban, and when the tusks had been collected it was found that indeed a magnificent and valuable supply had been gathered.

"But I have yet to get my prize ones," said the old hunter with a sigh. "Maybe we'll find the elephant with them when we locate the red pygmies."

"If we do, we'll have our work cut out for us," declared Tom.

As on the other occasion after the hunt, there was a great feast for the natives, who invited tribes from miles around, and for two days, while the tusks were being cut out and cleaned, there were barbeques on every side.

It was one afternoon, when they were seated in the shade of the airship, cleaning their guns, and discussing the plans they had best follow next, that our travellers suddenly heard a great commotion amongst the Africans, who had for the past hour been very quiet, most of them sleeping after the feasts. They yelled and shouted, and began to beat their drums.

"Something is coming," said Ned.

"Perhaps there's going to be a fight," suggested Tom.

"Maybe it's the red pygmies," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my--"

But what he was going to bless he did not say, for at that instant it seemed as if every native in sight suddenly disappeared, almost like magic. They sank down into the grass, darted into their huts, or hid in the tall grass.

"What can it be?" cried Tom, as he looked to see that his rifle was in working order.

"Some enemy," declared Mr. Anderson.

"There they are!" cried Ned Newton, and as he spoke there burst into view, coming from the tall grass that covered the plain about the village, a herd of savage, wild buffaloes. On rushed the shaggy creatures, their long, sharp horns seeming like waving spears as they advanced.

"Here's more sport!" cried Tom.

"No! Not sport! Danger!" yelled Mr. Durban. "They're headed right for us!"

"Then we'll stop them," declared the young inventor, as he raised his gun.

"No! No!" begged the old hunter. "It's as much as our lives are worth to try to stop a rush of wild buffaloes. You couldn't do it with Gatling guns. We can kill a few, but the