Chapter XIII. The Desertion

"Say, look at those fellows pitch into one another!" gasped Ned.

"It's fighting at close range all right," commented Mr. Damon.

"If they had rifles they wouldn't be at it hand to hand," spoke Tom. "Maybe it's just as well they haven't, for there won't be so many killed. But say, we'd better be thinking of ourselves. They may make up their quarrel and turn against us any minute."

"No--never--no danger of them being friends--they are rival tribes," said San Pedro. "But either one may attack us--the one that is the victor. It is better that we keep away."

"I guess you're right," agreed Tom. "Lead the way, San Pedro, and we'll get out of sight."

But there was a fascination in watching the distant battle that was hard to resist. It was like looking at a moving picture, for at that distance none of the horrors of war were visible. True, natives went down by scores, and it was not to be doubted but what they were killed or injured, but it seemed more like a big football scrimmage than a fight.

"This is great!" cried Tom. "I like to watch it, but I'm sorry for the poor chaps that get hurt or killed. I hope they're only stunned as we stunned the wild horses."

"I'm afraid it is more serious than that," spoke San Pedro. "These natives are very bloodthirsty. It would not be well for us to incur their anger."

"We won't run any chances," decided Tom. "We'll just travel on. Come on, Ned--Mr. Damon."

As he spoke there was a sudden victorious shout from the scene of the battle. One body of natives was seen to turn and flee, while the others pursued them.

"Now's our time to make tracks!" called Tom. "We'll have to push on to the next village before we can ask where the gi--" he caught himself just in time, for San Pedro was looking curiously at him.

"The senor wishes to find something?" asked the head mule driver with an insinuating smile.

"Yes," broke in Eradicate. "We all is lookin' fo' some monstrous giant orchards flowers."

"Ah, yes, orchids," spoke San Pedro. "Well, there may be some in the jungle ahead of us, but the senors have come the wrong trail for flowers," and he looked curiously at Tom, while, from afar, come the sound of the native battle though the combatants could no longer be seen.

"Never mind," said our hero quickly. "I guess I'll find what I want. Now come on."

They started off, skirting the burned village to get on the trail beyond it. But hardly had they made a detour of the burned huts than one of the native drivers, who was in the rear, came riding up with a shout.

"Now what's the matter?" cried Tom, looking back.

There