LIONS IN THE NIGHT
Shouting, screaming, imploring their deities in general, and the
white men in particular for protection, the band of frightened
natives broke and ran through the jungle, caring little where they
went so long as they escaped the awful terror of the pursuing herd
of maddened elephants. Behind them came Tom Swift and the others,
for it were folly to stop in the path of the infuriated brutes.
"Our only chance is to get on their flank and try to turn them!"
yelled Mr. Durban. "We may beat them in getting to the clearing, for
the trail is narrow. Run, everybody!"
No one needed his excited advice to cause them to hurry. They
scudded along, Mr. Damon's cap falling off in his haste. But he did
not stop to pick it up.
The hunters had one advantage. They were on a narrow but well-cleared
trail through the jungle, which led from the village where they
were encamped, to another, several miles away. This trail was
too small for the elephants, and, indeed, had to be taken in single
file by the travelers.
But it prevented the elephants making the same speed as did our
friends, for the jungle, at this point, consisted of heavy trees,
which halted the progress of even the strongest of the powerful
beasts. True, they could force aside the frail underbrush and the
small trees, but the others impeded their progress.
"We'll get there ahead of them!" cried Tom. "Have you got your rifle
in working order yet, Mr. Durban?"
"No, something has broken, I fear. We'll have to depend on your
electric gun, Tom. Have you many charges left?"
"A dozen or so. But Ned and the others have plenty of ammunition."
"Don't count--on--me!" panted Mr. Damon, who was well-nigh
breathless from the run. "I--can't--aim--straight--any--more!"
"I'll give 'em a few more bullets!" declared Mr. Anderson.
The fleeing natives were now almost lost to sight, for they could
travel through the jungle, ignoring the trail, at high speed. They
were almost like snakes or animals in this respect. Their one
thought was to get to their village, and, if possible, protect their
huts and fields of grain from annihilation by the elephants.
Behind our friends, trumpeting, bellowing and crashing came the
pachyderms. They seemed to be gaining, and Tom, looking back, saw
one big brute emerge upon the trail, and follow that.
"I've got to stop him, or some of the others will do the same,"
thought the young inventor. He halted and fired quickly. The
elephant seemed to melt away, and Tom with regret, saw a pair of
fine tusks broken to bits. "I used too heavy a charge," he murmured,
as he took up the retreat again.
In a few minutes the party of hunters, who were now playing more in
the role of the hunted, came out into the open. They could hear the
natives beating on their big hollow tree drums, and on tom-toms,
while the witch-doctors and medicine men were chanting weird songs
to drive the elephants away.
But the beasts came on. One by one they emerged from the jungle,
until the herd was gathered together again in a compact mass. Then,
under the leadership of some big bulls, they advanced. It seemed as
if they knew what they were doing, and were determined to revenge
themselves by trampling the natives' huts under their ponderous
feet.
But Tom and the others were not idle. Taking a position off to one
side, the young inventor began pouring a fusillade of the electric
bullets into the mass of slate-colored bodies. Mr. Anderson was also
firing, and Ned, who had gotten over some of his excitement, was
also doing execution. Mr. Durban, after vainly trying to get his
rifle to work, cast it aside. "Here! Let me take your gun!" he cried
to Mr. Damon, who, panting from the run, was sitting beneath a tree.
"Bless my cartridge belt! Take it and welcome!" assented the
eccentric man. It still had several shots in the magazine, and these
the old hunter used with good effect.
At first it seemed as if the elephants could not be turned back.
They kept on rushing toward the village, which was not far away, and
Tom and the others followed at one side, as best they could, firing
rapidly. The electric rifle did fearful execution.
Emboldened by the fear that all their possessions would be destroyed
a body of the natives rushed out, right in front of the elephants,
and beat tom-toms and drums, almost under their feet, at the same
time singing wild songs.
"I'm afraid we can't stop them!" muttered Mr. Anderson. "We'd better
hurry to the airship, and protect that, Tom."
But, almost as he spoke, the tide of battle turned. The elephants
suddenly swung about, and began a retreat. They could not stand the
hot fire of the four guns, including Tom's fearful weapon. With wild
trumpetings they fled back into the jungle, leaving a number of
their dead behind.
"A close call," murmured Tom, as he drew a breath of relief. Indeed
this was true, for the tide had turned when the foremost elephants
were not a hundred feet away from the first rows of native huts.
"I should say it was," agreed Ned Newton, wiping his face with his
handkerchief. He, as well as the others, was an odd-looking sight.
They were blackened by powder smoke, scratched by briars, and red
from exertion.
"But we got more ivory in this hour than I could have secured in a
week of ordinary hunting," declared Mr. Durban. "If this keeps up we
won't have to get much more, except that I don't think any of the
tusks to-day are large enough for the special purpose of my
customer."
"The sooner we get enough ivory the quicker we can go to the rescue
of the missionaries," said Mr. Anderson.
"That's so," remarked Tom. "We must not forget the red pygmies."
The natives were now dancing about, wild in delight at the prospect
of unlimited eating, and also thankful for what the white men had
done for them. Alone, the blacks would never have been able to stop
the stampede. They were soon busy cutting up the elephants ready for
a big feast, and runners were sent to tell neighboring tribes, in
adjoining villages, of the delights awaiting them.
Mr. Durban gave instructions about saving the ivory tusks, and the
valuable teeth, each pair worth about $1,000, were soon cut out and
put away for our friends. Some had been lost by the excessive power
of Tom's gun, but this could not be helped. It was necessary to stop
the rush at any price.
There was soon a busy scene at the native village, and with the
arrival of other tribesmen it seemed as if Bedlam had broken loose.
The blacks chattered like so many children as they prepared for the
feast.
"Do white men ever eat elephant meat?" asked Mr. Damon, as the
adventurers were gathered about the airship.
"Indeed they do," declared Mr. Durban. "Baked elephant foot is a
delicacy that few appreciate. I'll have the natives cook some for
us."
He gave the necessary orders, and the travelers had to admit that it
was worth coming far to get.
For the next few days and nights there was great feasting in that
African village, and the praises of the white men, and power of Tom
Swift's electric rifle, were sung loud and long.
Our friends had resumed work on repairing the airship, and the young
inventor declared, one night, that they could proceed the next day.
They were seated around a small campfire, watching the dancing and
antics of some natives who were at their usual work of eating meat.
All about our friends were numerous blazes for the cooking of the
feasts, and some were on the very edge of the jungle.
Suddenly, above the uncouth sounds of the merry-making, there was
heard a deep vibration and roar, not unlike the distant rumble of
thunder or the hum of a great steamer's whistle heard afar in the
fog.
"What's that?" cried Ned.
"Lions," said Mr. Durban briefly. "They have been attracted by the
smell of cooking."
At that moment, and instantly following a very loud roar, there was
an agonized scream of pain and terror. It sounded directly in back
of the airship.
"A lion!" cried Mr. Anderson. "One of the brutes has grabbed a
native!"
Tom Swift caught up his rifle, and darted off toward the dark
jungle.