"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."
