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 was a voluble chattering in Spanish between the driver and San Pedro.
"He says the natives that lived in this village have driven their enemies away, and are coming back—after us," translated the head mule driver.
"After us!" gasped Ned.
"Yes," replied San Pedro simply. "They are coming even now. They will fight too, for all their wild nature is aroused."
It needed but a moment's listening to prove this. From the rear came wild yells and the beating of drums and tom-toms.
"Bless my fountain pen!" cried Mr. Damon. "What are we going to do?"
