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."