He halted, and the others followed his example. The natives had come
to a stop some time before, and were huddled together in the jungle
back of our friends, waiting to see the result of the white men's
shots.

Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon, and the two older hunters were on an irregular
line in the forest. Before them was the mass of elephants advancing
slowly, and feeding on the tender leaves of trees as they came on.
They would reach up with their long trunks, strip off the foliage,
and stuff it into their mouths. Sometimes, they even pulled up small
trees by the roots for the purpose of stripping them more easily.

"Jove! There are some big tuskers in that bunch!" cried Mr. Durban.
"Aim for the bulls, every one, don't kill the mothers or little
ones." Tom now saw that there were a number of baby Elephants in the
herd, and he appreciated the hunter's desire to spare them and their
mothers.

"Here we go!" exclaimed Mr. Durban, as he saw that Tom and the
others were ready. "Aim! Fire!"

There were thundering reports that awoke the echoes of the jungle,
and the sounds of the rifles were followed by shrill trumpets of
rage. When the smoke blew away three elephants were seen prostrate,
or, rather two, and part of another one. The last vas almost blown
to pieces by Tom Swift's electric rifle; for the young inventor had
used a little too heavy charge, and the big beast had been almost
annihilated.