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.
