Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle

V >> Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle

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"It's a stampede!" yelled Mr. Anderson, firing into the midst of the
herd. Mr. Durban was working frantically at his clogged rifle. Ned
and Mr. Damon both fired, and Tom Swift, adjusting his weapon to
give the heaviest charges, shot a fusillade of wireless bullets into
the center of the advancing elephants, who were now wild with fear
and anger.

"It's a stampede all right!" said Tom, when he saw that the big
creatures were not going to stop, in spite of the deadly fire poured
into them.

CHAPTER XV

LIONS IN THE NIGHT

Shouting, screaming, imploring their deities in general, and the
white men in particular for protection, the band of frightened
natives broke and ran through the jungle, caring little where they
went so long as they escaped the awful terror of the pursuing herd
of maddened elephants. Behind them came Tom Swift and the others,
for it were folly to stop in the path of the infuriated brutes.

"Our only chance is to get on their flank and try to turn them!"
yelled Mr. Durban. "We may beat them in getting to the clearing, for
the trail is narrow. Run, everybody!"

No one needed his excited advice to cause them to hurry. They
scudded along, Mr. Damon's cap falling off in his haste. But he did
not stop to pick it up.

The hunters had one advantage. They were on a narrow but well-
cleared trail through the jungle, which led from the village where
they were encamped, to another, several miles away. This trail was
too small for the elephants, and, indeed, had to be taken in single
file by the travelers.

But it prevented the elephants making the same speed as did our
friends, for the jungle, at this point, consisted of heavy trees,
which halted the progress of even the strongest of the powerful
beasts. True, they could force aside the frail underbrush and the
small trees, but the others impeded their progress.

"We'll get there ahead of them!" cried Tom. "Have you got your rifle
in working order yet, Mr. Durban?"

"No, something has broken, I fear. We'll have to depend on your
electric gun, Tom. Have you many charges left?"

"A dozen or so. But Ned and the others have plenty of ammunition."

"Don't count--on--me!" panted Mr. Damon, who was well-nigh
breathless from the run. "I--can't--aim--straight--any--more!"

"I'll give 'em a few more bullets!" declared Mr. Anderson.

The fleeing natives were now almost lost to sight, for they could
travel through the jungle, ignoring the trail, at high speed. They
were almost like snakes or animals in this respect. Their one
thought was to get to their village, and, if possible, protect their
huts and fields of grain from annihilation by the elephants.

Behind our friends, trumpeting, bellowing and crashing came the
pachyderms. They seemed to be gaining, and Tom, looking back, saw
one big brute emerge upon the trail, and follow that.

"I've got to stop him, or some of the others will do the same,"
thought the young inventor. He halted and fired quickly. The
elephant seemed to melt away, and Tom with regret, saw a pair of
fine tusks broken to bits. "I used too heavy a charge," he murmured,
as he took up the retreat again.

In a few minutes the party of hunters, who were now playing more in
the role of the hunted, came out into the open. They could hear the
natives beating on their big hollow tree drums, and on tom-toms,
while the witch-doctors and medicine men were chanting weird songs
to drive the elephants away.

But the beasts came on. One by one they emerged from the jungle,
until the herd was gathered together again in a compact mass. Then,
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."

But, almost as he spoke, the tide of battle turned. The elephants
suddenly swung about, and began a retreat. They could not stand the
hot fire of the four guns, including Tom's fearful weapon. With wild
trumpetings they fled back into the jungle, leaving a number of
their dead behind.

"A close call," murmured Tom, as he drew a breath of relief. Indeed
this was true, for the tide had turned when the foremost elephants
were not a hundred feet away from the first rows of native huts.

"I should say it was," agreed Ned Newton, wiping his face with his
handkerchief. He, as well as the others, was an odd-looking sight.
They were blackened by powder smoke, scratched by briars, and red
from exertion.

"But we got more ivory in this hour than I could have secured in a
week of ordinary hunting" declared Mr. Durban. "If this keeps up we
won't have to get much more, except that I don't think any of the
tusks to-day are large enough for the special purpose of my
customer."

"The sooner we get enough ivory the quicker we can go to the rescue
of the missionaries," said Mr. Anderson.

"That's so," remarked Tom. "We must not forget the red pygmies."

The natives were now dancing about, wild in delight at the prospect
of unlimited eating, and also thankful for what the white men had
done for them. Alone, the blacks would never have been able to stop
the stampede. They were soon busy cutting up the elephants ready for
a big feast, and runners were sent to tell neighboring tribes, in
adjoining villages, of the delights awaiting them.

Mr. Durban gave instructions about saving the ivory tusks, and the
valuable teeth, each pair worth about $1,000, were soon cut out and
put away for our friends. Some had been lost by the excessive power
of Tom's gun, but this could not be helped. It was necessary to stop
the rush at any price.

There was soon a busy scene at the native village, and with the
arrival of other tribesmen it seemed as if Bedlam had broken loose.
The blacks chattered like so many children as they prepared for the
feast.

"Do white men ever eat elephant meat?" asked Mr. Damon, as the
adventurers were gathered about the airship.

"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."

At that moment, and instantly following a very loud roar, there was
an agonized scream of pain and terror. It sounded directly in back
of the airship.

"A lion!" cried Mr. Anderson. "One of the brutes has grabbed a
native!"

Tom Swift caught up his rifle, and darted off toward the dark
jungle.

CHAPTER XVI

SEEKING THE MISSIONARIES

"Here! Come back!" yelled Mr. Damon and Mr. Anderson, in the same
breath, while the old elephant hunter cried out: "Don't you know
you're risking your life, Tom to go off in the dark, to trail a
lion?"

"I can't stand it to let the native be carried off!" Tom shouted
back.

"But you can't see in the dark," objected Mr. Anderson. He had
probably forgotten the peculiar property of the electric rifle. Tom
kept on, and the others slowly followed.

The natives had at once ceased their merrymaking at the roaring of
the lions, and now all were gathered close about the campfires, on
which more wood had been piled, to drive away the fearsome brutes.

"There must be a lot of them," observed Mr. Durban, as menacing
growls and roars came from the jungle, along the edge of which Tom
and the others were walking just then. "There are so many of the
brutes that they are bold, and they must be hungry, too. They came
close to our fire, because it wasn't so bright as the other blazes,
and that native must have wandered off into the forest. Well, I
guess it's all up with him."

"He's screaming yet," observed Ned.

Indeed, above the rumbling roars of the lions, and the crackling of
the campfires, could be heard the moaning cries of the unfortunate
black.

"He's right close here!" suddenly called Tom. "He's skirting the
jungle. I think I can get him!"

"Don't take any risks!" called Mr. Durban, who had caught up his own
rifle, that was now in working order again.

Tom Swift was not in sight. He had now penetrated into the jungle--
into the black forest where stalked the savage lions, intent on
getting other prey. Mr. Durban and Mr. Anderson vainly tried to
pierce the darkness to see something at which to shoot. Ned Newton
had eagerly started to follow his chum, but could not discern where
Tom was. A nameless fear clutched at the lad's heart. Mr. Damon was
softly blessing everything of which he could think.

Once more came that pitiful cry from the native, who was, as they
afterward learned, being dragged along by the lion, who had grabbed
him by the shoulder.

Suddenly in the dense jungle there shone a purple-bluish light. It
illuminated the scene like some great sky-rocket for an instant, and
in that brief time Ned and the others caught sight of a great, tawny
form, bounding along. It was a lion, with head held high, dragging
along a helpless black man.

A second later, and before the intense glare had died away, the
watchers saw the lion gently sink down, as though weary. He stopped
short in his tracks, his head rolled back, the jaws relaxed and the
native, who was unconscious now, toppled to one side.

"Tom's killed him with the electric rifle!" cried Mr. Durban.

"Bless my incandescent lamp! so he has," agreed Mr. Damon. "Bless my
dynamo! but that's a wonderful gun, it's as powerful as a
thunderbolt, or as gentle as a summer shower."

Mr. Durban seeing that the lion was dead, in that brief glance he
had had of the brute, called to some of the natives to come and get
their tribesman. They came, timidly enough at first, carrying many
torches, but when they understood that the lion was dead, they
advanced more boldly. They carried the wounded black to a hut, where
they applied their simple but effective remedies for the cruel bite
in his shoulder.

After Tom had shot several other of the illuminated charges into the
jungle, to see if he could discover any more lions, but failed to do
so, he and his friends returned to the anchored airship, amid the
murmured thanks of the Africans.

Bright fires were kept blazing all the rest of the night, but,
though lions could be heard roaring in the jungle, and though they
approached alarmingly close to the place where our friends were
encamped, none of the savage brutes ventured within the clearing.

With the valuable store of ivory aboard the Black Hawk, which was
now completely repaired, an early start was made the next morning.
The Africans besought Tom and his companions to remain, for it was
not often they could have the services of white men in slaying
elephants and lions.

"But, we've got to get on the trail," decided Tom, when the natives
had brought great stores of food, and such simple presents as they
possessed, to induce the travelers to remain.

"Every hour may add to the danger of the missionaries in the hands
of the red pygmies."

"Yes," said Mr. Anderson gravely, "it is our duty to save them."

And so the airship mounted into the air, our friends waving
farewells to the simple-hearted blacks, who did a sort of farewell
war-dance in their honor, shouting their praises aloud, and beating
the drums and tom-toms, so that the echoes followed for some time
after the Black Hawk had begun to mount upward toward the sky.

The craft was in excellent shape, due to the overhauling Tom had
given it while making the repairs. With the propellers beating the
air, and the rudder set to hold them about two thousand feet high,
the travelers moved rapidly over clearings, forests and jungles.

It was agreed that now, when they had made such a good start in
collecting ivory, that they would spend the next few days in trying
to get on the trail of the red pygmies. It might seem a simple
matter, after knowing the approximate location of the land of these
fierce little natives, to have proceeded directly to it. But Africa
is an immense continent, and even in an airship comparatively little
of the interior can be seen at a time.

Besides, the red pygmies had a habit of moving from place to place,
and they were so small, and so wild, capable of living in very tiny
huts or caves, and so primitive, not building regular villages as
the other Africans do, that as Ned said, they were as hard to locate
as the proverbial flea.

Our friends had a general idea of where to look for them, but on
nearing that land, and making inquiries of several friendly tribes,
they learned that the red pygmies had suddenly disappeared from
their usual haunts.

"I guess they heard that we were after them," said Tom, with a grim
smile one day, as he sent the airship down toward the earth, for
they were over a great plain, and several native villages could he
seen dotted on its surface.

"More likely they are in hiding because they have as captives two
white persons," said Mr. Anderson. "They are fierce and fearless,
but, nevertheless, they have, in times past, felt the vengeance of
the white man, and perhaps they dread that now."

They made a descent, and spent several days making inquiries from
the friendly blacks about the race of little men. But scarcely
anything was learned. Some of the negro tribes admitted having heard
of the red pygmies, and others, with superstitious incantations and
imprecations, said they had never heard of them.

One tribe of very large negroes had heard a rumor to the effect that
the band of the pygmies was several days' journey from their
village, across the mountains, and when Tom sent his airship there,
the searchers only found an impenetrable jungle, filled with lions
and other wild beasts, but not a sign of the pygmies, and with no
elephants to reward their search.

"But we're not going to give up," declared Tom, and the others
agreed with him. Forward went the Black Hawk in the search for the
imprisoned ones, but, as the days passed, and no news was had, it
seemed to grow more and more hopeless.

"I'm afraid if we do find them now," remarked Mr. Anderson at
length, "that we'll only recover the bodies of the missionaries."

"Then we'll avenge them," said Tom quietly.

They had stopped at another native village to make inquiries, but
without result, and were about to start off again that night when a
runner came in to announce that a herd of big elephants was feeding
not many miles away.

"Well, we'll stay over a day or so, and get some more ivory,"
decided Mr. Durban and that night they got ready for what was to
prove a big hunt.

CHAPTER XVII

SHOTS FROM ABOVE

"There they are!"

"My, what a lot of big ones!"

"Jove! Mr. Anderson, see those tusks!"

"Yes, you ought to get what you want this time, Mr. Durban."

"Bless my hatband! There must be two hundred of them!" exclaimed Mr.
Damon.

"I'm glad I recharged my rifle last night!" exclaimed Tom Swift.
"It's fully loaded now."

Then followed exulting cries and shouts of the natives, who were
following our friends, the elephant hunters, who had given voice to
the remarks we have just quoted.

It was early in the morning, and the hunt was about to start, for
the news brought in by the runner the night before had been closely
followed by the brutes themselves, and at dawn our friends were
astir, for scouts brought in word that the elephants, including many
big ones, were passing along only a few miles from the African
village.

Cautiously approaching, with the wind blowing from the elephants to
them, the white hunters made their way along. Mr. Durban was in the
lead, and when he saw a favorable opportunity he motioned for the
others to advance. Then, when he noticed the big bull sentinels of
the herd look about as if to detect the presence of enemies, he gave
another signal and the hunters sank out of sight in the tall grass.

As for the natives, they were like snakes, unseen but ever present,
wriggling along on their hands and knees. They were awaiting the
slaughter, when there would be fresh meat in abundance.

At length the old elephant hunter decided that they were near enough
to chance some shots. As a matter of fact, Tom Swift, with his
electric rifle, had been within range some time before, but as he
did not want to spoil the sport for the others, by firing and
killing, and so alarming the herd, he had held back. Now they could
all shoot together.

"Let her go!" suddenly cried Mr. Durban, and they took aim.

There was a fusillade of reports and several of the big brutes
toppled over.

"Bless my toothbrush!" cried Mr. Damon, "that's the time I got one!"

"Yes, and a fine specimen, too!" added Mr. Durban, who had only
succeeded in downing a small bull, with an indifferent pair of
tusks. "A fine speciment, Mr. Damon, I congratulate you!"

As for Tom Swift, he had killed two of the largest elephants in the
herd.

But now the hunters had their work cut out for them, since the
beasts had taken fright and were charging away at what seemed an
awkward gait, but which, nevertheless, took them rapidly over the
ground.

"Come on!" cried Mr. Durban. "We must get some more. Some of the
finest tusks I have ever seen are running away from us!"

He began to race after the retreating herd, but it is doubtful if he
would have caught up to them had not a band of natives, who had
crept up and surrounded the beasts, turned them by shouts and the
beating of tom-toms. Seeing an enemy in front of them, the elephants
turned, and our friends were able to get in several more shots. Tom
Swift picked out only those with immense tusks, and soon had several
to his credit. Ned Newton also bagged some prizes.

But finally the elephants, driven to madness by the firing and the
yells of the natives, broke through the line of black men, and
charged off into the jungle, where it was not only useless but
dangerous to follow them.

"Well, we have enough," said Mr. Durban, and when the tusks had been
collected it was found that indeed a magnificent and valuable supply
had been gathered.

"But I have yet to get my prize ones," said the old hunter with a
sigh. "Maybe we'll find the elephant with them when we locate the
red pygmies."

"If we do, we'll have our work cut out for us," declared Tom.

As on the other occasion after the hunt, there was a great feast for
the natives, who invited tribes from miles around, and for two days,
while the tusks were being cut out and cleaned, there were barbeques
on every side.

It was one afternoon, when they were seated in the shade of the
airship, cleaning their guns, and discussing the plans they had best
follow next, that our travellers suddenly heard a great commotion
amongst the Africans, who had for the past hour been very quiet,
most of them sleeping after the feasts. They yelled and shouted, and
began to beat their drums.

"Something is coming," said Ned.

"Perhaps there's going to be a fight," suggested Tom.

"Maybe it's the red pygmies," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my--"

But what he was going to bless he did not say, for at that instant
it seemed as if every native in sight suddenly disappeared, almost
like magic. They sank down into the grass, darted into their huts,
or hid in the tall grass.

"What can it be?" cried Tom, as he looked to see that his rifle was
in working order.

"Some enemy," declared Mr. Anderson.

"There they are!" cried Ned Newton, and as he spoke there burst into
view, coming from the tall grass that covered the plain about the
village, a herd of savage, wild buffaloes. On rushed the shaggy
creatures, their long, sharp horns seeming like waving spears as
they advanced.

"Here's more sport!" cried Tom.

"No! Not sport! Danger!" yelled Mr. Durban. "They're headed right
for us!"

"Then we'll stop them," declared the young inventor, as he raised
his gun.

"No! No!" begged the old hunter. "It's as much as our lives are
worth to try to stop a rush of wild buffaloes. You couldn't do it
with Gatling guns. We can kill a few, but the rest won't stop until
they've finished us and the aeroplane too."

"Then what's to be done?" demanded Mr. Anderson.

"Get into the airship!" cried Mr. Durban. "Send her up. It's the
only way to get out of their path. Then we can shoot them from
above, and drive them away!"

Quickly the adventurers leaped into the craft. On thundered the
buffaloes. Tom feared he could not get the motor started quickly
enough. He did not dare risk rising by means of the aeroplane
feature, but at once started the gas machine.

The big bag began to fill. Nearer came the wild creatures,
thundering over the ground, snorting and bellowing with rage.

"Quick, Tom!" yelled Ned, and at that instant the Black Hawk shot
upward, just as the foremost of the buffaloes passed underneath,
vainly endeavoring to gore the craft with their sweeping horns. The
air-travelers had risen just in time.

"Now it's our turn!" shouted Ned, as he began firing from above into
the herd of infuriated animals below him. Tom, after seeing that the
motor was working well, sent the airship circling about, while
standing in the steering tower, he guided his craft here and there,
meanwhile pouring a fusillade of his wireless bullets into the
buffaloes. Many of them dropped in their tracks, but the big herd
continued to rush here and there, crashing into the frail native
huts, tearing them down, and, whenever a black man appeared, chasing
after him infuriatedly.

"Keep at it!" cried Mr. Durban, as he poured more lead into the
buffaloes. "If we don't kill enough of them, and drive the others
away, there won't be anything left of this village."

CHAPTER XVIII

NEWS OF THE RED PYGMIES

Seldom had it been the lot of Tom and his companions to take part in
such a novel hunting scene as that in which they were now
participating. With the airship moving quickly about, darting here
and there under the guidance of the young inventor, the erratic
movements hither and thither of the buffaloes could be followed
exactly. Wherever the mass of the herd went the airship hovered over
them.

"Want any help, Tom?" called Ned, who was firing as fast as his gun
could be worked.

"I guess not," answered the steersman of the Black Hawk, who was
dividing his attention between managing the craft and firing his
electric rifle.

The others, too, were kept busy with their weapons, shooting down on
the infuriated animals. It seemed like a needless slaughter, but it
was not. Had it not been for the white men, the native village,
which consisted of only frail huts, would have been completely wiped
out by the animals. As it was they were kept "milling" about in a
circle in an open space, just as stampeded cattle on the western
ranges are kept from getting away, by being forced round and round.

Not a native was in sight, all being hidden away in the jungle or
dense grass. The white hunters in their airship had matters to
themselves.

At last the firing proved even too much for the buffaloes which, as
we have said, are among the most dreaded of African beasts. With
bellows of fear, the leading bulls of the herd unable to find the
enemy above their heads, darted of into the forest the way they had
come.

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