Tom Swift in the City of Gold

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"And I'll also try my luck at potting a shark. Bless my gunpowder if
I won't!" said Mr. Damon.

The captain did have several rifles in his stateroom, and he loaned
them to Mr. Sander. They were magazine weapons, firing sixteen shots
each, but they were not of as high power as those Tom had packed
away.

"Now we'll make those sharks sing a different tune, if sharks sing!"
cried the young inventor.

"Yes, we're coming to the rescue of the porpoises!" added Ned.

The passengers crowded up to witness the marksmanship, and soon the
lads and Mr. Damon were at it.

It was no easy matter to hit a shark, as the big, ugly fish were
only seen for a moment in their mad rushes after the porpoises, but
both Tom and Ned were good shots and they made the bullets tell.

"There, I hit one big fellow!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my bull's
eye, but I plugged him right in the mouth, I think."

"I hope you knocked out some of his teeth," cried Ned.

They fired rapidly, and while they probably hit some of the innocent
porpoises in their haste, yet they accomplished what they had set
out to do--scare off the sharks. In a little while the "tigers of
the sea" as some one has aptly called them, disappeared.

"That's the stuff!" cried Mr. Damon. "Now we can watch the porpoises
at play."

But they did not have that sight to interest them very long. For, as
suddenly as the gamboling fish had appeared, they sank from sight--
all but a few dead ones that the sharks had left floating on the
calm surface of the ocean. Probably the timid fish had taken some
alarm from the depths into which they sank.

"Well, that was some excitement while it lasted," remarked Tom. as
he and Ned took the rifles back to the captain.

"But it didn't bring out the mysterious passengers," added Ned. Tom
shook his head and on their return to deck he purposely went out of
his way to go past Stateroom No. 27, where the "Wilsons" were
quartered. The door was closed and a momentary pause to listen
brought our hero no clew, for all was silent in the room.

"It's too much for me," he murmured, shaking his head and he
rejoined his chum.

Several more days passed, for the Maderia was a slow boat, and could
not make good time to Mexico. However, our travelers were in no
haste, and they fully enjoyed the voyage.

Try as Tom did to get a glimpse of the mysterious passengers he was
unsuccessful. He spent many hours in a night, and early morning
vigil, only to have to do his sleeping next day, and it resulted in
nothing.

"I guess they want to get on Mexican soil before any one sees their
faces," spoke Ned, and Tom was inclined to agree with his chum.

They awoke one morning to find the sea tempestuous. The ship tossed
and rolled amid the billows, and the captain said they had run into
the tail end of a gulf hurricane.

"Two days more and we'll be in port," he added, "and I'm sorry the
voyage had to be marred even by this blow."

For it did blow, and, though it was not a dangerous storm, yet many
passengers kept below.

"I'm afraid this settles it," remarked Tom that night, when the ship
was still pitching and tossing. "They won't come out now, and this
is likely to keep up until we get to port. Well, I can't help it."

But fate was on the verge of aiding Tom in an unexpected way. Nearly
every one turned in early that night for it was no pleasure to sit
in the saloons, and to lie in one's berth made it easier to stand
the rolling of the vessel.

Tom and Ned, together with Mr. Damon, had fallen into slumber in
spite of the storm, when, just as eight bells announced midnight
there was a sudden jar throughout the whole ship.

The Maderia quivered from stem to stern, seemed to hesitate a moment
as though she had been brought to a sudden stop, and then plowed on,
only to bring up against some obstruction again, with that same
sickening jar throughout her length.

"Bless my soul! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon, springing from his
berth.

"Something has happened!" added Tom, as he reached out and switched
on the electric lights.

"We hit something!" declared Ned.

The ship was now almost stopped and she was rolling from side to
side.

Up on deck could be heard confused shouts and the running to and fro
of many feet. The jangling of bells sounded--hoarse orders were
shouted--and there arose a subdued hubbub in the interior of the
ship.

"Something sure is wrong!" cried Tom. "We'd better get our clothes
on and get on deck! Come on, Ned and Mr. Damon! Grab life
preservers!"

CHAPTER XII

INTO THE UNKNOWN

"Bless my overshoes! I hope we're not sinking!" cried Mr. Damon, as
he struggled into some of his clothes, an example followed by Ned
and Tom.

"This boat has water-tight compartments, and if it does sink it
won't do it in a hurry," commented Tom.

"I don't care to have it do it at all," declared Ned, who found that
he had started to get into his trousers hindside before and he had
to change them. "Think of all our baggage and supplies and the
balloon on board." For the travelers had shipped their things by the
same steamer as that on which they sailed.

"Well, let's get out and learn the worst," cried Tom.

He was the first to have the stateroom, and as he rushed along the
passages which were now brilliant with light he saw other half-clad
passengers bent on the same errand as himself, to get on deck and
learn what had happened.

"Wait, Tom!" called Ned.

"Come along, I'm just ahead of you," yelled his chum from around a
corner. "I'm going to see if Eradicate is up. He's an awful heavy
sleeper."

"Bless my feather bed! That shock was enough to awaken anyone!"
commented Mr. Damon, as he followed Ned, who was running to catch up
to Tom.

Suddenly a thought came to our hero. The mysterious passengers in
Stateroom No. 27! Surely this midnight alarm would bring them out,
and he might have a chance to see who they were.

Tom thought quickly. He could take a turn, go through a short
passage, and run past the room of the mysterious passengers getting
on deck as quickly as if he went the usual way.

"I'll go look after Rad!" Tom shouted to Ned. "You go up on deck,
and I'll join you."

Eradicate's stateroom was on his way, after he had passed No. 27.
Tom at once put his plan into execution. As he ran on, the confusion
on deck seemed to increase, but the lad noted that the vessel did
not pitch and roll so much, and she seemed to be on an even keel,
and in no immediate danger of going down.

As Tom neared Stateroom No. 27 he heard voices coming from it,
voices that sent a thrill through him, for he was sure he had heard
them before.

"Where are the life preservers? Oh, I KNOW we'll be drowned! I wish
I'd never come on this trip! Look out, those are my pants you're
putting on! Oh, where is my collar? Hand me my coat! Look out,
you're stepping on my fingers!"

These were the confused and alarmed cries that Tom heard. He paused
for a moment opposite the door, and then it was suddenly flung open.
The lights were glaring brightly inside and a strange sight met the
gaze of the young inventor.

There stood Mr. Foger and beside him--half dressed--was his son--
Andy! Tom gasped. So did Andy and Mr. Foger, for they had both
recognized our hero.

But how Mr. Foger had changed! His moustache was shaved off, though
in spite of this Tom knew him. And Andy! No longer was his hair red,
for it had been dyed a deep black and glasses over his eyes
concealed their squint. No wonder the purser had not recognized them
by the descriptions Tom and Ned had given.

"Andy Foger!" gasped Tom.

"Tom--it's Tom Swift, father!" stammered the bully.

"Close the door!" sharply ordered Mr. Foger, though he and his son
had been about to rush out.

"I won't do it!" cried Andy. "The ship is sinking and I'm not going
to be drowned down here."

"So it was you--after all," went on Tom. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business!" snapped Andy. "Get out of my way, I'm going
on deck."

Tom realized that it was not the proper time to hold a conversation,
with a possibly sinking ship under him. He looked at Mr. Foger, and
many thoughts shot through his mind. Why were they on board? Had it
anything to do with the city of gold? Had Andy overheard the talk?
Or was Mr. Foger merely looking for a new venture whereby to
retrieve his lost fortune.

Tom could not answer. The bully's father glared at our hero and
then, slipping on a coat, he made a dash for the door.

"Get out of my way!" he shouted, and Tom stood aside.

Andy was already racing for the deck, and as the noise and confusion
seemed to increase rather than diminish, Tom concluded that his
wisest move would be to get out and see what all the excitement was
about.

He stopped on his way to arouse Eradicate but found that he and all
the colored persons had left their staterooms. A few seconds later
Tom was on deck.

"It's all right, now! It's all right!" several officers were
calling. "There is no danger. Go back to your staterooms. The danger
is all over."

"Is the ship sinking?"

"What happened?"

"Are we on fire?"

"Are you sure there's no danger?"

These were only a few of the questions that were flying about, and
the officers answered them as best they could.

"We hit a derelict, or some bit of wreckage," explained the first
mate, when he could command silence. "There is a slight hole below
the water-line, but the bulkheads have been closed, and there is not
the slightest danger."

"Are we going to turn back for New York?" asked one woman.

"No, certainly not. We're going right on as soon as a slight break
to one of the engines can be repaired. We are in no danger. Only a
little water came in before the automatic bulkheads were shut. We
haven't even a list to one side. Now please clear the decks and go
back to bed."

It took more urging, but finally the passengers began to disperse.
Tom found Ned and Mr. Damon, who were looking for him.

"Bless my life preserver!" cried the odd man. "I thought surely this
was my last voyage, Tom!"

"So did I," added Ned. "What's the matter, Tom, you look as though
you'd seen a ghost."

"I have--pretty near. The Fogers are on board."

"No! You don't mean it!"

"It's a fact. I just saw them. They are the mysterious passengers."
And Tom related his experience.

"Where are they now?" demanded Ned, looking about the deck.

"Gone below again, I suppose. Though I don't see what object they
can have in concealing their identity any longer."

"Me either. Well, that surely is a queer go."

"Bless my hot cross buns! I should say so!" commented Mr. Damon when
he heard about it. "What are you going to do, Tom?"

"Nothing. I can't. They have a right on board. But if they try to
follow us--well, I'll act then," and Tom shut his jaws grimly.

Our three trends went back to their state-room, and Eradicate also
retired. The excitement was passing, and soon the ship was under way
again, the sudden shock having caused slight damage to one of the
big engines. But it was soon repaired and, though the storm still
continued, the ship made her way well through the waves.

A stout bow, water-tight compartments, and the fact (learned later)
that she had struck the derelict a glancing blow, had combined to
save the Maderia.

There were many curious ones who looked over the side next morning
to see the gaping hole in the bow. A canvas had been rigged over it,
however, to keep out the waves as much as possible, so little could
be viewed. Then the thoughts of landing occupied the minds of all,
and the accident was nearly forgotten. For it was announced that
they would dock early the next morning.

In spite of the fact that their presence on board was known to Tom
and his friends, the Fogers still kept to their stateroom, not even
appearing at meals. Tom wondered what their object could be, but
could not guess.

"Well, here we are at last--in Mexico," exclaimed Ned the next
morning, when, the Maderia having docked, allowed the passengers to
disembark, a clean bill of health having been her good luck.

"Yes, and now for a lot of work!" added Tom. "We've got to see about
getting ox teams, carts and helpers, and no end of food for our trip
into the interior."

"Bless my coffee pot! It's like old times to be going off into the
jungle or wilderness camping," said Mr. Damon.

"Did you see anything of the Fogers?" asked Ned of his chum.

"Not a thing. Guess they're in their stateroom, and they can stay
there for all of me. I'm going to get busy."

Tom and his friends went to a hotel, for they knew it would take
several days to get their expedition in shape. They looked about for
a sight of their enemies, but saw nothing of them.

It took five days to hire the ox carts, get helpers, a supply of
food and other things, and to unload the balloon and baggage from
the ship. In all this time there was no sign of the Fogers, and Tom
hoped they had gone about their own business.

Our friends had let it be known that they were going into the
interior to prospect, look for historic relics and ruins, and
generally have a sort of vacation.

"For if it is even hinted that we are after the city of gold," said
Tom, "it would be all up with us. The whole population of Mexico
would follow us. So keep mum, everyone."

They all promised, and then they lent themselves to the task of
getting things in shape for travel. Eradicate was a big help, and
his cheerful good nature often lightened their toil.

At last all was in readiness, and with a caravan of six ox carts
(for the balloon and its accessories took up much space) they
started off, the Mexican drivers cracking their long whips, and
singing their strange songs.

"Ho, for the interior!" cried Ned gaily.

"Yes, we're off into the unknown all right," added Tom grimly, "and
there's no telling when we'll get back, if we ever will, should the
head-hunters get after us."

"Bless my collar and tie! Don't talk that way. It gives me the cold
shivers!" protested Mr. Damon.

CHAPTER XIII

FOLLOWED

"Well, this is something like it!" exclaimed Ned as he sat in front
of the campfire, flourishing a sandwich in one hand, and in the
other a tin cup of coffee.

"It sure is," agreed Tom. "But I say, old man, would you just as
soon wave your coffee the other way? You're spilling it all over
me."

"Excuse me!" laughed Ned. "I'll be more careful in the future. Mr.
Damon will you have a little more of these fried beans--tortillas or
frijoles or whatever these Mexicans call 'em. They're not bad. Pass
your plate, Mr. Damon."

"Bless my eyelashes!" exclaimed the odd man. "Water, please, quick!"
and he clapped his hand over his mouth.

"What's the matter?" demanded Tom.

"Too much red pepper! I wish these Mexicans wouldn't put so much of
it in. Water!"

Mr. Damon hastily swallowed a cup of the liquid which Ned passed to
him.

"I spects dat was my fault," put in Eradicate, who did the cooking
for the three whites, while the Mexicans had their own. "I were just
a little short ob some ob dem funny fried beans, an' I took some
from ober dere," and the colored man nodded toward the Mexican
campfire. "Den I puts some red pepper in 'em, an' I done guess
somebody'd put some in afo' I done it."

"I should say they had!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, drinking more water.
"I don't see how those fellows stand it," and he looked to where the
Mexican ox drivers were eagerly devouring the highly-spiced food.

It was the second day of their trip into the interior, and they had
halted for dinner near a little stream of good water that flowed
over a grassy plain. So far their trip had been quite enjoyable. The
ox teams were fresh and made good time, the drivers were capable and
jolly, and there was plenty of food. Tom had brought along a supply
especially for himself and his friends, for they did not relish the
kind the Mexican drivers ate, though occasionally the gold-seekers
indulged in some of the native dishes.

"This is lots of fun," Ned remarked again, when Mr. Damon had been
sufficiently cooled off. "Don't you think so, Tom?"

"Indeed I do. I don't know how near we are to the place we're
looking for, nor even if we're going in the right direction, but I
like this sort of life."

"How long Massa Tom, befo' dat gold--" began Eradicate.

"Hush!" interrupted the young inventor quickly, raising a hand of
caution, and glancing toward the group of Mexicans. He hoped they
had not heard the word the colored man so carelessly used, for it
had been the agreed policy to keep the nature of their search a
secret. But at the mention of "gold" Miguel Delazes, the head ox
driver, locked up quickly, and sauntered over to where Tom and the
others were seated on the grass. This Delazes was a Mexican labor
contractor, and it was through him that Tom had hired the other men
and the ox carts.

"Ah, senors!" exclaimed Delazes as he approached, "I fear you are
going in the wrong direction to reach the gold mines. If I had known
at the start--"

"We're not looking for gold mines!" interrupted Tom quickly. He did
not like the greedy look in the eyes of Delazes, a look that flared
out at the mention of gold--a look that was crafty and full of
cunning.

"Not looking for gold mines!" the contractor repeated incredulously.
"Surely I heard some one say something about gold," and he looked at
Eradicate.

"Oh, you mustn't mind what Rad says," cried Tom laughing, and he
directed a look of caution at the colored man. "Rad is always
talking about gold; aren't you, Rad?"

"I 'spects I is, Massa Tom. I shore would laik t' find a gold mine,
dat's what I would."

"I guess that's the case with all of us," put in Ned.

"Rad, get the things packed up," directed Tom quickly. "We've had
enough to eat and I want to make a good distance before we camp for
the night." He wanted to get the colored man busy so the Mexican
would have no chance to further question him.

"Surely the senors are not going to start off again at once--
immediately!" protested Delazes. "We have not yet taken the siesta--
the noon-day sleep, and--"

"We're going to cut out the siestas on this trip," interposed Tom.
"We don't want to stay here too long. We want to find some good
ruins that we can study, and the sooner we find them the better."

"Ah, then it is but to study--to photograph ruined cities and get
relics, that the senors came to Mexico?"

Once more that look of cunning came in the Mexican's eyes.

"That's about it," answered Tom shortly. He did not want to
encourage too much familiarity on the part of the contractor. "So,
no siestas if you please, Senor Delazes. We can all siesta to-
night."

"Ah, you Americanos!" exclaimed the Mexican with a shrug of his
shoulders. He stroked his shiny black moustache. "You are ever so on
the alert! Always moving. Well, be it so, we will travel on--to the
ruined city--if we can find one," and he gave Tom a look that the
latter could not quite understand.

It was hot--very hot--but Tom noticed that about a mile farther on,
the trail led into a thick jungle of trees, where it would be shady,
and make the going more comfortable.

"We'll be all right when we get there," he said to the others.

It was not with very good grace that the Mexicans got their ox teams
ready. They had not objected very much when, on the day before Tom
had insisted on starting off right after the mid-day meal, but now
when it seemed that it was going to be a settled policy to omit the
siesta, or noon sleep, there was some grumbling.

"They may make trouble for us, Tom," said in a low voice. "Maybe
you'd better give in to them."

"Not much!" exclaimed the young inventor. "If I do they'll want to
sleep all the while, and we'll never get any where. We're going to
keep on. They won't kick after the first few times, and if they try
any funny business--well, we're well armed and they aren't," and he
looked at his own rifle, and Ned's. Mr. Damon also carried one, and
Eradicate had a large revolver which he said he preferred to a gun.
Each of our white friends also carried an automatic pistol and
plenty of ammunition.

"I took care not to let the Mexicans have any guns," Tom went on.
"It isn't safe."

"I'll wager that they've got knives and revolvers tucked away
somewhere in their clothes," spoke Ned.

"Bless my tackhammer!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why do you say such blood-
curdling things Ned? You make me shiver!"

In a little while they took up the trail again, the ox carts moving
along toward the comparatively cool woods. Our friends had a cart to
themselves, one fitted with padded seats, which somewhat made up for
the absence of springs, and Eradicate was their driver. Tom had made
this arrangement so they might talk among themselves without fear of
being overheard by the Mexicans. At first Senor Delazes had
suggested that one of his own drivers pilot Tom's cart, saying:

"I know what the senors fear--that their language may be listened
to, but I assure you that this man understands no English, do you,
Josef?" he asked the man in question, using the Spanish.

The man shook his head, but a quick look passed between him and his
employer.

"Oh, I guess we'll let Rad drive," insisted Tom calmly, "it will
remind him of his mule Boomerang that he left behind."

"As the senor will," Delazes had replied with a shrug of his
shoulders, and he turned away. So it was that Tom, Ned and Mr.
Damon, in their own cart, piloted by the colored man, were in the
rear of the little cavalcade.

"Have you any idea where you are going, Tom?" asked Ned, after they
had reached the shade, when it was not such a task to talk.

"Oh, I have a good general idea," replied the young inventor. "I've
studied the map Mr. Illingway sent, and according to that the city
of--well, you know the place we're looking for--lies somewhere
between Tampico and Zacatecas, and which the plain of the ruined
temple which used to be near the ancient city of Poltec, is about a
hundred and fifty miles north of the city of Mexico. So I'm heading
for there, as near as I can tell. We ought to fetch it in about a
week at this rate."

"And what are we to do when we get there?" inquired Mr. Damon. "If
we keep on to that place where the images are to be found, with this
rascally crew of Mexicans, there won't be much gold for us." He had
spoken in low tones, though the nearest Mexican cart was some
distance ahead.

"I don't intend to take them all the way with us," said Tom. "When I
think we are somewhere near the temple plain I'm going to make the
Mexicans go into camp. Then we'll put the balloon together and we
four will go off in that. When we find what we're looking for we'll
go back, pick up the Mexicans, and make for the coast."

"If the head-hunters let us," put in Ned grimly.

"Bless my nail file! There you go again!" cried Mr. Damon.
"Positively, Ned, you get on my nerves."

"Yais, Massa Ned, an' _I_ jest wish yo' wouldn't mention dem head
gen'men no mo'," added Eradicate. "I can't drive straight when I
hears yo' say dem words, an' goodness knows dese oxes is wusser t'
drive dan my mule Boomerang."

"All right I'll keep still," agreed Ned, and then he and Tom,
together with Mr. Damon, studied the map, trying to decide whether
or not they were on the proper trail.

They made a good distance that day, and went into camp that night
near the foot of some low hills.

"It will be cooler traveling to-morrow," said Tom. "We will be up
higher, and though we'll have to go slower on account of the up
grade, it will be better for all of us."

They found the trail quite difficult the next day, as there were
several big hills to climb. It was toward evening, and they were
looking for a good place to camp for the night, when Delazes, who
was riding in the first cart, was observed to jump down and hasten
to the rear.

"I wonder what he wants?" spoke Tom, as he noted the approaching
figure.

"Probably he's going to suggest that we take a few days' vacation,"
ventured Ned. "He doesn't like work."

"Senor," began Delazes addressing Tom, who called to Eradicate to
bring his oxen to a halt, "are you aware that we are being
followed?"

"Followed? What do you mean?" cried the young inventor, looking
quickly around.

"Bless my watch chain!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Followed? By whom?" He,
too, looked around, as did Ned, but the path behind them was
deserted.

"When last we doubled on our own trail, to make the ascent of the
big hill a little easier," on the Mexican, "I saw, on the road below
us two ox carts, such as are hired out to prospectors or relic
seekers like yourself. At first I thought nothing of it. That was
early this morning. When we stopped for dinner, once more having to
double, I had another view of the trail, I saw the same two carts.
And now, when we are about to camp, the same two carts are there."

He pointed below, for the caravan was on quite an elevation now, and
down on the faint trail, which was in plain view, for it wound up
the mountain like a corkscrew, were two ox carts, moving slowly
along.

"They are the same ones," went on Delazes, "and they have been
following us all day--perhaps longer--though this is the first I
have noted them."

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