“He’s seen some game!” exclaimed Tom, jumping up, and preparing to follow his friend.  But he did not have the chance.  An instant later Mr. Damon burst through the bushes with every appearance of fright, his gun held above his head with one hand, and his pith helmet swaying to and fro in the other.

“They’re coming!” he cried to Tom.

“Who, the red pygmies?”

“No, but a couple of rhinoceroses are after me.  I wounded one, and he and his mate are right behind.  Don’t let them catch me, Tom!”

Mr. Damon was very much alarmed, and there was good occasion for it, as Tom saw a moment later, for two fierce rhinoceroses burst out of the jungle almost on the heels of the fleeing man.

Thought was not quicker than Tom Swift.  He raised his deadly rifle, and pressed the button.  A charge of wireless electricity shot toward the foremost animal, and it was dropped in its tracks.  The other came on woofing and snorting with rage.  It was the one Mr. Damon had slightly wounded.

“Come on!” yelled the young inventor, for his friend was in front of the beast, and in range with the rifle.  “Jump to one side, Mr. Damon.”

Mr. Damon tried, but his foot slipped, and there was no need for jumping.  He fell and rolled over.  The rhinoceros swerved toward him, with the probable intention of goring the prostrate man with the formidable horn, but it had no chance.  Once more the young inventor fired, this time with a heavier charge, and the animal instantly toppled over dead.

“Are you hurt?” asked Tom anxiously, as he ran to his friend.  Mr. Damon got up slowly.  He felt all over himself, and then answered: 

“No, Tom, I guess I’m not hurt, except in my dignity.  Never again will I fire at a sleeping rhinoceros unless you are with me.  I had a narrow escape,” and he shook Tom’s hand heartily.

“Did you see any orchids?” asked the lad with a smile.

“No, those beasts didn’t give me a chance!  Bless my tape measure! but they’re big fellows!”

Indeed they were fine specimens, and there was the usual rejoicing among the natives when they brought in the great bodies, pulling them to the village with ropes made of vines.

After this Mr. Damon was careful not to go into the jungle alone, nor, in fact, did any of our friends so venture.  Mr. Durban said it was not safe.

They remained a full week in the native village, and received no news.  In fact, all but one of the hunters came back to report that there was no sign of the red pygmies in that neighborhood.

“Well, I guess we might as well move on, and see what we can do ourselves,” said Mr. Durban.

“Let’s wait until the last hunter comes back,” suggested Tom.  “He may bring word.”

“Some of his friends think he’ll never come back,” remarked Mr. Anderson.

“Why not?” asked Ned.

“They think he has been killed by some wild beast.”