“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!”