Suddenly a loud, deep voice broke upon them, coming from the rocks over the cave entrance.

“White men must leave this mountain!” cried the voice.  “This country belongs to the Bumwos.  White man has no right here!  Go!  Go before it is too late!”

“Who is that who speaks?” demanded Randolph Rover.

“I am King Susko, chief of the Bumwos.”

“Will you come and have a talk with us?”

“No want to talk.  Want the white man to leave,” answered the African chief, talking in fairly good English.

“We do not wish to quarrel with you, King Susko; but you will find it best for you if you will grant us an interview,” went on Randolph Rover.

“The white man must go away from this mountain.  I will not talk with him,” replied the African angrily.

“Do you know why we are here?”

“To rob the Bumwos of their gold.”

“No; we are looking for a lost man, one who came to this country years ago and one who was your prisoner —­”

“The white man is no longer here —­ he went home long time ago.”

“We do not believe you!” cried Tom.  “You have him a prisoner, and unless you deliver him up you shall suffer dearly for it.”

This threat evidently angered the African chief greatly, for suddenly a spear was launched at the boy, which pierced Tom’s shoulder.

As Tom went down, a shout went up from the rocks, and suddenly a dozen or more Bumwos appeared, shaking their spears and acting as if they meant to rush down on the party below without further warning.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE VILLAGE ON THE MOUNTAIN

“Tom is wounded!” shouted Sam.  He ran to his brother, to find the blood flowing freely over Tom’s shoulder.  “Is it bad?” he asked.

“I —­ I guess not,” answered Tom with a gasp of pain.  Then, as full of pluck as usual, Tom raised his pistol and fired, hitting one of the Bumwos in the breast and sending him to the rear, seriously wounded.

It was evident that Cujo had been mistaken and that there were far more of their enemies around the mountain than they had anticipated.  From behind the Rover expedition a cry arose, telling that more of the natives were coming from that direction.

“We are being hemmed in,” said Dick Chester nervously.  “Perhaps we had better retreat.”

“No, let us make a stand,” came from Rand.  “I think a concerted volley from our pistols and guns will check their movements.”

“Dat’s de talk!” cried Aleck.  “Give it to ’em hot!”

It was decided to await the closer approach of the Bumwos, and each of the party improved the next minute in seeing to it that his weapon was ready for use.

Suddenly a blood-curdling yell arose on the sultry air, and the Bumwos were seen to be approaching from two directions, at right angles to each other.