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Title: Tom Swift in the City of Gold

Author: Victor Appleton

Release Date: December, 2003 [Etext #4711]
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[This file was first posted on March 6, 2002]

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Tom Swift In The City Of Gold

or

Marvelous Adventures Underground

by Victor Appleton

AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS
AIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS
ELECTRIC RIFLE," ETC.




ILLUSTRATED




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

     I   WONDERFUL NEWS
    II   AN UNSUSPECTED LISTENER
   III   ANDY IS WHITEWASHED
    IV   A PERILOUS FLIGHT
     V   NEWS FROM AFRICA
    VI   "BEWARE THE HEAD-HUNTERS!"
   VII   TOM MAKES A PROMISE
  VIII   ERADICATE WILL GO
    IX   "THAT LOOKED LIKE ANDY!"
     X   MYSTERIOUS PASSENGERS
    XI   THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
   XII   INTO THE UNKNOWN
  XIII   FOLLOWED
   XIV   A WEARY SEARCH
    XV   THE GOLDEN IMAGE
   XVI   THE MAP ON THE GOLD
  XVII   THE RUINED TEMPLE
 XVIII   FINDING THE TUNNEL
   XIX   THE UNDERGROUND RIVER
    XX   THE CITY OF GOLD
   XXI   THE BIG IMAGE
  XXII   TRAPPED
 XXIII   "IS IT A RESCUE?"
  XXIV   THE FIGHT
   XXV   THE ESCAPE--CONCLUSION




TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD




CHAPTER I

WONDERFUL NEWS


"Letter for you, Tom Swift."

"Ah, thanks, Mr. Wilson. This is the first mail I've had this week.
You've been neglecting me," and the young inventor took the missive
which the Shopton postman handed to him over the gate, against which
Tom was leaning one fine, warm Spring day.

"Well, I get around as often as I can, Tom. You're not home a great
deal, you know. When you're not off in your sky racer seeing how
much you can beat the birds, you're either hunting elephants in
Africa, or diving down under the ocean, or out in a diamond mine, or
some such out-of-the-way place as that. No wonder you don't get many
letters. But that one looks as if it had come quite a distance."

"So it does," agreed Tom, looking closely at the stamp and postmark.
"What do you make out of it, Mr. Wilson?" and then, just as many
other persons do when getting a strange letter, instead of opening
it to see from whom it has come, Tom tried to guess by looking at
the handwriting, and trying to decipher the faint postmark. "What
does that say?" and the young inventor pointed to the black stamp.

"Hum, looks like Jube--no, that first letter's a 'K' I guess," and
Mr. Wilson turned it upside down, thinking that would help.

"I made it out a 'G'," said Tom.

"So it is. A 'G'--you're right. Gumbo--Twamba--that's what it is--
Gumba Twamba. I can make it out now all right."

"Well, where, for the love of my old geography, is Gumba Twamba?"
asked the lad with a laugh.

"You've got me, Tom. Must be in Sweden, or Holland, or some of those
foreign countries. I don't often handle letters from there, so I
can't say. Why don't you open your letter and find out who its
from?"

"That's what I ought to have done at first." Quickly Tom ripped open
the much worn and frayed envelope, through the cracks of which some
parts of the letter already could be seen, showing that it had
traveled many thousand miles before it got to the village of
Shopton, in New York State.

"Well, I've got to be traveling on," remarked the postman, as Tom
started to read the mysterious letter. "I'm late as it is. You can
tell me the news when I pass again, Tom."

But the young inventor did not reply. He was too much engaged in
reading the missive, for, no sooner had he perused the first few
lines than his eyes began to open wide in wonder, and his manner
plainly indicated his surprise. He read the letter once, and then
over again, and when he had finished it a second time, he made a
dash for the house.

"I say dad!" cried Tom. "This is great! Great news here! Where are
you, dad? Say, Mrs. Baggert," he called as he saw the motherly
housekeeper, "where's father? I've got great news for him? Where is
he?"

"Out in the shop, I think. I believe Mr. Damon is with him."

"And blessing everything as usual, from his hat to his shoe laces,
I'll wager," murmured Tom as he made his war to the shop where his
father, also an inventor like himself, spent much of his time.
"Well, well, I'm glad Mr. Damon is here, for he'll be interested in
this."

Tom fairly rushed into the building, much of the space of which, was
taken up by machinery, queer tools and odd devices, many of them
having to do with the manufacture of aeroplanes, for Tom had as many
of them as some people have of automobiles.

"I say, dad!" cried Tom, waving the letter above his head, "what do
you think of this? Listen to--"

"Easy there now, Tom! Easy, my boy, or you'll oblige me to do all my
work over again," and an aged man, beside whom a younger one was
standing, held up a hand of caution, while with the other hand he
was adjusting some delicate piece of machinery.

"What are you doing?" demanded the son.

"Bless my scarf pin!" exclaimed the other man--Mr. Wakefield Damon--
"Bless my rubbers, Tom Swift! What SHOULD your father be doing but
inventing something new, as he always is. I guess he's working on
his new gyroscope, though it is only a guess, for he hasn't said ten
words to me since I came out to talk to him. But that's like all
inventors, they--"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Damon," spoke Mr. Swift with a smile, "I'm
sure--"

"Say, can't you listen to me for five minutes?" pleaded Tom. "I've
got some great news--simply great, and your gyroscope can wait, dad.
Listen to this letter," and he prepared to read it.

"Who's it from?" asked Mr. Damon.

"Mr. Jacob Illingway, the African missionary whom you and I rescued,
together with his wife, from the red pigmies!" cried Tom. "Think of
that! Of all persons to get a letter from, and SUCH a letter! SUCH
news in it. Why, it's simply great! You remember Mr. and Mrs.
Illingway; don't you Mr. Damon? How we went to Africa after
elephant's tusks, with Mr. Durban the hunter, and how we got the
missionaries away from those little savages in my airship--don't you
remember?"

"I should say I did!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain--
but they were regular imps--the red Pygmies I mean, not the
missionaries. But what is Mr. Illingway writing to you about now,
Tom? I know he sent you several letters since we came back from
Africa. What's the latest news?"

"I'll tell you," replied the young inventor, sitting down on a
packing box. "It would take too long to read the letter so I'll sum
it up, and you can go over it later."

"To be brief, Mr. Illingway tells of a wonderful golden image that
is worshiped by a tribe of Africans in a settlement not far from
Gumba Twamba, where he is stationed. It's an image of solid gold--"

"Solid gold!" interrupted Mr. Swift.

"Yes, dad, and about three feet high," went on Tom, referring to the
letter to make sure. "It's heavy, too, no hollows in it, and these
Africans regard it as a god. But that's not the strangest part of
it. Mr. Illingway goes on to say that there is no gold in that part
of Africa, and for a time he was at a loss how to account for the
golden image. He made some inquiries and learned that it was once
the property of a white traveler who made his home with the tribe
that now worships the image of gold. This traveler, whose name Mr.
Illingway could not find out, was much liked by the Africans. He
taught them many things, doctored them when they were sick, and they
finally adopted him into the tribe."

"It seems that he tried to make them better, and wanted them to
become Christians, but they clung to their own beliefs until he
died. Then, probably thinking to do his memory honor, they took the
golden image, which was among his possessions, and set it up as a
god."

"Bless my hymn book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "What did they do that
for?"

"This white man thought a great deal of the image," said Tom, again
referring to the letter, "and the Africans very likely imagined
that, as he was so good to them, some of his virtues had passed into
the gold. Then, too, they may have thought it was part of his
religion, and as he had so often wanted them to adopt his beliefs,
they reasoned out that they could now do so, by worshiping the
golden god."

"Anyhow, that's what they did, and the image is there to-day, in
that far-off African village. But I haven't got to the real news
yet. The image of solid gold is only a part of it."

"Before this traveler died he told some of the more intelligent
natives that the image had come from a far-off underground city--a
regular city of gold--nearly everything in it that was capable of
being made of metal, being constructed of the precious yellow gold.
The golden image was only one of a lot more like it, some smaller
and some larger--"

"Not larger, Tom, not larger, surely!" interrupted Mr. Swift. "Why,
my boy, think of it! An image of solid gold, bigger even than this
one Mr. Illingway writes of, which he says is three feet high. Why,
if there are any larger they must be nearly life size, and think of
a solid gold statue as large as a man--it would weigh--well, I'm
afraid, to say how much, and be worth--why, Tom, it's impossible. It
would be worth millions--all the wealth of a world must be in the
underground city. It's impossible Tom, my boy!"

"Well, that may be," agreed Tom. "I'm not saying it's true. Mr.
Illingway is telling only what he heard."

"Go on! Tell some more," begged Mr. Damon. "Bless my shirt studs,
this is getting exciting!"

"He says that the traveler told of this underground city of gold,"
went on Tom, "though he had never been there himself. He had met a
native who had located it, and who had brought out some of the gold,
including several of the images, and one he gave to the white man in
return for some favor. The white man took it to Africa with him."

"But where is this underground city, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Doesn't
Mr. Illingway give you any idea of its location."

"He says it is somewhere in Mexico," explained the lad. "The
Africans haven't a very good idea of geography, but some of the
tribesmen whom the white traveler taught, could draw rude maps, and
Mr. Illingway had a native sketch one for him, showing as nearly as
possible where the city of gold is located."

"Tom Swift, have you got that map?" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. "Bless
my pocketbook, but--"

"I have it!" said Tom quietly, taking from the envelope a piece of
paper covered with rough marks. "It isn't very good, but--"

"Bless my very existence!" cried the excitable man. "But you're not
going to let such a chance as this slip past; are you Tom? Are you
going to hunt for that buried city of gold?"

"I certainly am," answered the young inventor quietly.

"Tom! You're not going off on another wild expedition?" asked Mr.
Swift anxiously.

"I'm afraid I'll have to," answered his son with a smile.

"Go? Of course he'll go!" burst out Mr. Damon. "And I'm going with
him; can't I, Tom?"

"Surely. The reason Mr. Illingway sent me the letter was to tell me
about the city of gold. He thought, after my travels in Africa, that
to find a buried city in Mexico would be no trouble at all, I
suppose. Anyhow he suggests that I make the attempt, and--"

"Oh, but, Tom, just when I am perfecting my gyroscope!" exclaimed
Mr. Swift. "I need your help."

"I'll help you when I come back, dad. I want to get some of this
gold."

"But we are rich enough, Tom."

"It isn't so much the money, dad. Listen. There is another part to
the letter. Mr. Illingway says that in that underground city,
according to the rumor among the African natives, there is not only
gold in plenty, and a number of small gold statues, but one immense
big one--of solid gold, as large as three men, and there is some
queer mystery about it, so that white traveler said. A mystery he
wanted to solve but could not."

"So, dad, I'm going to search for that underground city, not only
for the mere gold, but to see if I can solve the mystery of the big
gold statue. And if I could bring it away," cried Tom in great
excitement as he waved the missionary's letter above his head, "it
would be one of the wonders of the world--dad, for, not only is it
very valuable, but it is most beautifully carved."

"Well, I might as well give up my gyroscope work until you come back
from the city of gold, Tom, I can see that," said Mr. Swift, with a
faint smile. "And if you go, I hope you come back. I don't want that
mysterious image to be the undoing of you."

"Oh, I'll come back all right!" cried Tom confidently. "Ho! for the
city of gold and the images thereof! I'm going to get ready to
start!"

"And so am I!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe strings, Tom, but I'm
with you! I certainly am!" and the little man excitedly shook hands
with Tom Swift, while the aged inventor looked on and nodded his
head doubtfully. But Tom was full of hope.




CHAPTER II

AN UNSUSPECTED LISTENER


For a few moments after Tom Swift had announced his decision to
start for the city of gold, and Mr. Damon had said he would
accompany the young inventor, there was a silence in the workshop.
Then Mr. Swift laid aside the delicate mechanism of the new model
gyroscope on which he had been working, came over to his son, and
said:

"Well, Tom, if you're going, that means you're going--I know enough
to predict that. I rather wish you weren't, for I'm afraid no good
will come of this."

"Now, dad, don't be talking that way!" cried Tom gaily. "Pack up and
come along with us." Lovingly he placed his arm around the bent
shoulders of his father.

"No, Tom, I'm too old. Home is the place for me."

"Bless my arithmetic tables!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "you're not so
much older than I am, and I'm going with Tom. Come on, Mr. Swift."

"No, I can't put up with dangers, hardship and excitement as I used
to. I'd better stay home. Besides, I want to perfect my new
gyroscope. I'll work on that while you and Tom are searching for the
city of gold. But, Tom, if you're going you'd better have something
more definite to look for than an unknown city, located on a map
drawn by some African bushman."

"I intend to, dad. I guess when Mr. Illingway wrote his letter he
didn't really think I'd take him up, and make the search. I'm going
to write and ask him if he can't get me a better map, and also learn
more about the location of the city. Mexico isn't such a very large
place, but it would be if you had to hunt all over it for a buried
city, and this map isn't a lot of help," and Tom who had shown it to
his father and Mr. Damon looked at it closely.

"If we're going, we want all the information we can get," declared
the odd man. "Bless my gizzard, Tom, but this may mean a lot to us!"

"I think it will," agreed the young inventor. "I'm going to write to
Mr. Illingway at once, and ask for all the information he can get."

"And I'll help you with suggestions," spoke Mr. Damon. "Come on in
the house, Tom. Bless my ink bottle, but we're going to have some
adventures again!"

"It seems to me that is about all Tom does--have adventures--that
and invent flying machines," said Mr. Swift with a smile, as his son
and their visitor left the shop. Then he once more bent over his
gyroscope model, while Tom and Mr. Damon hurried in to write the
letter to the African missionary.

And while this is being done I am going to ask your patience for a
little while--my old readers, I mean--while I tell my new friends,
who have never yet met Tom Swift, something about him.

Mr. Swift spoke truly when he said his son seemed to do nothing but
seek adventures and invent flying machines. Of the latter the lad
had a goodly number, some of which involved new and startling ideas.
For Tom was a lad who "did things."

In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His
Motor Cycle," I told you how he became acquainted with Mr. Damon.
That eccentric individual was riding a motor cycle, when it started
to climb a tree. Mr. Damon was thrown off in front of Tom's house,
somewhat hurt, and the young inventor took him in. Tom and his
father lived in the village of Shopton, New York, and Mr. Swift was
an inventor of note. His son followed in his footsteps. Mrs. Swift
had been dead some years, and they had a good housekeeper, Mrs.
Baggert.

Another "member" of the family was Eradicate Sampson, a colored man
of all work, who said he was named "Eradicate" because he
"eradicated" the dirt. He used to do odd jobs of whitewashing before
he was regularly employed by Mr. Swift as a sort of gardener and
watchman.

In the first book I told how Tom bought the motor cycle from Mr.
Damon, fixed it up, and had many adventures on it, not the least of
which was saving some valuable patent models of his father's which
some thieves had taken.

Then Tom Swift got a motor boat, as related in the second volume of
the series, and he had many exciting trips in that craft. Following
that he made his first airship with the help of a veteran balloonist
and then, not satisfied with adventures in the air, he and his
father perfected a wonderful submarine boat in which they went under
the ocean for sunken treasure.

The automobile industry was fast forging to the front when Tom came
back from his trip under water, and naturally he turned his
attention to that. But he made an electric car instead of one that
was operated by gasolene, and it proved to be the speediest car on
the road.

The details of Tom Swift and his wireless message will be found in
the book of that title. It tells how he saved the castaways of
Earthquake Island, and among them was Mr. Nestor, the father of
Mary, a girl whom Tom thought--but there, I'm not going to be mean,
and tell on a good fellow. You can guess what I'm hinting at, I
think.

It was when Tom went to get Mary Nestor a diamond ring that he fell
in with Mr. Barcoe Jenks, who eventually took Tom off on a search
for the diamond makers, and he and Tom, with some friends,
discovered the secret of Phantom Mountain.

One would have thought that these adventures would have been enough
for Tom Swift, but, like Alexander, he sighed for new worlds to
conquer. How he went to the caves of ice in search of treasure, and
how his airship was wrecked is told in the eighth volume of the
series, and in the next is related the details of his swift sky-
racer, in which he and Mr. Damon made a wonderfully fast trip, and
brought a doctor to Mr. Swift in time to save the life of the aged
inventor.

It was when Tom invented a wonderful electric rifle, and went to
Africa with a Mr. Durban, a great hunter, to get elephants' tusks,
that he rescued Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, the missionaries, who were
held captive by red pygmies.

That was a startling trip, and full of surprises. Tom took with him
to the dark continent a new airship, the Black Hawk, and but for
this he and his friends never would have escaped from the savages
and the wild beasts.

As it was, they had a hazardous time getting the missionary and his
wife away from the jungle. It was this same missionary who, as told
in the first chapter of this book, sent Tom the letter about the
city of gold. Mr. Illingway and his wife wanted to stay in Africa in
an endeavor to christianize the natives, even after their terrible
experience. So Tom landed them at a white settlement. It was from
there that the letter came.

But the missionaries were not the only ones whom Tom saved from the
red pygmies. Andy Foger, a Shopton youth, was Tom's enemy, and he
had interfered with our hero's plans in his trips. He even had an
airship made, and followed Tom to Africa. There Andy Foger and his
companion, a German were captured by the savages. But though Tom
saved his life, Andy did not seem to give over annoying the young
inventor. Andy was born mean, and, as Eradicate Sampson used to say,
"dat meanness neber will done git whitewashed outer him--dat's a
fack!"

But if Andy Foger was mean to Tom, there was another Shopton lad who
was just the reverse. This was Ned Newton, who was Tom's particular
chum, Ned had gone with our hero on many trips, including the one to
Africa after elephants. Mr. Damon also accompanied Tom many times,
and occasionally Eradicate went along on the shorter voyages. But
Eradicate was getting old, like Mr. Swift, who, of late years, had
not traveled much with his son.

When I add that Tom still continued to invent things, that he was
always looking for new adventures, that he still cared very much for
Mary Nestor, and thought his father the best in the world, and liked
Mr. Damon and Ned Newton above all his other acquaintances, except
perhaps Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, I think perhaps I have said
enough about him; and now I will get back to the story.

I might add, however, that Andy Foger, who had been away from
Shopton for some time, had now returned to the village, and had
lately been seen by Tom, riding around in a powerful auto. The sight
of Andy did not make the young inventor feel any happier.

"Well, Tom, I think that will do," remarked Mr. Damon when, after
about an hour's work, they had jointly written a letter to the
African missionary.

"We've asked him enough questions, anyhow," agreed the lad. "If he
answers all of them we'll know more about the city of gold, and
where it is, than we do now."

"Exactly," spoke the odd man. "Now to mail the letter, and wait for
an answer. It will take several weeks, for they don't have good mail
service to that part of Africa. I hope Mr. Illingway sends us a
better map."

"So do I," assented Tom. "But even with the one we have I'd take a
chance and look for the underground city."

"I'll mail the letter," went on Mr. Damon, who was as eager over the
prospective adventure as was Tom. "I'm going back home to Waterfield
I think. My wife says I stay here too much."

"Don't be in a hurry," urged Tom. "Can't you stay to supper? I'll
take you home to-night in the sky racer. I want to talk more about
the city of gold, and plan what we ought to take with us to Mexico."

"All right," agreed Mr. Damon. "I'll stay, but I suppose I
shouldn't. But let's mail the letter."

It was after supper, when, the letter having been posted, that Tom,
his father and Mr. Damon were discussing the city of gold.

"Will you go, even if Mr. Illingway can't send a better map?" asked
Mr. Damon.

"Sure" exclaimed Tom. "I want to get one of the golden images if I
have to hunt all over the Aztec country for it."

"Who's talking of golden images?" demanded a new voice, and Tom
looked up quickly, to see Ned Newton, his chum, entering the room.
Ned had come in unannounced, as he frequently did.

"Hello, old stock!" cried Tom affectionately. "Sir, there's great
news. It's you and me for the city of gold now!"

"Get out! What are you talking about?"

Then Tom had to go into details, and explain to Ned all about the
great quantity of gold that might be found in the underground city.

"You'll come along, won't you, Ned?" finished the young inventor.
"We can't get along without you. Mr. Damon is going, and Eradicate
too, I guess. We'll have a great time."

"Well, maybe I can fix it so I can go," agreed Ned, slowly, "I'd
like it, above all things. Where did you say that golden city was?"

"Somewhere about the central part of Mexico, near the city of--"

"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Ned, holding up a hand to caution Tom to
silence.

"What is it?" asked the young inventor in a whisper.

"Some one is coming along the hall," replied Ned in a low voice.

They all listened intently. There was no doubt but that some one was
approaching along the corridor leading to the library where the
conference was being held.

"Oh, it's only Mrs. Baggert," remarked Tom a moment later, relief
showing in his voice. "I know her step."

There was a tap on the door, and the housekeeper pushed it open, for
it had been left ajar. She thrust her head in and remarked:

"I guess you've forgotten, Mr. Swift, that Andy Foger is waiting for
you in the next room. He has a letter for you."

"Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Here."

"That's so, I forgot all about him!" exclaimed Mr. Swift jumping up.
"It slipped my mind. I let him in a while ago, before we came in the
library, and he's probably been sitting in the parlor ever since. I
thought he wanted to see you, Tom, so I told him to wait. And I
forgot all about him. You'd better see what he wants."

"Andy Foger there--in the next room," murmured Tom. "He's been there
some time. I wonder how much he heard about the city of gold?"




CHAPTER III

ANDY IS WHITEWASHED


The parlor where Mr. Swift had asked Andy to wait, adjoined the
library, and there was a connecting door, over which heavy curtains
were draped. Tom quickly pulled them aside and stepped into the
parlor. The connecting door had been open slightly, and in a flash
the young inventor realized that it was perfectly possible for any
one in the next room to have heard most of the talk about the city
of gold.

A glance across the room showed Andy seated on the far side,
apparently engaged in reading a book.

"Did you want to see me?" asked Tom sharply. His father and the
others in the library listened intently. Tom wondered what in the
world Andy could want of him, since the two were never in good tame,
and Andy cherished a resentment even since our hero had rescued him
from the African jungle.

"No, I didn't come to see you," answered Andy quickly, laying aside
the book and rising to face Tom.

"Then what--"

"I came to see your father," interrupted the red-haired bully. "I
have a letter for him from my father; but I guess Mr. Swift
misunderstood me when he let me in."

"Did you tell him you wanted to see me?" asked Tom suspiciously,
thinking Andy had made a mistatement in order to have a longer time
to wait.

"No, I didn't, but I guess your father must have been thinking about
something else, for he told me to come in here and sit down. I've
been waiting ever since, and just now Mrs. Baggert passed and saw
me. She--"

"Yes, she said you were here," spoke Tom significantly. "Well, then
it's my father you want to see. I'll tell him."

Tom hurried back to the library.

"Dad," he said, "it's you that Andy wants to see. He has a letter
from Mr. Foger for you."

"For me? What in the world can it be about? He never wrote to me
before. I must have misunderstood Andy. But then it's no wonder for
my head is so full of my new gyroscope plans. There is a certain
spring I can't seem to get right--"

"Perhaps you'd better see what Andy wants," suggested Mr. Damon
gently. He looked at Tom. They were both thinking of the same thing.

"I will," replied Mr. Swift quickly, and he passed into the library.

"I wonder how much Andy heard?" asked Ned, in a low voice.

"Oh, I don't believe it could have been very much," answered Tom.

"No, I stopped you just in time," rejoined his chum, "or you might
have blurted out the name of the city near where the buried gold
is."

"Yes, we must guard our secret well, Tom," put in Mr. Damon.

"Well, Andy couldn't have known anything about the letter I got,"
declared Tom, "and if he only heard snatched of our talk it won't do
him much good."

"The only trouble is he's been there long enough to have heard most
of it." suggested Ned. They could talk freely now, for in going into
the parlor Mr. Swift had tightly closed the door after him. They
could just hear the murmur of his voice speaking to Andy.

"Well, even if he does guess about the city of gold, and its
location, I don't believe he'll try to go there," remarked Tom,
after a pause.

A moment later they heard Mr. Swift letting Andy out of the front
door, and then the inventor rejoined his son and the others. He held
an open letter in his hand.

"This is strange--very strange," he murmured.

"What is it?" asked Tom quickly.

"Why. Mr. Foger has written to me asking to be allowed to sell some
of our patents and machines on commission."

"Sell them on commission!" exclaimed his son. "Why does a
millionaire like Mr. Foger want to be selling goods on commission?
It's only a trick!"

"No, it's not a trick," said Mr. Swift slowly. "He is in earnest.
Tom, Mr. Foger has lost his millions. His fortune has been swept
away by unfortunate investments, he tells me, and he would be glad
of any work I could give him. That's why Andy brought the letter to-
night. I just sent him back with an answer."

"What did you say, dad?"

"I said I'd think it over."

"Mr. Foger's millions gone," mused Tom.

"And Andy in there listening to what we said about the city of
gold," added Ned. "No wonder he was glad the door was open. He'd be
there in a minute, Tom, if he could, and so would Mr. Foger, if he
thought he could get rich. He wouldn't have to sell goods on
commission if he could pick up a few of the golden images."

"That's right," agreed Tom, with an uneasy air. "I wish I knew just
how much Andy had heard. But perhaps it wasn't much."

The time was to come, however, when Tom was to learn to his sorrow
that Andy Foger had overheard a great deal.

"Bless my bankbook!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I never dreamed of such a
thing! Andy had every reason in the world for not wanting us to know
he was in there! No wonder he kept quiet. I'll wager all the while
he was as close to the open door as he could get, hoping to overhear
about the location of the place, so he could help his father get
back his lost fortune. Bless my hatband! It's a good thing Mrs.
Baggert told us he was there."

They all agreed with this, and then, as there was no further danger
of being overheard, they resumed their talk about the city of gold.
It was decided that they would have to wait the arrival of another
letter from Mr. Illingway before starting for Mexico.

"Well, as long as that much is settled, I think I'd better be going
home," suggested Mr. Damon. "I know my wife will be anxious about
me."

"I'll get out the sky racer and you'll be in Waterford in a jiffy,"
said Tom, and he kept his word, for the speedy aeroplane carried him
and his guest rapidly through the night, bringing Tom safely back
home.

It was several days after this, during which time Tom and Ned had
had many talks about the proposed trip. They had figured on what
sort of a craft to use in the journey. Tom had about decided on a
small, but very powerful, dirigible balloon, that could be packed in
a small compass and taken along.

"This city may be in some mountain valley, and a balloon will be the
only way we can get to it," he told Ned.

"That's right," agreed his chum. "By the way, you haven't heard any
more about Andy; have you?"

"Not a thing. Haven't even seen him. None of us have."

"There goes Rad, I wonder if he's seen him."

"No, or he'd have mentioned it to me. Hey, Rad," Tom called to the
colored man, "what are you going to do?"

"Whitewash de back fence, Massa Tom. It's in a mos' disrupted state
ob disgrace. I'se jest natchally got t' whitewash it."

"All right, Rad, and when you get through come back here. I've got
another job for you."

"A'right, Massa Tom, I shorely will," and Rad limped off with his
pail of whitewash, and the long-handled brush.

It may have been fate that sent Andy Foger along the rear road a
little later, and past the place where Eradicate was making the
fence less "disrupted." It may have been fate or Andy may have just
been sneaking along to see if he could overhear anything of Tom's
plans--a trick of which he was frequently guilty. At any rate, Andy
walked, past where Eradicate was whitewashing. The colored man saw
the red-haired lad coming and murmured:

"Dere's dat no 'count white trash! I jest wish Massa Tom was hear
now. He'd jest natchally wallop Andy," and Eradicate moved his
longhandled brush up and down, as though he were coating the Foger
lad with the white stuff.

As it happened, Eradicate was putting some of the liquid on a
particularly rough spot in the fence, a spot low down, and this
naturally made the handle of his brush stick out over the sidewalk,
and at this moment Andy Foger got there.

"Here, you black rascal!" the lad angrily exclaimed. "What do you
mean by blocking the sidewalk that way? It's against the law, and I
could have you arrested for that."

"No, could yo' really now?" asked Eradicate drawlingly for he was
not afraid of Andy.

"Yes, I could, and don't you give me any of your back-talk! Get that
brush out of the way!" and Andy kicked the long handle.

The natural result followed. The other end of the brush, wet with
whitewash, described a curve through the air, coming toward the mean
bully. And as the blow of Andy's foot jarred the brush loose, the
next moment it fell right on Andy's head, the white liquid trickling
down on his clothes, for Eradicate was not a miser when it came to
putting on whitewash.

For a moment Andy could not speak. Then he burst out with:

"Hi! You did that on purpose! I'll have you in jail for that! Look
at my hat, it's ruined! Look at my clothes! They're ruined! Oh, I'll
make you pay for this!"

"Deed, it shore was a accident," said Eradicate, trying not to laugh.
"You done did it yo'se'f!"

"I did not! You did it on purpose; Tom Swift put you in on this!
I'll--I'll--"

But Andy had to stop and splutter for some of the lime ran down off
his hat into his mouth, and he yelled:

"I'll--I'll--Ouch! Phew! Woof! Oof! Oh!"

Then, in his rage, he made a blind rush for Eradicate. Now the
colored man had no fear of Andy, but he did not want the pail of
whitewash to upset, and the said pail was right in the path of the
advancing youth.

"Look out!" cried Eradicate.

"I'll make you look out!" spluttered Andy. "I'll thrash you for
this!"

Eradicate caught up his pail. He did not want to have the trouble of
mixing more of the liquid. Just as he lifted it Andy aimed a kick
for him. But he mis-calculated, and his foot struck the bottom of
the pail and sent it flying from the hands of the colored man. Sent
it flying right toward Andy himself, for Eradicate jumped back out
of the way.

And the next moment a veritable deluge of whitewash was sprayed and
splashed and splattered over Andy, covering him with the snowy
liquid from head to foot!




CHAPTER IV

A PERILOUS FLIGHT


There was silence for a moment--there had to be--for Eradicate was
doubled over with mirth and could not even laugh aloud, and as for
Andy the whitewash running down his face and over his mouth
effectually prevented speech. But the silence did not last long.

Just as Eradicate caught his breath, and let out a hearty laugh,
Andy succeeded in wiping some of the liquid from his face so that it
was safe to open his mouth. Then he fairly let out a roar of rage.

"I'll have you put in jail far that, Eradicate Sampson!" he cried.
"You've nearly killed me: You'll suffer for this! My father will sue
you for damages, too! Look at me! Look at me!"

"Dat's jest what I'se doin', honey! Jest what I'se doin'!" gasped
Eradicate, hardly able to speak from laughter. "Yo' suah am a most
contrary lookin' specimen! Yo' suah is! Ha! Ha!"

"Stop it!" commanded Andy. "Don't you dare laugh at me, after
throwing whitewash on me."

"I didn't throw no whitewash on you!" protested the colored man.
"Yo' done poured it over yo'se'f, dat's what yo' done did. An' I
jest cain't help laughin', honey. I jest natchally cain't! Yo' look
so mortally distressed, dat's what yo' does!"

Andy's rage might have been dangerous, but the very excess of it
rendered him incapable of doing anything. He was wild at Eradicate
and would willingly have attacked him, but the whitewash was
beginning to soak through his clothes, and he was so wet and
miserable that soon all the fight oozed out of him.

Then, too, though Eradicate was old, he was strong and he still held
the long handle of the whitewash brush, no unformidable weapon. So
Andy contented himself with verbal abuse. He called Eradicate all
the mean names he could think of, ending up with:

"You won't hear the last of this for a long time, either. I'll have
you, and your old rack of bones, your mule Boomerang, run out of
town, that's what I will."

"What's dat? Yo' all gwine t'hab Boomerang run out ob town?"
demanded Eradicate, a sudden change coming over him. His mule was
his most beloved possession. "Lemme tell yo' one thing, Massa Andy.
I'se an old colored man, an' I ain't much 'count mebby. But ef yo'
dare lay one finger on mah mule Boomerang, only jest one finger,
mind you', why I'll--I'll jest natchally drown yo'--all in
whitewash, dat's what I'll do!"

Eradicate drew himself up proudly, and boldly faced Andy. The bully
shrank back. He knew better than to arouse the colored man further.

"You'll suffer for this," predicted the bully. "For not going to
forget it. Tom Swift put you up to this, and I'll take it out of him
the next time I see him. He's to blame."

"Now looky heah, honey!" said Eradicate quick. "Doan't yo' all git
no sich notion laik dat in yo' head. Massa Tom didn't tell me to do
noth'in an I ain't. He ain't eben 'round yeh. An' annudder thing.
Yo'se t' blame to' this yo' own se'f. Ef yo' hadn't gone fo' is kick
de bucket it nebber would 'a happened. It's yo' own fault, honey,
an' doan't yo' forgit dat! No, yo' better go home an' git some dry
clothes on."

It was good advice, for Andy was soaking wet. He glared angrily at
Eradicate, and then swung off down the road, the whitewash dripping
from has garments at every step.

"Land a massy! But he suah did use up all mah lime." complained
Eradicate, as he picked up the overturned pail. "I's got t' make
mo'. But I doan't mind," he added cheerfully, and then, as he saw
the woe-begone figure of Andy shuffling along, he laughed heartily,
fitted the brush on the handle and went to tell Tom and Ned what had
happened, and make more whitewash.

"Hum! Served him right," commented the young inventor.

"I suppose he'll try to play some mean trick on you now," commented
Ned. "He'll think you had some hand in what Rad did."

"Let him," answered Tom. "If he tries any of his games I'll be ready
for him."

"Maybe we'll soon be able to start for the city of gold," suggested
Ned.

"I'm afraid not in some time," was his chum's reply. "It's going to
take quite a while to get ready, and then we've got to wait to hear
from Mr. Illingway. I wonder if it's true that Mr. Foger has lost
his fortune; or was that only a trick?"

"Oh, it's true enough," answered Ned. "I heard some of the bank
officials talking about it the other day." Ned was employed in one
of the Shopton banks, an institution in which Tom and his father
owned considerable stock. "He hasn't hardly any money left, and he
may leave town and go out west, I heard."

"He can't go any too soon to suit me," spoke Tom, "and I hope he
takes Andy with him."

"Your father isn't going to have any business dealings with Mr.
Foger then?"

"I guess not. Dad doesn't trust him. But say, Ned, what do you say
to a little trip in my sky racer? I want to go over to Waterford and
see Mr. Damon. We can talk about our trip, and he was going to get
some big maps of Central Mexico to study. Will you come?"

"I will this afternoon. I've got to go to the bank now."

"All right, I'll wait for you. In the meanwhile I'll be tuning up
the motor. It didn't run just right the other night."

The two chums separated, Ned to go downtown to the bank, while Tom
hastened to the shed where he kept his speedy little air craft.
Meanwhile Eradicate went on whitewashing the fence, pausing every
now and then to chuckle at the memory of Andy Foger.

Tom found that some minor adjustments had to be made to the motor,
and they took him a couple of hours to complete. It was nearly noon
when he finished, and leaving the sky racer in the open space in
front of the shed, he went in the house to wash up, for his face and
hands were begrimed with dirt and oil.

"But the machine's in good shape," he said to the housekeeper when
she objected to his appearance, "and Ned and I will have a speedy
spin this afternoon."

"Oh, you reckless boys! Risking your lives in those aeroplanes!"
exclaimed Mrs. Baggert.

"Why, they're safer than street cars!" declared Tom with a laugh.
"Just think how often street cars collide, and you never heard of an
aeroplane doing that."

"No, but think what happens when they fall."

"That's it!" cried Tom gaily, "when they fall you don't have time to
think. But is dinner ready? I'm hungry."

"Never saw you when you weren't." commented the housekeeper
laughing. "Yes, you can sit right down. We won't wait for your
father. He said he'd be late as he wants to find something about his
gyroscope. I never did any such people as inventors for spoiling
their meals," she added as the put dinner on the tab's.

Mr. Swift came in before his son had finished.

"Was Andy Foger here to see me again?" he asked.

"No, why do you ask?" inquired Tom quickly.

"I just saw him out by the aeroplane shed, and--"

Tom jumped up without another word, and hurried to where his sky
racer rested on its bicycle wheels.

He breathed more easily when he saw that Andy was not in sight, and
a hurried inspection of the aeroplane did not disclose that it had
been tampered with.

"Anything the matter?" asked Mr. Swift, as he followed his son.

"No, but when you mentioned that Andy was out here I thought he
might have been up to some of his tricks. He had a little trouble
with Eradicate this morning, and he threatened to get even with me
for it." And Tom told of the whitewashing incident.

"I just happened to see him as I was coming to dinner," went on the
aged inventor. "He hurried off--when he noticed me, but I thought he
might have been here to leave another letter."

"No," said Tom. "I must tell Eradicate to keep his weather eye open
for him, though. No telling what Andy'll do. Well, I must finish
eating, or Ned will be here before I'm through."

After dinner, Ned arrived, and helped Tom start the motor. With a
roar and a bang the swift little machine rapidly got up speed, the
propellers whizing so fast that they looked like blurs of light. The
sky racer was held back by a rope, as Tom wanted to note the "pull"
of the propellers, the force they exerted against the air being
registered on a spring balance.

"What does it say, Ned?" cried the young inventor as he adjusted the
carburettor.

"A shade over nine hundred pounds."

"Guess that'll do. Hop in, and I'll cast off from the seat."

This Tom frequently did when there was no one available to hold the
aeroplane for him while he mounted. He could pull a cord, loosen the
retaining rope, and away the craft would go.

The two chums were soon seated side by side and then Tom, grasping
the steering wheel, turned on full power and jerked the releasing
rope.

Over the ground shot the sky racer, quickly attaining speed until,
with a deft motion, the young inventor tilted the deflecting rudder
and up into the air they shot.

"Oh, this is glorious!" cried Ned, for, though he had often taken
trips with Tom, every time he went up he seemed to enjoy it more.

Higher and higher they rose, rose and then with the sharp nose of
the craft turned in the proper direction they sailed off well above
the trees and houses toward Waterford.

"Guess I'll go up a bit higher," Tom yelled into his chums ear when
they were near their destination. "Then I can make a spiral glide to
earth. I haven't practiced that lately."

Up and up went the sky racer, until it was well over the town of
Waterford, where Mr. Damon lived.

"There's his place!" yelled Ned, pointing downward. He had to yell
to be heard above the noise of the motor. Tom nodded in reply. He,
too, had picked out Mr. Damon's large estate. There were many good
landing places on it, one near the house for which Tom headed.

The aeroplane shot downward, like a bird darting from the sky. Tom
grasped the rudder lever more firmly. He looked below him, and then,
suddenly he uttered a cry of terror.

"What is it?" yelled Ned.

"The rudder! The deflecting rudder! It's jammed, and I can't throw
her head up! We're going to smash into the ground, Ned! I can't
control her! Something has gone wrong!"




CHAPTER V

NEWS FROM AFRICA


Blankly, and with fear in his eyes, Ned gazed at Tom. The young
inventor was frantically working at the levers, trying to loosen the
jammed rudder--the rudder that enabled the sky racer to be tilted
upward.

"Can't you do it?" cried Ned.

Tom shook his head helplessly, but he did not give up. Madly he
worked on, and there was need of haste, for every moment the
aeroplane was shooting nearer and nearer to the earth.

Ned glanced down. They were headed for the centre of a large grass
plot and the bank employee found himself grimly thinking that at
least the turf would be softer to fall on than bare ground.

"I--I can't imagine what's happened!" cried Tom.

He was still yanking on the lever, but it would not move, and unless
the head of the aeroplane was thrown up quickly, to catch the air,
and check its downward right, they would both be killed.

"Shut off the engine and vol-plane!" cried Ned.

"No use," answered Tom. "I can't vol-plane when I can't throw her
head up to check her."

But he did shut off the banging, throbbing motor, and then in
silence they continued to fall. Ned had half a notion to jump, but
he knew that would mean instant death, and there was just a bare
chance that if he stayed in the machine it would take off some of
the shock.

They could see Mr. Damon now. The old man had run out of his house
at the sight of the approaching aeroplane. He knew it well, for he
had ridden with Tom many times. He looked up and waved his hand to
the boys, but he had no idea of their danger, and he could not have
helped them had he been aware of it.

He must have soon guessed that something was wrong though, for a
moment later, the lads could hear him shout in terror, and could see
him motion to them. Later he said he saw that Tom was coming down at
too great an inclination, and he feared that the machine could not
be thrown up into the wind quickly enough!

"Here goes something--the lever or the rudder!" cried Tom in
desperation, as he gave it a mighty yank. Up to now he had not
pulled with all his strength as he feared to break some connecting-
rod, wire or lever. But now he must take every chance. "If I can get
that rudder up even a little we're safe!" he went on.

Once more he gave a terrific pull on the handle. There was a
snapping sound and Tom gave a yell of delight.

"That's the stuff!" he cried. "She's moving! We're all right now!"

And the rudder had moved only just in time, for when the aeroplane
was within a hundred feet of the earth the head was suddenly
elevated and she glided along on a level "keel."

"Look out!" yelled Ned, for new a new danger presented. They were so
near the earth that Tom had over-run his original stepping place,
and now the sky racer was headed directly for Mr. Damon's house, and
might crash into it.

"All right! I've get her in hand!" said the young inventor
reassuringly.

Tom tilted the rudder at a sharp angle to have the air pressure act
as a brake. At the same time he swerved the craft to one side so
that there was no longer any danger of crashing into the house.

"Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but in the excitement he really
didn't know what to bless, so he stopped short.

A moment later, feeling that the momentum had been checked enough to
make it safe to land, Tom directed the craft downward again and came
gracefully to earth, a short distance away from his eccentric
friend.

"Whew!" gasped the young inventor, as he leaped from his seat. "That
was a scary time while it lasted."

"I should say so!" agreed Ned.

"Bless my straw hat!" cried Mr. Damon. "What happened? Did you lose
control of her, Tom,"

"No, the deflecting rudder got jammed, and I couldn't move it. I
must look and see what's the matter."

"I thought it was all up with you," commented Mr. Damon, as he
followed Tom and Ned to the front end of the craft, where the
deflecting mechanism was located.

Tom glanced quickly over it. His quick eye caught something, and he
uttered an exclamation.

"Look!" the young inventor cried. "No wonder it jammed!" and from a
copper sleeve, through which ran the wire that worked the rudder, he
pulled a small iron bolt. "That got between the sleeve and the wire,
and I couldn't move it," he explained. "But when I pulled hard I
loosened it."

"How did it fall in there?" asked Ned.

"It didn't FALL there." spoke Tom quietly. "It was PUT there."

"Put there! Bless my insurance policy! Who did such a dastardly
trick?" cried Mr. Damon.

"I don't know," answered Tom still quietly, "but I suspect it was
Andy Foger, and he was never any nearer to putting us out of
business than a little while ago, Ned."

"Do you mean to say that he deliberately tried to injure you?" asked
Mr. Damon.

"Well, he may not have intended to hurt us, but that's what would
have happened if I hadn't been able to throw her up into the wind
when I did," replied Tom. Then he told of Mr. Swift having seen the
red-haired bully near the aeroplane. "Andy may have only intended to
put my machine out of working order," went on the young inventor,
"but it might have been worse than that," and he could not repress a
shudder.

"Are you going to say anything to him?" asked Ned.

"I certainly am!" replied Torn quickly. "He doesn't realize that he
might have crippled us both for life. I sure am going to say
something to him when I get back."

But Tom did not get the chance, for when he and Ned returned to
Shopton,--the sky racer behaving beautifully on the homeward trip,--
it was learned that Mr. Foger had suddenly left town, taking Andy
with him.

"Maybe he knew I'd be after him," said Tom grimly, and so that
incident was closed for the time being, but it was a long time
before Tom and Ned got over their fright.

They had a nice visit with Mr. Damon, and talked of the city of gold
to their heart's content, looking at several large maps of Mexico
that the eccentric man had procured, and locating, as well as they
could from the meager map and description they had, where the
underground treasures might be.

"I suppose you are getting ready to go, Mr. Damon?" remarked Ned.

"Hush!" cautioned the odd man, looking quickly around the room. "I
haven't said anything to my wife about it yet. You know she doesn't
like me to go off on these 'wild goose chases' as she calls them,
with you, Tom Swift. But bless my railroad ticket! It's half the fun
of my life."

"Then don't you think you can go?" asked the young inventor eagerly,
for he had formed a strong like for Mr. Damon, and would very much
reprait to go without him.

"Oh, bless my necktie! I think I'll be able to manage it," was the
answer. "I'm not going to tell her anything about it until the last
minute, and then I'll promise to bring her back one of the golden
images. She won't object then."

"Good!" exclaimed Tom. "I hope we can all bring back some of the
images."

"Yes, I know who you'll bring one for," said Ned with a laugh, and
he took care to get beyond the reach of Tom's fist. "Her first name
is Mary," he added.

"You get out!" laughed Tom, blushing at the same time.

"Ah! What a thing it is to be young!" exclaimed Mr. Damon with a
mock sigh. The boys laughed, for the old man, though well along in
years, was a boy at heart.

They talked at some length, speculating when they might hear from
Mr. Illingway, and discussing the sort of an outfit that would be
best to take with them.

Then, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, Tom and Ned went back
in the aeroplane, hearing the news about the Fogers as I have
previously mentioned.

"Well, I'll have to wait until I do see Andy to take it out of his
hide," remarked Tom grimly. "I'm glad he's out of the way, though.
There won't be any more danger of his overhearing our plans, and I
can work in peace on the dirigible balloon."

Though Tom had many air crafts, the one he thought best suited to
take with them on their search for the city of gold would have to be
constructed from parts of several machines, and it would take some
time.

Tom began work on it the next day, his father helping him, as did
Mr. Damon and Ned occasionally. Several weeks were spent in this
way, meanwhile the mails being anxiously watched for news from
Africa.

"Here you are, Tom!" called the postman one morning, as he walked
out to the shop where the young inventor was busy over the balloon.
"Here's another letter from that Buggy-wuggy place."

"Oh, you mean Gumba Twamba, in Africa!" laughed the lad. "Good!
That's what I've been waiting for. Now to see what the missionary
says."

"I hope you're not going to go as a missionary to Africa, Tom," said
the postman.

"No danger. This is just a letter from a friend there. He sent me
some facts so I can go off on another expedition."

"Oh, you're always going off on wild adventures," commented Uncle
Sam's messenger with a shake of his head as he hurried away, while
Tom tore open the letter from Africa and eagerly read it.




CHAPTER VI

"BEWARE THE HEAD-HUNTERS!"


"That's what I want!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he finished
the perusal of the missionary's missive.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Swift, entering the shop at that moment.

"News from Africa, dad. Mr. Illingway went to a lot of trouble to
get more information for us about the city of gold, and he sends a
better map. It seems there was one among the effects of the white
man who died near where Mr. Illingway has his mission. With this
map, and what additional information I have, we ought to locate the
underground city. Look, dad," and the lad showed the map.

"Humph!" exclaimed Mr. Swift with a smile. "I don't call that a very
clear map. It shows a part of Central Mexico, that's true, but it's
on such a small scale I don't see how you're going to tell anything
by it."

"But I have a description," explained Tom. "It seems according to
Mr. Illingway's letter, that you have to go to the coast and strike
into the interior until you are near the old city of Poltec. That
used to be it's name, but Mr. Illingway says it may be abandoned
now, or the name changed. But I guess we can find it."

"Then, according to what he could learn from the African natives,
who talked with the white man, the best way is to hire ox carts and
strike into the jungle. That's the only way to carry our baggage,
and the dirigible balloon which I'm going to take along."

"Pretty uncertain way to look for a buried city of gold," commented
Mr. Swift. "But I suppose even if you don't find it you'll have the
fun of searching for it, Tom."

"But we ARE going to find it!" the lad declared. "We'll get there,
you'll see!"

"But how are you going to know it when you see it?" asked his
father. "If it's underground even a balloon won't help you much."

"It's true it is underground," agreed Tom, "but there must be an
entrance to it somewhere, and I'm going to hunt for that entrance.
Mr. Illingway writes that the city is a very old one, and was built
underground by the priests of some people allied to the Aztecs. They
wanted a refuge in times of war and they also hid their valuables
there. They must have been rich to have so much gold, or else they
didn't value it as we do."

"That might be so," assented Mr. Swift. "But I still maintain, Tom,
that it's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Still, I'm going to have a try for it," asserted the lad. "If I can
once locate the plain of the big temple I'll be near the entrance to
the underground city."

"What is the 'plain of the big temple,' Tom?"

"Mr. Illingway writes," said the lad, again referring to the letter,
"that somewhere near the beginning of the tunnel that leads into the
city of gold, there is an immense flat plain, on which the ancient
Aztecs once built a great temple. Maybe they worshiped the golden
images there. Anyhow the temple is in ruins now, near an overgrown
jungle, according to the stories the white man used to tell. He once
got as near the city of gold as the big temple, but hostile natives
drove him and his party back. Then he went to Africa after getting
an image from someone, and died there. So no one since has ever
found the city of gold."

"Well, I hope you do, Tom, but I doubt it. However, I suppose you
will hurry your preparations for going away, now that you have all
the information you can get."

"Right, dad. I must send word to Mr. Damon and Ned at once. A few
more days' work, and my balloon will be in shape for a trial flight,
and then I can take it apart, pack it up, and ship it. Then ho! for
the city of gold!"

Mr. Swift smiled at his son's enthusiasm, but he did not check it.
He knew Tom too well for that.

Naturally Mr. Damon and Ned were delighted with the additional
information the missionary had sent, and Ned agreed with Tom that it
was a mere matter of diligent search to find the underground city.

"Bless my collar button!" cried Mr. Damon. "It may not be as easy as
all that, but Tom Swift isn't the kind that gives up! We'll get
there!"

Meanwhile Tom worked diligently on his balloon. He sent a letter of
thanks to Mr. Illingway, at the same time requesting that if any
more information was obtained within the next three weeks to cable
it, as there would not be time for a letter to reach Shopton ere Tom
planned to leave for Mexico.

The following days were busy ones for all. There was much to be
done, and Tom worked night and day. They had to get rifles ready,
for they might meet hostile natives. Then, too, they had to arrange
for the proper clothing, and other supplies.

To take apart and ship the balloon was no small task, and then there
were the passages to engage on a steamer that would land them at the
nearest point to strike into the interior, the question of
transportation after reaching Mexico, and many other matters to
consider.

But gradually things began to shape themselves and it looked as
though the expedition could start for the city of gold in about two
weeks after the receipt of the second letter from the missionary.

"I think I'll give the balloon a trial to-morrow," said Tom one
night, after a hard day's work, "It's all ready, and it ought to
work pretty good. It will be just what we need to sail over some
dense jungle and land down on the plain by the great temple."

"Bless my slipers!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I must think up some way
of telling my wife that I'm going."

"Haven't you told her yet?" asked Ned.

The eccentric man shook his head.

"I haven't had a good chance," he said, "but I think I'll tell her
to-morrow, and promise her one of the gold images. Then she won't
mind."

Tom was just a little bit nervous when he got ready for a trial
flight in the new dirigible balloon. To tell the truth he much
preferred aeroplanes to balloons, but he realized that in a country
where the jungle growth prevailed, and where there might be no level
places to get a "take off," or a starting place for an aeroplane,
the balloon was more feasible.

But he need have had no fears, for the balloon worked perfectly. In
the bag Tom used a new gas, much more powerful even than hydrogen,
and which he could make from chemicals that could easily be carried
on their trip.

The air craft was small but powerful, and could easily carry Tom,
Ned and Mr. Damon, together with a quantity of food and other
supplies. They intended to use it by starting from the place where
they would leave the most of their baggage, after getting as near to
the city of gold as they could by foot trails. Tom hoped to
establish a camp in the interior of Mexico, and make trips off in
different directions to search for the ruined temple. If
unsuccessful they could sail back each night, and if he should
discover the entrance to the buried city there was food enough in
the car of the balloon to enable them to stay away from camp for a
week or more.

In order to give the balloon a good test, Tom took up with him not
only Ned and Mr. Damon, but Eradicate and Mr. Swift to equalize the
weight of food and supplies that later would be carried. The test
showed that the craft more than came up to expectations, though the
trial trip was a little marred by the nervousness of the colored
man.

"I doan't jest laik dis yeah kind of travelin'," said Eradicate.
"I'd radder be on de ground."

Most of the remaining two weeks were spent in packing the balloon
for shipment, and then the travelers got their own personal
equipment ready. They put up some condensed food, but they depended
on getting the major portion in Mexico.

It was two days before they were to start. Their passage had been
engaged on a steamer, and the balloon and most of their effects had
been shipped. Mr. Damon had broken the news to his wife, and she had
consented to allow him to go, though she said it would be for the
last time.

"But if I bring her back a nice, big, gold image I know she'll let
me go on other trips with you, Tom." said the eccentric man. "Bless
my yard stick, if I couldn't go off on an adventure now and then I
don't know what I'd do."

They were in the library of the Swift home that evening. Tom, Ned,
Mr. Damon and the aged inventor, and of course the only thing talked
of was the prospective trip to the city of gold.

"What I can't understand," Mr. Swift was saying, "is why the natives
made so many of the same images of gold, and why there is that large
one in the underground place. What did they want of it?"

"That's part of the mystery we hope to solve," said Tom. "I'm going
to bring that big image home with me if I can. I guess--"

He was interrupted by a ring at the front door.

"I hope that isn't Andy Foger," remarked Ned.

"No danger," replied Tom. "He'll keep away from here after what he
did to my aeroplane."

Mrs. Baggert went to the door.

"A message for you, Tom," she announced a little later, handing in
an envelope.

"Hello, a cablegram!" exclaimed the young inventor. "It must be from
Mr. Illingway, in Africa. It is," he added a moment later as he
glanced at the signature.

"What does he say?" asked Mr. Swift.

"Can he give us any more definite information about the city of
gold?" inquired Ned.

"I'll read it," said Tom, and there was a curious, strained note in
his voice. "This is what it says:"

"'No more information obtainable. But if you go to the city of gold
beware of the head-hunters!'"

"Head-hunters!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my top-knot, what are
they?"

"I don't know," answered Tom simply, "but whatever they are we've
got to be on the lookout for them when we get to the gold city, and
that's where I'm going, head-hunters or no head-hunters!"




CHAPTER VII

TOM MAKES A PROMISE


It may well be imagined that the cable warning sent by Mr. Illingway
caused our friends considerable anxiety. Coming as it did, almost at
the last minute, so brief--giving no particulars--it was very
ominous. Yet Tom was not afraid, nor did any of the others show
signs of fear.

"Bless my shotgun!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he looked at the few
words on the paper which Tom passed around. "I wish Mr. Illingway
had said more about the head-hunters--or less."

"What do you mean?" asked Ned.

"Well, I wish he'd given us more particulars, told us where we might
be on the lookout for the head-hunters, what sort of chaps they
were, and what they do to a fellow when they catch him."

"Their name seems plainly to indicate what they do," spoke Mr. Swift
grimly. "They cut off the head of their enemies, like that
interesting Filipino tribe. But perhaps they may not get after you.
If they do--"

"If they do," interrupted Tom with a laugh, "we'll hop in our
dirigible balloon, and get above THEIR heads, and then I guess we
can give a good account of ourselves. But would you rather Mr.
Illingway had said less about them, Mr. Damon?"

"Yes, I wish, as long as he couldn't tell us more, that he'd kept
quiet about them altogether. It's no fun to be always on the lookout
for danger. I'm afraid it will get on my nerves, to be continually
looking behind a rock, or a tree, for a head-hunter. Bless my comb
and brush!"

"Well, 'forewarned is forearmed,'" quoted Ned. "We won't think
anything more about them. It was kind of Mr. Illingway to warn us,
and perhaps the head-hunters have all disappeared since that white
traveler was after the city of gold. Some story which he told his
friends, the natives in Africa, is probably responsible for the
missionary's warning. Let's check over our lists of supplies, Tom,
and see if we have everything down!"

"Can't you do that alone, Ned?"

"Why?" and Ned glanced quickly at his chum. Mr. Damon and Mr. Swift
had left the room.

"Well, I've get an engagement--a call to make, and--"

"Enough said, old man. Go ahead. I know what it is to be in love.
I'll check the lists. Go see--"

"Now don't get fresh!" advised Tom with a laugh, as he went to his
room to get ready to pay a little visit.

"I say, Tom," called Ned after him. "What about Eradicate? Are you
going to take him along? He'd be a big help."

"I know he would, but he doesn't want to go. He balked worse than
his mule Boomerang when I spoke about an underground city. He said
he didn't want to be buried before his time. I didn't tell him we
were going after gold, for sometimes Rad talks a bit too much, and I
don't want our plans known."

"But I did tell him that Mexico was a great place for chickens, and
that he might see a bull fight."

"Did he rise to that bait?"

"Not a bit of it. He said he had enough chickens of his own, and he
never did like bulls anyhow. So I guess we'll have to get along
without Rad."

"It looks like it. Well, go and enjoy yourself. I'll wait here until
you come back, though I know you'll be pretty late, but I want to
make sure of our lists."

"All right, Ned," and Tom busied himself with his personal
appearance, for he was very particular when going to call on young
ladies.

A little later he was admitted to her house by Miss Mary Nestor, and
the two began an animated conversation, for this was in the nature
of a farewell call by Tom.

"And you are really about to start off on your wild search?" asked
the girl. "My! It seems just like something out of a book!"

"Doesn't it?" agreed Tom. "However, I hope there's more truth in it
than there is in some books. I should hate to be disappointed, after
all our preparation, and not find the buried city after all."

"Do you really think there is so much gold there?"

"Of course there's a good deal of guesswork about it," admitted the
young inventor, "and it may be exaggerated, for such things usually
are when a traveler has to depend on the accounts of natives."

"But it is certain that there is a big golden image in the interior
of Africa, and that it came from Mexico. Mr. Illingway isn't a
person who could easily be deceived. Then, too, the old Aztecs and
their allies were wonderful workers in gold and silver, for look at
what Cortez and his soldiers took from them."

"My! This is quite like a lecture in history!" exclaimed Mary with a
laugh. "But it's interesting. I wonder if there are any SMALL,
golden images there, as you say there are so many in the underground
city."

"Lots of them!" exclaimed Tom, as confidently as though he had seen
them. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Mary. I'll bring you back one of
these golden images for an ornament. It would look nice on that
shelf I think," and Tom pointed to a vacant space on the mantle.
"I'll bring you a large one or a small one, or both, Mary."

"Oh, you reckless boy! Well, I suppose it WOULD be nice to have two,
for they must be very valuable. But I'm not going to tax you too
much. If you bring me back two SMALL ones, I'll put one down here
and the other--"

She paused and blushed slightly.

"Yes, and the other," suggested Tom.

"I'll put the other up in my room to remember you by," she finished
with a laugh, "so pick out one that is nicely carved. Some of those
foreign ones, such as the Chinese have, are hideous."

"That's right," agreed Tom, "and I'll see that you get a nice one.
Those Aztecs used to do some wonderful work in gold and silver
carving. I've seen specimens in the museum."

Then the two young people fell to talking of the wonderful trip that
lay before Tom, and Mary, several times, urged him to be careful of
the dangers he would be likely to encounter.

Tom said nothing to her of the head-hunters. He did not want to
alarm Miss Nestor, and then, too, he thought the less he allowed his
mind to dwell on that unpleasant feature of the journey, the less
likely it would be to get on the nerves of all of them.

Ned was right when he predicted that Tom would make quite a lengthy
visit. There was much to talk about and he did not expect to see
Mary again for some time. But finally he realized that he must
leave, and with a renewed promise to bring back with him the two
small gold images, and after saying good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Nestor,
Tom took his leave.

"If you get marooned in the underground city, Tom," said Mr. Nestor,
"I hope you can rig up a wireless outfit, and get help, as you did
for us on Earthquake Island."

"I hope so," answered our hero with a laugh, and then, a little
saddened by his farewell, and pondering rather solemnly on what lay
before him--the dangers of travel as well as those of the head-
hunters--Tom hastened back to his own home.

The young inventor found Ned busy over the list of supplies,
diligently checking it and comparing it with the one originally made
out, to see that nothing had been omitted. Mr. Damon had gone to his
room, for he was to remain at the Swift house until he left with the
gold-hunting expedition.

"Oh, you've got back, have you?" asked Tom's chum, with a teasing
air. "I thought you'd given up the trip to the city of gold."

"Oh, cheese it!" invited Tom. "Come on, now I'll help you. Where's
Eradicate? I want him to go out and see that the shop is locked up."

"He was in here a while ago and he said he was going to look after
things outside. He told me quite a piece of news."

"What was it?"

"It seems that the Foger house has been sold, the furniture was all
moved out to-day, and the family has left, bag and baggage. I asked
Rad if he had heard where to, and he said someone down in the
village was saying that Andy and his father have engaged passage on
some ship that sails day after to-morrow."

"Day after to-morrow!" cried Tom. "Why, that's when ours sails! I
hope Andy didn't hear enough of our plans that night to try to
follow us."

"It would be just like him," returned Ned, "but I don't think
they'll do it. They haven't enough information to go on. More likely
Mr. Foger is going to try some new ventures to get back his lost
fortune."

"Well, I hope he and Andy keep away from us. They make trouble
everywhere they go. Now come on, get busy."

And, though Tom tried to drive from his mind the thoughts of the
Fogers, yet it was with an uneasy sense of some portending disaster
that he went on with the work of preparing for the trip into the
unknown. He said nothing to Ned about it, but perhaps his chum
guessed.

"That'll do," said Tom after an hour's labor. "We'll call it a
night's work and quit. Can't you stay here--we've got several spare
beds."

"No, I'm expected home."

"I'll walk a ways with you," said Tom, and when he had left his chum
at his house our hero returned by a street that would take him past
the Foger residence. It was shrouded in darkness.

"Everybody's cleared out," said Tom in a low voice as he glance at
the gloomy house. "Well, all I hope is that they don't camp on our
trail."




CHAPTER VIII

ERADICATE WILL GO


"I guess everything is all ready," remarked Tom.

"I can't think of anything more to do," said Ned.

"Bless my grip-sack!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "if there IS, someone
else has got to do it. I'm tired to death! I never thought getting
ready to go off on a simple little trip was so much work. We ought
to have made the whole journey from start to finish in an airship,
Tom, as we've done before."

"It was hardly practical," answered the young inventor. "I'm afraid
we'll be searching for this underground city for some time, and
we'll only need an airship or a dirigible balloon for short trips
here and there. We've got to go a good deal by information the
natives can furnish us, and we can't get at them very well when
sailing in the air."

"That's right," agreed the eccentric man. "Well, I'm glad we're
ready to start,"

It was the evening of the day before they were to leave for New
York, there to take steamer to a small port on the Mexican coast,
and every one was busy putting the finishing details to the packing
of his personal baggage.

The balloon, taken apart for easy transportation, had been sent on
ahead, as had most of their supplies, weapons and other needed
articles. All they would carry with them were handbags, containing
some clothing.

"Then you've fully made up your mind not to go; eh Rad?" asked Tom
of the colored man, who was busy helping them pack. "You won't take
a chance in the underground city?"

"No, Massa Tom, I's gwine t' stay home an' look after yo' daddy.
'Sides, Boomerang is gettin' old, an' when a mule gits along in
yeahs him temper ain't none ob de best."

"Boomerang's temper never was very good, anyhow," said Tom. "Many's
the time he's balked on you, Rad."

"I know it, Massa Tom, but dat jest shows what strong character he
done hab. Nobody kin manage dat air mule but me, an' if I were to
leave him, dere suah would be trouble. No, I cain't go to no
underground city, nohow."

"But if you found some of the golden images you could buy another
mule--two of 'em if you wanted that many," said Ned, and a moment
later he remembered that Tom did not want the colored man to know
anything about the trip after gold. He had been led to believe that
it was merely a trip to locate an ancient city.

"Did yo' done say GOLDEN images?" asked Eradicate, his eyes big with
wonder.

Ned glanced apologetically at Tom, and said, with a shrug of his
shoulders:

"Well, I--"

"Oh, we might as well tell him," interrupted the young inventor.
"Yes, Rad, we expect to bring back some images of solid gold from
the underground city. If you go along you might get some for your
self. Of course there's nothing certain about it, but--"

"How--how big am dem gold images, Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate
eagerly.

"You've got him going now, Tom," whispered Ned.

"How big?" repeated Tom musingly. "Hum, well, there's one that is
said to be bigger than three men, and there must be any number of
smaller ones--say boy's size, and from that on down to the real
little ones, according to Mr. Illingway."

"Real gold--yellow, gold images as big as a man," said Eradicate in
a dreamy voice. "An'--an' some big as boys. By golly, Massa Tom, am
yo' suah ob dat?"

"Pretty sure. Why, Rad?"

"Cause I's gwine wid yo', dat's why! I didn't know yo' all was goin'
after gold. My golly I's gwine along! Look out ob mah way, ef yo'
please,--Mr, Damon. I'se gwine t' pack up an' go. Am it too late to
git me a ticket, Massa Tom?"

"No, I guess there's room on the ship. But say, Rad, I don't want
you to talk about this gold image part of it. You can say we're
going to look for an underground city, but no more, mind you!"

"Trust me, Massa Tom; trust me. I--I'll jest say BRASS images, dat's
what I'll say--BRASS! We's gwine after brass, an' not GOLD. By
golly, I'll fool 'em!"

"No, don't say anything about the images--brass or gold," cautioned
Tom. "But, Rad, there's another thing. We may run across the head-
hunters down thre in Mexico."

"Head-hunters? What's dem?"

"They crush you, and chop off your head for an ornament."

"Ha! Ha! Den I ain't in no danger, Massa Tom. Nobody would want de
head ob an old colored man fo' an ornament. By golly! I's safe from
dem head-hunters! Yo' can't scare me dat way. I's gwine after some
of dem gold images, I is, an' ef I gits some I'll build de finest
stable Boomerang ever saw, an' he kin hab oats fo' times a day.
Dat's what I's gwine t' do. Now look out ob mah way, Mr. Damon, ef
yo' pleases. I's gwine t' pack up," and Eradicate shuffled off,
chuckling to himself and muttering over and over again: "Gold
images! Gold images! Images ob solid gold! Think ob dat! By golly!"

"Think he'll give the secret away, Tom?" asked Ned.

"No. And I'm glad he's going. Four makes a nice party, and Rad will
make himself useful around camp. I've been sorry ever since he said
he wouldn't go, on account of the good cooking I'd miss, for Rad is
sure a fine cook."

"Bless my knife and fork, that's so!" agreed Mr. Damon.

So complete were the preparations of our friends that nothing
remained to do the next morning. Eradicate had his things all in
readiness, and when good-byes had been said to Mr. Swift, and Mrs.
Baggert, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon, followed by the faithful colored
man, set off for the depot to take the train for New York. There
they were to take a coast steamer for Tampico, Mexico, and once
there they could arrange for transportation into the interior.

The journey to New York was uneventful, but on arrival there they
met with their first disappointment. The steamer on which they were
to take passage had been delayed by a storm, and had only just
arrived at her dock.

"It will take three days to get her cargo out, clean the boilers,
load another cargo in her and get ready to sail," the agent informed
them.

"Then what are we to do?" asked Ned.

"Guess we'll have to wait; that's all," answered Tom. "It doesn't
much matter. We're in no great rush, and it will give us three days
around New York. We'll see the sights."

"Bless my spectacles! Its an ill wind that blows nobody good,"
remarked Mr. Damon, "I've been wanting to visit New York for some
time, and here's my chance."

"We'll go to a good hotel," said Tom. "and enjoy ourselves as long as
we have to wait for the steamer."




CHAPTER IX

"THAT LOOKED LIKE ANDY!"


What seemed at first as if it was going to be a tedious time of
waiting, proved to be a delightful experience, for our friends found
much to occupy their attention in New York.

Tom and Ned went to several theatrical performances, and wanted Mr.
Damon to go with them, but the odd man said he wanted to visit
several museums and other places of historical interest, so, while
he was browsing around that way, the boys went to Bronx Park, and to
Central Park, to look at the animals, and otherwise enjoy
themselves.

Eradicate put in his time in his own way. Much of it was spent in
restaurants where chicken and pork chops figured largely on the
bills of fare, for Tom had plentifully supplied the colored man with
money, and did not ask an accounting.

"What else do you do besides eat, Rad?" asked Ned with a laugh, the
second day of their stay in New York.

"I jest natchally looks in de jewelery store windows," replied
Eradicate with a grin on his honest black face. "I looks at all de
gold ornaments, an' I tries t' figger out how much better mah golden
images am gwine t' be."

"But don't you go in, and ask what a gold image the size of a man
would be worth!" cautioned Tom. "The jeweler might think you were
crazy, and he might suspect something."

"No, Massa Tom, I won't do nuffin laik dat," promised Eradicate.
"But, Massa Tom, how much DOES yo' 'spect a image laik dat WOULD be
worth?"

"Haven't the least idea, Rad. Enough, though, to make you rich for
the rest of your life."

"Good land a' massy!" gasped Eradicate, and he spent several hours
trying to do sums in arithmetic on scraps of paper.

"Hurrah!" cried Tom, when, on the morning of the third day of their
enforced stay in New York, a letter was sent up to his room by the
hotel clerk.

"What's up?" asked Ned. "I didn't know that you sent Mary word that
you were here."

"I didn't, you old scout!" cried Tom. "This is from the steamship
company, saying that the steamer Maderia, on which we have taken
passage for Mexico, will sail to-night at high tide. That's the
stuff! At last we'll really get on our way."

"Bless my notebook!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hoped we'd stay at least
another day here. I haven't seen half enough in the museums."

"You'll see stranger things than in any museum when we get to the
underground city," predicted Tom. "Come on, Ned, we'll take in a
moving picture show, have our last lunch in the big city, and then
go aboard."

So impatient were the travelers to go on board the steamer that they
arrived several hours before the time set for sailing. Many others
did the same thing, however, as supper was to be served on the
Maderia.

Though it was within a few hours of leaving time there seemed so
much to be done, such a lot of cargo to stow away, and so much coal
to put into the bunkers, that Tom and the others might well be
excused for worrying about whether or not they really would sail.

Big trucks drawn by powerful horses thundered down the long dock.
Immense automobiles laden with boxes, barrels and bales puffed to
the loading gangways. There was the puffing and whistling of the
donkey engines as they hoisted into the big holds the goods intended
for export.

At the side of the steamer were grimy coal barges, into which was
dipped an endless chain of buckets carrying the coal to the bunkers.
Stevadores were running here and there, orders and counter-orders
were being given, and the confusion must have been maddening to any
one not accustomed to it.

"Bless my walking stick!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We'll never get off
to-night, I'm positive."

"Dat's right," agreed Eradicate. "Look at all dat coal dey's got to
load in."

"Oh. they knew how to hustle at the last minute," said Tom, and so
it proved. Gradually the loading was finished. The coal barges were
emptied and towed away. Truck after truck departed from the dock
empty, having left its load in the interior of the steamer. One
donkey engine after another ceased to puff, and the littered decks
were cleared.

"Let's watch the late-comers get aboard," suggested Ned to Tom, when
they had arranged things in their stateroom. The two boys and Mr.
Damon had a large one to themselves and Eradicate had been assigned
a small one not far from them.

"That'll make the time pass until supper is ready," agreed the young
inventor, so they took their station near the main gangway and
watched the passengers hurrying up. There were many going to make
the trip to Mexico it seemed, and later the boys learned that a
tourist agency had engaged passage for a number of its patrons.

"That fat man will never get up the slope unless some one pushes
him," remarked Ned, pointing to a very fleshy individual who was
struggling up the steep gangplank, carrying a heavy valise. For the
tide was almost at flood and the deck of the steamer was much
elevated. Indeed it seemed at one moment as if the heavy-weight
passenger would slide backward instead of getting aboard.

"Go give him a hand, Rad," suggested Tom, and the colored man
obligingly relieved the fat man of his grip, thereby enabling him to
give all his attention to getting up the plank.

And it was this simple act on the part of Rad that was the cause of
an uneasy suspicion coming to Tom and Ned. For, as Eradicate
hastened to help the stout passenger, two others behind him. a man
and a boy, started preciptably at the sight of the colored helper.
So confused were they that it was noticed by Ned and his chum.

"Look at that!" said Ned in a low voice, their attention drawn from
the fat man to the man and youth immediately behind him. "You'd
think they were afraid of meeting Rad."

"That's right," agreed Tom, for the man and youth had halted, and
seemed about to turn back, Then the man, with a quick gesture,
tossed a steamer rug he was carrying over his shoulder up so that it
hid his face. At the same time the lad with him, evidently in
obedience to some command, pulled his cap well down over his face
and turned up the collar of a light overcoat he was wearing. He also
seemed to shrink down, almost as if he were deformed.

"Say!" began Ned in wondering tones, "Tom, doesn't that look like--"

"Andy Foger and his father!" burst out the young inventor in a horse
whisper. "Ned, do you think it's possible?"

"Hardly, and yet--"

Ned paused in his answer to look more closely at the two who had
aroused the suspicions of himself and Tom. But they had now crowded
so close up behind the fat man whom Eradicate was assisting up the
plank, that he partly hid them from sight, and the action of the two
in covering their faces further aided them in disguising themselves,
if such was their intention.

"Oh, it can't be!" declared Tom. "If they were going to follow us
they wouldn't dare go on the same steamer. It must be some one else.
But it sure did look like Andy at first."

"That's what I say," came from Ned. "But we can easily find out."

"How?"

"Ask the purser to show us the passenger list. Even if they are down
under some other names he'd know the Fogers if we described them to
him."

"That's right, we'll do it."

By this time the fat man, who was being assisted by Eradicate had
reached the top of the gang plank. He must have been expected, for
several friends rushed to greet him, and for a moment there was a
confusing little throng at the place where the passengers came
abroad. Tom and Ned hurried up, intent on getting a closer view of
the man and youth who seemed so anxious to escape observation.

But several persons got in their way. and the two mysterious ones
taking advantage of the confusion, slipped down a companionway to
their stateroom, so that when our two lads managed to extricate
themselves from the throng around the fat man, who insisted on
thanking them for allowing Eradicate to help him, it was too late to
effect any identification, at least for the time being.

"But we'll go to the purser," said Tom. "If Andy and his father are
on this steamer we want to know it."

"That's right," agreed Ned.

Just then there was the usual cry:

"All ashore that's going ashore! Last warning!"

A bell rang, there was a hoarse whistle, the rattle of the gangplank
being drawn in, a quiver through the whole length of the ship, and
Tom cried:

"We're off!"

"Yes," added Ned, "if Andy and his father are here it's too late to
leave them behind now!"




CHAPTER X

MYSTERIOUS PASSENGERS


Ned and Tom did not escape the usual commotion that always attends
the sailing of a large steamer. The people on the dock were waving
farewells to those on the boat, and those on the deck of the Maderia
shook their handkerchiefs, their steamer rugs, their hands,
umbrellas--in short anything to indicate their feelings. It was
getting dark, but big electric lights made the dock and the
steamer's deck brilliantly aglow.

The big whistle was blowing at intervals to warn other craft that
the steamer was coming out of her slip. Fussy little tugs were
pushing their blunt noses against the sides of the Maderia to help
her and, in brief, there was not a little excitement.

"Bless my steamer chair!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We're really off at
last! And now for the land of--"

"Hush!" exclaimed Tom, who stood near the odd gentleman. "You're
forgetting. Some one might hear you."

"That's so, Tom. Bless my soul! I'll keep quiet after this."

"Mah golly!" gasped Eradicate as he saw the open water between the
ship and the deck, "I can't git back now if I wanter--but I doan't
wanter. I hope yo' father takes good care ob Boomerang, Massa Tom."

"Oh, I guess he will. But come on, Ned, we'll go to the purser's
office now."

"What for? Is something wrong?" asked Mr. Damon.

"No, we just want to see if--er--if some friends of ours are on
board," replied the young inventor, with a quick glance at his
chum.

"Very well," assented Mr. Damon. "I'll wait for you on deck here.
It's quite interesting to watch the sights of the harbor."

As for these same sights they possessed no attractions for the two
lads at present. They were too intent on learning whether or not
their suspicions regarding the Fogers were correct.

"Now if they are on board," said Tom, as they made their way to the
purser's office, "it only means one thing--that they're following us
to get at the secret of the city of gold," and Tom whispered this
last, even though there seemed to be no one within hearing, for
nearly all the passengers were up on deck.

"That's right," agreed Ned. "Of course there's a bare chance, if
those two were the Fogers, that Mr. Foger is going off to try and
make another fortune. But more than likely they're on our trail,
Tom."

"If it's them--yes."

"Hum, Foger--no, I don't think I havs any passengers of that name,"
said the purser slowly, when Tom had put the question. "Let's see,
Farday, Fenton, Figaro, Flannigan, Ford, Foraham, Fredericks--those
are all the names in the 'Fs'. No Fogers among them. Why, are you
looking for some friends of yours, boys?"

"Not exactly friends," replied Tom slowly, "but we know them, and we
thought we saw them come aboard, so we wanted to make sure."

"They might be under some other name," suggested Ned.

"Yes, that is sometimes done," admitted the purser with a quick
glance at the two lads, "It's done when a criminal wants to throw
the police off his track, or, occasionally, when a celebrated person
wants to avoid the newspaper reporters. But I hardly think that--"

"Oh, I don't believe they'd do it," said Tom quickly. He saw at once
that the suspicions of the purser had been aroused, and the official
might set on foot inquiries that would be distasteful to the two
lads and Mr. Damon. Then, too, if the Fogers were on board under
some other name, they would hear of the questions that had been put
regarding them, and if they were on a legitimate errand they could
make it unpleasant for Tom.

"I don't believe they'd do anything like that," the young inventor
repeated.

"Well, you can look over the passenger list soon," said the purser.
"I'm going to post it in the main saloon. But perhaps if you
described the persons you are looking for I could help you out. I
have met nearly all the passengers already."

"Mr. Foger is a big man, with a florid complexion and he has a heavy
brown moustache," said Ned.

"And Andy has red hair, and he squints," added Tom.

"No such persons on board," declared the official positively. "It's
true we have several persons who squint, but no one with red hair--
I'm sure of it."

"Then they're not here," declared Ned. "No, we must have been
mistaken," agreed Tom, and there was relief in his tone. It was bad
enough to have to search for a hidden city of gold, and perhaps have
to deal with the head-hunters, without having to fight off another
enemy from their trail.

"Much obliged," said the young inventor to the purser, and then the
two lads went back on deck.

A little later supper was served in the big dining saloon, and the
boys and Mr. Damon were glad of it, for they were hungry. Eradicate
ate with a party of colored persons whose acquaintance he had
quickly made. It was a gay gathering in which Tom and Ned found
themselves, for though they had traveled much, generally it had been
in one of Tom's airships, or big autos, and this dining on a big
ship was rather a novelty to them.

The food was good, the service prompt, and Tom found himself
possessed of a very good appetite. He glanced across the table and
noted that opposite him and Ned, and a little way down the board,
were two vacant chairs.

"Can't be that anyone is seasick already." he remarked to his chum.

"I shouldn't think so, for we haven't any more motion than a
ferryboat. But some persons are very soon made ill on the water."

"If they're beginning thus early, what will happen when we get out
where it's real rough?" Tom wanted to know.

"They'll sure be in for it," agreed Ned, and a glance around the
dining saloon showed that those two vacant chairs were the only
ones.

Somehow Tom felt a vague sense of uneasiness--as if something was
about to happen. In a way he connected it with the suspicion that
the Fogers were aboard, and with his subsequent discovery that their
names were not on the passenger list. Then, with another thought in
mind, he looked about to see if be could pick out the man and youth
who, on coming up the gang plank, had been taken by both Tom and Ned
to be their enemies. No one looking like either was to be seen, and
Tom's mind at once went back to the vacant seats at the table.

"By Jove, Ned!" he exclaimed. "I believe I have it!"

"Have what--a fit of seasickness?"

"No, but these empty seats--the persons we saw you know--they belong
there and they're afraid to come out and be seen."

"Why should they be--if they're not the Fogers. I guess you've got
another think coming."

"Well, I'm sure there's something mysterious about those two--the
way they hid their faces as they came on board--not appearing at
supper--I'm going to keep my eyes open."

"All right, go as far as you like and I'm with you. Just now you may
pass me the powdered sugar. I want some on this pie."

Tom laughed at Ned's matter-of-fact indifference, but when the young
inventor turned in to his berth that night he could not stop
thinking of the empty seats--the two mysterious passengers--and the
two Fogers. They got all jumbled in his head and made his sleep
restless.

Morning saw the Maderia well out to sea, and, as there was quite a
swell on, the vessel rolled and pitched to an uncomfortable degree.
This did not bother Tom and Ned, who were used to sudden changes of
equilibrium from their voyages in the air. Nor did Mr. Damon suffer.
In fact he was feeling fine and went about on deck like an old salt,
blessing so many new things that he had many of the passengers
amused.

Poor Eradicate did suffer though. He was very seasick, and kept to
his berth most of the time, while some of his new friends did what
they could for him.

Tom had in mind a plan whereby he might solve the identity of the
mysterious passengers. He was going to do it by a process of
elimination--that is he would carefully note all on board until he
had fixed on the two who had aroused his suspicions. And he had to
do this because so many of the passengers looked very different, now
that they had on their ship "togs," than when first coming on board.

But the rough weather of the first day prevented the lad from
carrying out his plan, as many of the travelers kept to their
staterooms, and there were a score of vacant places at the tables.

The next day, however, was fine, and with the sea like the
proverbial mill pond, it seemed that everyone was out on deck. Yet
when meal time came there were these same two vacant seats.

"What do you think of it, Ned?" asked Tom, with a puzzled air.

"I don't know what to think, Tom. It sure is queer that these two--
whoever they are--don't ever come to meals. They can't be seasick on
a day like this, and they certainly weren't the first night."

"That's right. I'm going to ask one of the stewards where their
stateroom is, and why they don't come out."

"You may get into trouble."

"Oh, I guess not. If I do I can stand it. I want to solve this
mystery." Tom did put his question to one of the dining saloon
stewards and it created no suspicions.

"Ah, yes, I guess you must mean Mr. Wilson and his son." spoke the
steward when he had referred to a list that corresponded with the
numbers of the vacant places at the table. "They have their meals
served in their stateroom."

"Why?" asked Tom, "are they ill?"

"I really couldn't say, sir. They prefer it that way, and the
captain consented to it from the first."

"But I should think they'd want to get out for a breath of air," put
in Ned. "I can't stay below decks very long."

"They may come out at night," suggested the steward. "Some of our
travelers think they are less likely to be seasick if they come out
at night. They don't see the motion of the waves then."

"Guess that's it," agreed Tom with a wink at Ned. "Much obliged.
Glad we're not seasick," and he linked his arm in that of his chum's
and marched him off.

"Why the wink?" asked Ned, when they were out of earshot of the
steward.

"That was to tip you off to say nothing more. I've got a plan I'm
going to work."

"What is it?"

"Well, we know who the mysterious ones are. anyhow--at least we know
their names--Wilson."

"It may not be the right one."

"That doesn't make any difference. I can find out their stateroom by
looking at the passenger list."

"What good will that do."

"Lots. I'm going to keep a watch on that stateroom until I get a
good look at the people in it. And if they only come out at night,
which it begins to look like, I'm going to do some night watching.
This thing has got to be settled, Ned. Our trip to the city of gold
is too important to risk having a mysterious couple on our trail--
when that same couple may be the Fogers. I'm going to do some
detective work, Ned!"




CHAPTER XI

THE MIDNIGHT ALARM


"Whew! What a lot of 'em!"

"Bless my fish line! It's a big school!"

"Look how they turn over and over, and leap from the water."

"By golly, dere is suttinly some fish dere!"

These were the exclamations made by our four friends a few days
later, as they leaned over the rail of the Maderia and watched a big
school of porpoises gamboling about in the warm waters of the gulf
stream. It was the second porpoise school the ship had come up with
on the voyage, and this was a much larger one than the first, so
that the passengers crowded up to see the somewhat novel sight.

"If they were only good eating now, we might try for a few,"
observed Ned.

"Some folks eat them, but they're too oily for me," observed a
gentleman who had struck up an acquaintance with the boys and Mr.
Damon. "Their skin makes excellent shoe laces though, their oil is
used for delicate machinery--especially some that comes from around
the head, at least so I have heard."

"Wow! Did you see that?" cried Tom, as one large porpoise leaped
clear of the water, turned over several times and fell back with a
loud splash. "That was the biggest leap yet."

"And there goes another," added Ned.

"Say, this ought to bring those two mysterious passengers out of
their room," observed Tom to his chum in a low voice. "Nearly
everyone else seems to be on deck."

"You haven't been able to catch a glimpse of them; eh Tom?"

"Not a peak. I stayed up several nights, as you know, and paced the
deck, but they didn't stir out. Or, if they did, it must have been
toward morning after I turned in. I can't understand it. They must
be either criminals, afraid of being seen, or they ARE the Fogers,
and they know we're on to their game."

"It looks as if it might be one or the other, Tom. But if they are
criminals we don't have to worry about 'em. They don't concern us."

"No, that's right. Split mackerel! Look at that fellow jump. He's
got 'em all beat!" and Tom excitedly, pointed at the porpoises, the
whole school of which was swimming but a short distance from the
steamer.

"Yes, a lot of them are jumping now. I wonder--"

"Look! Look!" cried the man who had been talking to Mr. Damon.
"Something out of the ordinary is going on among those porpoises. I
never saw them leap out of the water like that before."

"Sharks! It's sharks!" cried a sailor who came running along the
deck. "A school of sharks are after the porpoises!" "I believe he's
right," added Mr. Sander, the gentleman with Mr. Damon. "See,
there's the ugly snout of one now. He made a bite for that big
porpoise but missed."

"Bless my meat axe!" cried the odd man. "So he did. Say, boys, this
is worth seeing. There'll be a big fight in a minute."

"Not much of a fight," remarked Mr. Sander. "The porpoise isn't
built for fighting. They're trying to get away from the sharks by
leaping up."

"Why don't they dive, and so get away?" asked Ned.

"The sharks are too good at diving," went on Mr. Sander. "The
porpoises couldn't escape that way. Their only hope is that
something will scare the sharks away, otherwise they'll kill until
their appetites are satisfied, and that isn't going to be very soon
I'm afraid."

"Look! Look!" cried Ned. "A shark leaped half way out of the water
then."

"Yes, I saw it," called Tom.

There was now considerable excitement on deck. Nearly all the
passengers, many of the crew and several of the officers were
watching the strange sight. The porpoises were frantically tumbling,
turning and leaping to get away from their voracious enemies.

"Oh, if I only had my electric rifle!" cried Tom. "I'd make some of
those ugly sharks feel sick!"

"Bless my cartridge belt!" cried Mr. Damon. "That would be a good
idea. The porpoises are such harmless creatures. It's a shame to see
them attacked so."

For the activity of the sharks had now redoubled, and they were
darting here and there amid the school of porpoises biting with
their cruel jaws. The other fish were frantically leaping and
tumbling, but the strange part of it was that the schools of sharks
and porpoises kept about the same distance ahead of the ship, so
that the passengers had an excellent view of the novel and thrilling
sight.

"Rifle!" said Mr. Sander, catching at the word. "I fancy the captain
may have some. He's quite a friend of mine, I'll speak to him."

"Get me one, too, if you please," called Ned as the gentleman
hurried away.

"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 padde