"Perhaps there's going to be a fight," suggested Tom.
"Maybe it's the red pygmies," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my"
But what he was going to bless he did not say, for at that instant it seemed as if every native in sight suddenly disappeared, almost like magic. They sank down into the grass, darted into their huts, or hid in the tall grass.
"What can it be?" cried Tom, as he looked to see that his rifle was in working order.
"Some enemy," declared Mr. Anderson.
"There they are!" cried Ned Newton, and as he spoke there burst into view, coming from the tall grass that covered the plain about the village, a herd of savage, wild buffaloes. On rushed the shaggy creatures, their long, sharp horns seeming like waving spears as they advanced.
"Here's more sport!" cried Tom.
"No! Not sport! Danger!" yelled Mr. Durban. "They're headed right for us!"
"Then we'll stop them," declared the young inventor, as he raised his gun.
"No! No!" begged the old hunter. "It's as much as our lives are worth to try to stop a rush of wild buffaloes. You couldn't do it with Gatling guns. We can kill a few, but the rest
