Scattered huts, made of plastered mud and grass, with
thatched roofs of palm leaves, were met with, as they advanced, but
none of the places seemed to be inhabited, though rude gardens
around them showed that they had been the homes of natives up to
recently.
"No one seems to be at home," remarked Tom, when they had gone past
perhaps half a dozen of these lonely huts.
"I wonder what can be the matter?" asked Ned. "It looks as if they
had gone off in a hurry, too. Maybe there's been some sort of
epidemic."
"No, no sickness," said San Pedro. "Natives no sick."
"Bless my liver pill!" cried Mr. Damon, who was almost himself
again. "Then what is it?"
"Much fight, maybe."
"Much fight?" repeated Tom.
"Yes, tribes at war. Maybe natives go away so as not be killed."
"By Jove!" exclaimed the young inventor. "That's so. I forgot about
what Mr. Preston said. There's a native war going on around here.
Well, when we get to the town we can find out more about it, and
steer clear of the two armies, if we have to."
But as they went farther on, the evidences of a native war became
more pronounced.
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