"Let 'em have it!" called Tom in a low voice, and the electric
rifles sent out their stunning charges. Several natives in the front
rank dropped, and there was a cry of fear and wonder from the
others. Then, after a moment's hesitation they pressed on again.
"Once more!" cried Tom.
Again the electric rifles spoke, and half a score went down
unconscious, but not seriously hurt. In a few hours they would be as
well as ever, such was the merciful charge that Tom Swift and the
others used in the rifles.
The third time they fired, and this was too much for the natives.
They could not battle against an unseen and silent enemy who mowed
them down like a field of grain. With wild yells they fled back
along the trail they had come.
"I guess that does it!" cried Tom. "We'd better join the others
now."
Mounting their mules, they galloped back to where San Pedro and his
natives were pressing forward.
"Did you have the honor of defeating them," the head mule driver
asked.
"I had the HONOR," answered Tom, with a grim smile.
Then they pressed on, but there was no more danger. That night they
camped in a peaceful valley and were not disturbed, and the
following day they put a good many miles behind them.
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