“Indians!” gasped Tom.
The rifles were brought from the machine and they awaited the oncoming of the natives with grim determination. But the yells were soon perceived to be those of terror rather than ferocity. As they came closer, Captain Sprowl spoke with an air of authority.
“Those fellows, whoever they are, are running away from something or somebody,” he said.
“May be a tribal war,” suggested Mr. Chadwick.
“Maybe. But hark, what in the ‘Tarnal is that?”
Upon the wind there came, loud above the Indians’ shrieks and cries, a long-drawn noise like a yapping bark.
“Sounds like wolves!” cried Jack.
He had hardly spoken before through the woods, a short distance below them, a number of Indians burst upon the river bank. They piled into some canoes that the adventurers had not perceived hitherto but which had been lying on the bank. Entering them they paddled off down the stream in mad haste, as if in mortal fear of whatever was pursuing them.
The party were still watching them when again that queer bark resounded, and from the forest, at just the point where the canoes had lain, there burst an enormous animal, the like of which none of them had ever beheld.
