Occasionally they met little bands of native hunters, and, though usually these men fled at the sight of our friends, yet once they managed to make signs to one, who, informed them as best he could, that giant land was still far ahead of them.
Twice they heard distant sounds of native battles and the weird noise of the wooden drums and the tom-toms. Once, as they climbed up a big hill, they looked down into a valley and saw a great conflict in which there must have been several thousand natives on either side. It was a fierce battle, seen even from afar, and Tom and the others shuddered as they slipped down over the other side of the rise, and out of sight.
"We'd better steer clear of them," was Tom's opinion; and the others agreed with him.
For another week they kept on, the way becoming more and more difficult, and the country more and more wild. They had fairly to cut their way through the jungle at times, and the only paths were animal trails, but they were better than nothing. For the last five days they had not seen a human being, and the loneliness was telling on them.
"I'd be glad to see even a two-headed giant," remarked Tom whimsically one night as they made their camp.
"Yes, and I'd be glad to hear someone talk, even in the sign language," added Ned, with a grin.
They slept well, for they were very tired, and Tom, who shared his tent with Ned, was awakened rather early the next morning by hearing someone moving outside the canvas shelter.
"Is that you, Mr. Damon?" he asked, the odd gentleman having a tent adjoining that of the boys.
There was no answer.
"Rad, are you getting breakfast?" asked the young inventor. "What time is it?"