of trees toward him.
Involuntarily he clutched Tom's arm and pointed, his face showing fear
in the fast-gathering darkness.

CHAPTER XI

THE VAMPIRES

Tom Swift looked deliberately around. It was characteristic of him
that, though by nature he was prompt in action, he never acted so
hurriedly as to obscure his judgment. So, though now Ned showed a
trace of strange excitement, Tom was cool.

"What is it?" asked the young inventor. "What's the matter? What did
you think you saw, Ned; another alligator?"

"Alligator? Nonsense! Up on shore? I saw a black shadow, and I didn't
THINK I saw it, either. I really did."

Tom laughed quietly.

"A shadow!" he exclaimed. "Since when were you afraid of shadows, Ned?"

"I'm not afraid of ordinary shadows," answered Ned, and in his voice
there was an uncertain tone. "I'm not afraid of my shadow or yours,
Tom, or anybody's that I can see. But this wasn't any human shadow.
It was as if a great big blob of wet darkness had been waved over your
head."

"That's a queer explanation," Tom said in a low voice. "A great big
blob of wet darkness!"

"But that just describes it," went on Ned, looking up and around. "It
was just as if you were in some dark room, and some one waved a wet
velvet cloak over your head--spooky like! It didn't make a sound, but
there was a smell as if a den of some wild beast was near here. I
remember that odor from the time we went hunting with your electric
rifle in the jungle, and got near the den in the rocks where the tigers
lived."

"Well, there is a wild beast smell all around here," admitted Tom,
sniffing the air. "It's the alligators in the river I guess. You know
they have an odor of musk."

"Do you mean to say you didn't feel that shadow flying over us just
now?" asked Ned.

"Well, I felt something sail through the air, but I took it to be a big
bird. I didn't pay much attention. To tell you the truth I was
thinking about Beecher--wondering when he would get here," added Tom
quickly as if to forestall any question as to whether or not his
thoughts had to do with Beecher in connection with Tom's affair of the
heart.

"Well it wasn't a bird--at least not a regular bird," said Ned in a low
voice, as once more he looked at the dark and gloomy jungle that
stretched back from the river and behind the little clearing where the
camp had been made.

"Come on!" cried Tom, in what he tried to make a cheerful voice. "This
is