ects had
been shipped. Mr. Damon had broken the news to his wife, and she had
consented to allow him to go, though she said it would be for the
last time.

"But if I bring her back a nice, big, gold image I know she'll let
me go on other trips with you, Tom." said the eccentric man. "Bless
my yard stick, if I couldn't go off on an adventure now and then I
don't know what I'd do."

They were in the library of the Swift home that evening. Tom, Ned,
Mr. Damon and the aged inventor, and of course the only thing talked
of was the prospective trip to the city of gold.

"What I can't understand," Mr. Swift was saying, "is why the natives
made so many of the same images of gold, and why there is that large
one in the underground place. What did they want of it?"

"That's part of the mystery we hope to solve," said Tom. "I'm going
to bring that big image home with me if I can. I guess--"

He was interrupted by a ring at the front door.

"I hope that isn't Andy Foger," remarked Ned.

"No danger," replied Tom. "He'll keep away from here after what he
did to my aeroplane."

Mrs. Baggert went to the door.

"A message for you, Tom," she announced a little later, handing in
an envelope.

"Hello, a cablegram!" exclaimed the young inventor. "It must be from
Mr. Illingway, in Africa. It is," he added a moment later as he
glanced at the signature.

"What does he say?" asked Mr. Swift.

"Can he give us any more definite information about the city of
gold?" inquired Ned.

"I'll read it," said Tom, and there was a curious, strained note in
his voice. "This is what it says:"

"'No more information obtainable. But if you go to the city of gold
beware of the head-hunters!'"

"Head-hunters!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my top-knot, what are
they?"

"I don't know," answered Tom simply, "but whatever they are we've
got to be on the lookout for them when we get to the gold city, and
that's where I'm going, head-hunters or no head-hunters!"

CHAPTER VII

TOM MAKES A PROMISE

It may well be imagined that the cable warning sent by Mr. Illingway
caused our friends considerable anxiety. Coming as it did, almost at
the last minute, so brief--giving no particulars--it was very
ominous. Yet Tom was not afraid, nor did any of the others show
signs of fear.

"Bless my shotgun!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he looked at the few
words on the paper which Tom passed around. "I wish Mr. Illingway
had said more about the head-hunte