e next instant
the black muleteer came rushing toward the camp, crying:

"He is caught in a rope! Mr. Damon is caught in a rope!"

"A rope!" repeated Ned, not understanding.

"Yes, a rope in a tree. Come quickly!"

Tom caught up one of the electric rifles and rushed forward. No
sooner had he set eyes on his friend, who was writhing about in the
folds of what looked like a big ship cable, then the young inventor
cried:

"A rope! Yes, a living rope! That's a big boa constrictor that has
Mr. Damon! Get a gun, Ned, and follow me! We must save him before he
is crushed to death!"

And the two lads rushed forward while the living rope drew its folds
tighter and tighter about the unfortunate man.

CHAPTER XII

A NATIVE BATTLE

"Bless my--!" but that was as far as poor Mr. Damon could get. The
breath was fairly squeezed out of him by the folds of the great
serpent that had dropped down out of the tree to crush him to death.
His head fell forward on his breast, and his arms were pinioned to
his sides.

"Quick, Ned!" cried Tom. "We must fire together! Be careful not to
hit Mr. Damon!"

"That's right. I'll take the snake on one side, Tom, and you on the
other!"

"No! Then we might hit each other. Come on my side. Aim for the
head, and throw in the highest charge. We want to kill, not stun!"

"Right!" gasped Ned, as he ran forward at his chum's side.

San Pedro, and the other natives, could do nothing. In the gathering
twilight, broken by the light of several campfires, they stood
helpless watching the two plucky youths advance to do battle with
the serpent. Eradicate had caught up a club, and had dashed forward
to do what he could, but Tom motioned him back.

"We can manage," spoke the young inventor.

Then he and Ned crept on with ready rifles. The snake raised its
ugly head and hissed, ceasing for a moment to constrict its coils
about the unfortunate man.

"Now's our chance--fire!" hoarsely whispered Ned.

It seemed as if the big snake heard, for, raising its head still
higher, it fairly glared at Ned and Tom. It was the very chance they
wanted, for they could now fire without the danger of hitting Mr.
Damon.

"Ready?" asked Tom of his chum in a low voice.

"Ready!" was the equally low answer.

It was necessary to kill the serpent at one shot, as to merely wound
it might mean that in its agony it would thresh about, and seriously
injure, if not kill, Mr. Damon.

"Fire!" called Tom in a whis