been burned, and
the native mule drivers began showing signs of fear.

"I don't like this," murmured Tom to his chum. "It looks bad."

"What can you do?"

"Nothing, I guess. We've got to keep on. No use turning back now.
Maybe the two rival forces have annihilated each other, and there
aren't any fighters left."

At that moment there arose a cry from some of the natives who, with
the mules and their burdens, had pressed on ahead.

"What's that?" exclaimed Tom.

"Something's happened!" gasped Ned.

"Bless my cartridge box!" cried Mr. Damon.

The three went forward and came to a little hill. They looked down
into a valley--a valley that had sheltered a native village, but the
village was no more. It was but a heap of blackened and fire-scarred
ruins, and there were still clouds of smoke arising from the grass
huts, showing that the enemy had but recently made their assault on
the place.

"Bless my heart!" cried Mr. Damon. "The whole place has been wiped
out."

"Not one hut left," added Ned.

"Hark!" cried Tom.

An instant later there arose, off in the woods, a chorus of wild
yells. It was followed by the weird sound of tom-toms and the gourd
and skin drums of the natives. The shouting noise increased, and the
sound of the war drums also.

"Look!" cried Mr. Damon, pointing to a distant hill, and there the
boys saw two large bodies of natives rushing toward one another,
brandishing spears, clubs and the deadly blow guns.

They were not more than half a mile away, and in plain view of Tom
and his party, though the two forces had not yet seen our friends.

"They're going to fight!" cried Tom.

And the next moment the two bodies of natives came together in a
mass, the enemies hurling themselves at each other with the
eagerness and ferocity of wild beasts. It was a deadly battle.

CHAPTER XIII

THE DESERTION

"Say, look at those fellows pitch into one another!" gasped Ned.

"It's fighting at close range all right," commented Mr. Damon.

"If they had rifles they wouldn't be at it hand to hand," spoke Tom.
"Maybe it's just as well they haven't, for there won't be so many
killed. But say, we'd better be thinking of ourselves. They may make
up their quarrel and turn against us any minute."

"No--never--no danger of them being friends--they are rival tribes,"
said San Pedro. "But either one may attack us--the one that is the
victor. It is better that we keep away."

"I guess you're right," ag