“We will begin test excavations in the morning,” he said.
The party was in camp, and preparations were made for spending the night in the forest, when from among the trees there floated to the ears of our friends a queer Indian chant.
“Some one is coming,” said Tom to Ned.
Almost as he spoke there filed into the clearing where the camp had been set up, a cavalcade of white men, followed by Indians. And at the sight of one of the white men Tom Swift uttered a cry.
“Professor Beecher!” gasped the young inventor.
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Chapter 17
CHAPTER XVII
THE LOST MAP
THE on-marching company of white men, with their Indian attendants, came to a halt on the edge of the clearing as they caught sight of the tents already set up there. The barbaric chant of the native bearers ceased abruptly, and there was a look of surprise shown on the face of Professor Fenimore Beecher. For Professor Beecher it was, in the lead of the rival expedition.
“Bless my shoe laces!” exclaimed Mr. Damon.
“Is it really Beecher?” asked Ned, though he knew as well as Tom that it was the young archaeologist.
“It certainly is!” declared Tom. “And he has nerve to follow us so closely!”
“Maybe he thinks we have nerve to get here ahead of him,” suggested Ned, smiling grimly.
“Probably,” agreed Tom, with a short laugh. “Well, it evidently surprises him to find us here
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at all, after the mean trick he played on us to get Jacinto to lead us into the jungle and desert us.”
“That’s right,” assented Ned. “Well, what’s the next move?”
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