Bud scratched his head, then grinned. “Okay. Just pretend I never asked.”
“What it all boils down to is-I can’t figure out
TERRIFYING TRACKS 143
what the stuff is composed of,” Tom said with a smile. “Frankly, I’m stumped.”
Several hours of testing brought him no nearer the answer. Finally, Tom dispatched the Flying Lab back to Imbolu and directed the pilot to put a sample of the hot rnud on the shuttle flight to Shopton that evening. Tom enclosed a note, asking his father’s help in analyzing the substance.
As Chow and the boys ate supper around their campfire, Tom seemed quiet and absent-minded. He kept mulling over the hot-mud problem.
At last the three lay down for the night, with the blaze of the fire fading into glowing embers. The jungle was shrouded in eerie silence, broken only by the drone of crickets and the occasional scream of a tree hyrax.
Suddenly Tom awoke. His scalp bristled as his bedside lantern revealed a weird figure in the doorway of his tent. A tall, bony old white man stood there. His face, burned dark by the African sun, contrasted starkly with his bushy gray whiskers. The man’s eyes glowed fanatically.
For a moment Tom wondered if he were dreaming. Then the old man spoke in English.
“Leave the jungle, Tom Swift!” he croaked. “I warn you, if you try to continue your highway over the bog, a terrible vengeance will strike!”
CHAPTER XVII
PILLARS OF FIRE
TOM was shocked wide awake. He threw back his blanket and started to get up from his cot.
“Who are you?” Tom asked the weird-looking old man. “And why should a terrible vengeance-”