CHAPTER XXIII
THE RESCUE
"Can you make out the hut, Tom?" asked Ned, as he stood at his
chum's side in the steering tower, and gazed downward on the silent
village.
"Not very clearly. Suppose you take a look through the night-
glasses. Maybe you'll have better luck."
Ned peered long and earnestly.
"No, I can't see a thing." he said. "It all looks to be a confused
jumble of huts. I can't tell one from the other. We'll have to go
lower."
"I don't want to do that," objected Tom. "If this attack succeeds at
all, it will have to be sharp and quick. If we go down where they
can spot us, and work our way up to the hut where the captives are,
we'll run the chance of an attack that may put us out of business."
"Yes, we ought to get right over the hut, and then make a sudden
swoop down," admitted Ned, "but if we can't see it--"
"I have it!" cried Tom suddenly. "Tomba! That African can see in the
dark like a cat. Why, just before we started I dropped a wrench, and
I didn't have any matches handy to look for it. I was groping around
in the dark trying to get my hands on it, and you know it was pretty
black in the jungle. Well, along come Tomba.
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