“Unless they attack us,” said C. C., as he examined one of the several rifles he had purchased for himself and the boys. “That’s allowed; isn’t it, sergeant?” “Oh, yes, to protect life. You may shoot anything, then.” “A lion for mine!” cried Blake. “I’d rather get an elephant and save the tusks,” spoke Joe, while C. C. said: “Well, I’d like to bag a big rhino with horns about a yard long. The head would make a stunning ornament for my den, but I suppose if I went after one I’d be bagged by it and the horn would be stuck through me, so----” “Hold on!” cried Mr. Duncan, with a smile. “I thought you had given up that sort of talk.” “So I have!” declared C. C. “No more gloom for me; if I forget, remind me of it.” “Let’s talk about filming the wild animals,” suggested Joe. “Oh, you won’t have any lack of subjects,” declared Sergeant Hotchkiss. “Sometimes certain game becomes so numerous and so bold that it is taken off the protected list and classed as vermin, when anyone is allowed to shoot at will. Often here the buffaloes and hippos are so styled, for the latter often come in from the lakes and rivers and destroy the natives’ crops. And it has happened that the buffaloes get so bold that they attack on the least, and often without any, provocation.” It did not take long for the train to reach a wild part of the country, passing through what would be a jungle, except that it was reclaimed to civilization by the railroad line. On either side of the rails, a short distance away, it was a real jungle, teeming with bird and animal life. It was on the afternoon of the second day, and the boys had gotten their moving picture cameras in readiness. They had begun to despair of seeing any big game, in spite of what the sergeant had said, until they got farther into the jungle, for the most they had glimpsed were big birds and a hyena or two, the latter slinking off at the approach of the train before they could be filmed. Suddenly the engine began to slacken speed, and finally came to a stop, nowhere near a station. “What’s that?” asked Blake, as he finished threading a film into his camera. “Maybe a rhino on the track,” suggested the sergeant. “We did hit one once, and damaged the engine so we couldn’t go on. But I don’t think that’s the case now. However, we’ll take a look.” They piled out of the coach. It was hot, and moisture hung in the air. There was a deadly overpowering odor--a jungle smell. Great ferns made a thick foliage, and back amid the trees the queer notes of strange birds could be heard, while, now and then, a movement in the grass indicated the passage of some larger creature of the hidden fastness. “Something’s up!” exclaimed Joe, as he saw the conductor, fireman and engineer of the train in consultation. “Telegraph line is down,” said Sergeant Hotchkiss. “I can see where a pole has fallen. We can’t go on until it’s mended--can’t get the proper orders, you see.” “What made it come down?” asked Joe.