“What is it?” yelled Joe. “Come here and you’ll see! I guess I must have--” his voice was drowned out in a burst of noise that sounded like the letting off of strings of firecrackers. Guided by the glare and brightness, Joe and Blake rushed through the jungle to where their old friend had stationed himself. As they reached him they saw him rushing about in the midst of a lot of sparks, while all about him balls from Roman candles shot in various directions. “What is it? What is it?” cried Blake. “I dropped a match in a box of fireworks!” yelled Mr. Piper. “They’re going off!” “I should say so,” agreed Joe. As he spoke a skyrocket that must have been lying on the ground, or some flat surface, shot over his head with a whiz and a roar. “Look out!” yelled Blake. But he need not have spoken, for Joe ducked instinctively and the rocket, colliding with a tree, burst with a loud report and a shower of fire. Then came another, so close to C. C. that the actor’s clothes were set ablaze. “Gee whiz!” cried Joe. “This is the limit!” “Help! Help!” cried Mr. Piper, vainly endeavoring to beat out the flames. Blake, seeing the danger, ran to a pool of water, and filling his hat, dashed the liquid over the man. The spray served to put out the flames, and Mr. Piper, beating out the last remaining sparks with his hands, tossed some damp earth on the smouldering box of fireworks. “That’s over, anyhow!” he remarked with a sigh of relief. “Come on!” yelled Joe. “One last volley and I think we’ll have ’em on the run!” Then the native porters set up shouts of triumph. They were answered with wild yells of fear from the kidnappers. The shooting redoubled in its sound and glare. “Give ’em all we have!” yelled Blake, as by the flare of the rockets he saw the mass of natives huddled in the centre of the village, too terrified to move. “All we have--that’s right!” echoed Joe, as he sent another aerial bomb aloft. “It’s now or never.” The fusillade was greeted with a chorus of groans and yells. Then there burst out a blaze from the centre of the village. “One of the huts is on fire!” cried Blake. “The sparks have caught on the thatched roof!” “And it’s the king’s, too!” yelled Joe. “Come on, or the other huts may catch--the ones where Jessie and the missionaries are. Come on!” “Go ahead!” cried Sergeant Hotchkiss. “I guess we’ve got ’em on the run!” And so they had. Endeavoring to escape from the fire of the guns on the south, the Africans had rushed to the north, there to be met with the fusillade of skyrockets and Roman candles. It was too much for their superstitious natures. They might stand a human assault, but the fire from heaven was too much. With howls of fear they rushed off to one side--off into the jungle, deserting their village. Men, women and children fled, leaving their captives to those who had come to rescue them. It was a complete victory.