"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.
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
at all, after the mean trick he played on us to
get Jacinto to lead us into the jungle and desert
us.
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