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of terror, cries of anger, and a rushing to and fro on the part of the giants, followed the latest trick of Tom Swift to impress them with his power. But to all this the young inventor and his friends paid no attention. Their eyes were fixed on the ragged figure of the white man who was rushing toward their hut as fast as his legs, manacled as they were, would let him.

"Come on! Come on!" cried Tom.

"Look out!" yelled Ned. "Some of the giants are after him, Tom!"

Several of the big men, after their first fright, had recovered sufficiently to pursue the captive so strangely released by the explosion.

"Hand me an electric rifle, Ned!" cried Tom.

"Bless my shoe laces!" cried Mr. Damon, "You're not going to kill any of the giants; are you, Tom?"

"Well, I'm not going to let them capture Jake Poddington again," was the quick answer, "but