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CHAPTER XXII
Lost in the Wilds of Brazil

THE largest snake of Brazil was about to strike and enfold the youths in its terrible coils. And that could mean but one thing – death in an awful form.

Slowly Bob and Joe raised their rifles and took careful aim at the horrible head. They must not miss. Here, if ever, was a need for accurate shooting.

There came another hiss, and the reptile glided still closer, its wicked eyes gleaming in the sunlight. It was moving stealthily, as if wondering which of the boys to make for.

“Now!” whispered Bob and a second later pulled the trigger.

Bang! Bang! Two rifles spoke, but only one found the mark. It would have been a difficult task for even an expert marksman to strike that small swaying head. And Bob and Joe were not expert marksmen, although the former was much better than the average.

But the bullet had only glanced the top of the head and had done no real damage. The reptile was only more enraged.

“Run!” cried Joe, as he saw that the anaconda was preparing to strike.

“One more shot,” whispered back Bob, again raising his rifle. “I’m afraid we couldn’t get far if we ran.”

Again the rifles spoke, and this time, thanks to the young hunters’ courage, both bullets smashed into the head and shattered it. The great snake thrashed about in its death struggle, the coils describing circles and curves. At last it quieted down and lay still. For the first time it had been defeated.

Bob and Joe waited several minutes for any other signs of life, but none came. They moved up to examine the great body, which lay stretched out over a radius of fifteen feet.

“Thicker than a man’s leg,” observed Joe, who was still unsteady from the terrible encounter.

“An unusually large specimen,” commented Bob. “Think of the excitement our dads would stir up if they could see it.”

“They might take it back to the States,” said Joe. “Only – I doubt if it would be much good to them with the head shattered as it is.”

The boys spent several more minutes in examining the anaconda. Then, unwilling to lose precious time, they started on down the decline. They intended at least to reach the other side before turning back.

“Steep along here,” said Joe, as they came to a rocky edge.

“Couldn’t fall far,” his friend remarked. “The heavy vegetation would catch you before you’d fallen ten feet. But even then I wouldn’t care to lose my balance and come up against a tree.”

The young explorers stumbled on to the bottom and then began the ascent of the opposite side.

Suddenly they heard a vicious snarl and looked back to see that a large, powerful jaguar was poised ready to spring. Its wicked eyes shone like beads as it bared its sharp teeth.

Slowly the youths raised their rifles and took steady aim. Joe was the first to pull the trigger, and a moment later Bob followed.

A part snarl, part whine came from the beast, and it weaved as if going to fall. But it righted itself and then again prepared to spring.

“It’s up to you, Bob,” murmured Joe in a tone that he tried to keep steady. “My rifle’s empty. Can’t get it loaded in time.”

Bob frowned.

A second later he raised his gun to fire, but it caught on a sharp protruding branch and was wrenched from his grasp. With a frightened glance at the huge cat he turned to run, and Joe was at his heels.

The boys well knew that they had little chance of escape in that dense jungle, but they resolved to retreat as fast as their legs would carry them. And the fact that the jaguar was severely wounded gave them courage to run with all the strength they could muster.

“Good thing you got him in the leg,” panted Joe, as they made for a faintly outlined path not far away. “We wouldn’t have had a chance in the world otherwise.”

As Joe said, the boys would have proved no match for the animal’s agility had it not been wounded. Even as it was, they knew that the great cat was gaining rapidly. In no time it would be upon them.

A few yards down, the path branched into several directions. They chose the one to the right, for no reason at all. It offered no better chance of escape than did the others.

“Oh!” groaned Joe, imagining that he could feel the hot breath of the beast. “We can’t keep this up much longer.”

The youths refused to lose heart, however, and continued as rapidly as they could. At several other places the trail branched, and they followed the widest and most clearly defined. They had no notion of where they were going. In fact they did not care, as long as they were outdistancing their terrible enemy.

At last they found it impossible to continue the flight. Their breath gone completely; their hearts were beating like triphammers.

With a sudden movement Bob wheeled about and brought out his hunting knife, just as the jaguar prepared to spring. The great cat lunged forward, bearing the youth to the ground. As he fell, Bob summoned all his strength and plunged the sharp blade of the knife deep into the animal’s side at a point where he judged it would find the heart. His aim was true. With one last cough the beast rolled over and lay still. The knife plus Bob’s courage had proven too much for even its brute strength.

For a time the youth could not speak. At last he managed to blurt out a few almost unintelligible words to Joe, who had been helpless to render aid during the death struggle.

Joe sighed and shook his head. “Another narrow escape!” he breathed, picturing what would have happened had not Bob made use of his hunting knife.

The boys spent only a short time in examining the great cat, for they were anxious to get back to the boats at once.

“Let’s hurry back to camp,” moved Bob, looking at his watch. “We’ve been gone several hours. Doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

But little did the young hunters dream that they were miles from the boats and their elders – that they had unknowingly penetrated deeper and deeper into this dense jungle.

After one last look at the great jaguar, the chums started back down the trail, heading for the boats. They wondered what kind of a reception their fathers would give them after being gone so long.

Ten minutes of constant hiking brought them to a spot where the trail branched into four or five other paths, each winding in a slightly different direction from the others. Which branch should they take to get back to camp?

“Strange,” mused Joe. “I thought sure we could pick out the right branch. But you know we didn’t have much time for thought when that jaguar was chasing us.”

The youths spent fully ten minutes in trying to decide on which trail they had turned out, but in the end they were no more enlightened than they were at the start. They tried to remember some landmark that might be suggestive but could not. The heavy Amazonian jungle had proven too much for their memories.

But they refused to admit that they were beaten, and at last chose the middle trail, as it seemed more like the one they had followed. There was no use giving up without showing fight. They walked on constantly and at last came to another place where the path branched. Here again they were at a loss to know which direction to take.

“Believe it’s the one to the left,” concluded Joe, scratching his head thoughtfully.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” the other said. “But if you think you’re right, we may as well follow it.”

They did follow it. One, two, three miles they hiked. But where was the canyon?

“We’re surely on the wrong course,” said Bob, glancing at his pedometer. “Three miles is farther than we went before. And we haven’t come to the spot where I dropped my gun yet. Suppose we go back and try another trail.”

Joe was willing, and they retraced their footsteps, at last coming to the place where the path branched.

“Suppose we try the one to the right,” suggested Joe, and they did.

But when, after a half-hour’s tramp, they made no more headway than before, they saw the futility of continuing on this trail. Again they went back and took another direction. And again they failed to come to Bob’s rifle. The youths continued the search for several hours, never ceasing. But each time they met with failure. The cruel Brazilian forest was not to be conquered by man.

Finally, exhausted and baffled to the extreme, they sat down on a decaying tree trunk. The stark truth had at last dawned on them. They were lost – lost in the wilds of Brazil!

CHAPTER XXIII
Terrible Cries of Savages

“OH, why did we have to wander so far away!” moaned Joe, rapidly losing his nerve. “We should have known better than to try to penetrate this endless jungle.”

Bob was equally touched, but he resolved to keep up hope. There was no use in tamely submitting to fear so soon. One more search might bring them to the river, and then it would be easy to find the boats.

“We’ll come out all right,” he said, “although I’ll admit we’re in a tight fix.”

The youths rested for nearly a half-hour. Then their strength – and to some extent their hope – restored, they again took up the task of finding the right trail.

Back and forth they hiked, confident that at last they would happen upon it. But search as they did, their efforts were in vain. The cruel Brazilian jungle was not to be conquered by man.

At last, satisfied that nothing could be gained by continuing such efforts, Joe moved that they take one of the other trails in the hope that it would lead them to the river.

“All right,” said Bob. “No use trying to find the one we followed when running from the jaguar.”

Joe had reloaded his rifle, and Bob had placed his hunting knife ready for instant use. They were taking no chances on meeting some formidable jungle beast.

The path that they now followed was wider than the others and consequently was more likely to lead to some definite spot. But neither of the chums was sure that they were heading for the river. It might lead them fifty miles away, for all they knew. Still they hiked on.

“Do you know,” remarked Bob, when another hour had passed, “that I’m beginning to think that these trails were not cut by wild animals! They’re too closely defined. Now take this one, for example. See how wide it is? And look over there. The vegetation’s been cut by a machete.”

Joe grew suddenly pale. He clutched his rifle tighter.

“You mean – savages?” he demanded, at the same time looking sharply about.

“I may be wrong,” Bob said quietly, “but that is my opinion. And as we’re about in the region inhabited by the savage tribe that Professor Bigelow was searching for, it seems that these paths could have been cut by them. What do you think?”

“I’m all too afraid that you’re right,” was the reply. “And we’ll have to be very careful from now on. At the slightest unfamiliar sound we’ll have to hide.”

Bob groaned.

“If I only had my rifle,” he cried. “Or if I had brought my revolver it wouldn’t be quite as bad.”

But there was no use regretting something that could not be helped, and Bob and Joe resolved to meet conditions as they were. Perhaps if it should happen that Indians discovered them, it would be best not to use their weapons except in self-defense. If the natives’ good will could be gained, it would not only help them but be of benefit to Professor Bigelow also.

All the remainder of that afternoon the youths tramped on up the trail, hoping to burst at last upon the river. They were tired and downhearted when finally they stopped by a small spring of cool water. Experience had taught them that in the great majority of cases these jungle springs were ideal drinking places and that only a very few were poisoned. So they drank freely of the refreshing liquid and felt much better for it.

“Better stop here for the night, hadn’t we?” asked Bob, taking in the surrounding country.

“Yes,” his friend replied. “There’s a good place to sleep,” pointing to a large hollow in the ground.

A little later darkness fell suddenly, and with it came the usual chill of the atmosphere. Joe had some matches in a small waterproof box, and he took them out and ignited the dry branches of an uprooted tree. The fire blazed lively up into the black reaches of the jungle, giving off heat that was welcomed by the two chums as they sat close together.

Before retiring, they took account of their weapons and ammunition. Joe’s rifle was the only firearm in their possession, but both boys had a large supply of cartridges that should last a long time. With cautious use they might make them satisfy their needs for several days. But after that? Still there was no use worrying about the future. They could let it take care of itself. At present they were safe.

“I’ll take the first guard,” said Bob, half an hour later. “You turn in and get several hours’ sleep. I’ll call you when the night’s half over.”

Joe grudgingly consented. He had intended to stand watch first.

Bob heaped the fire up high and had a good supply of fuel ready to keep it blazing constantly.

But when ten minutes had passed he smothered it down to half the size it had been. It was not wise to keep it too high, for though it was a sure protection from wild animals, it might attract the attention of hostile Indians.

“Have to prevent that at any cost,” the young man thought.

Bob sat moodily fingering his rifle, gazing into the dark depths of the jungle. From afar came a terrorizing howl of some beast that had fallen victim of a stronger enemy. Shortly later there came another howl of different origin. Then another, another, until the whole jungle rang with fiendish cries.

It was enough to frighten anyone, and Bob stared rather fearfully into the surrounding forest, wondering what tragedies were going on at that moment.

“Probably scores of creatures being killed,” he thought, shifting uneasily.

Nothing happened throughout his watch, and he at last moved over and tapped Joe on the back. The latter jumped to his feet as if shot, and gazed fearfully about, as if expecting to see a band of cannibals rush in on them. But a moment later he smiled sheepishly.

“Guess I was dreaming,” he said, taking his position on a log.

Bob readily sympathized with his chum, for the day had been a strenuous one, and their endurance had been taxed severely.

“We’ll surely find a way out tomorrow,” Bob said, curling up in the hollow.

“Hope so,” was the reply.

Joe’s watch was also devoid of incident, and late the next morning he called the other youth from his slumber.

They were obliged to begin the day without any breakfast, although they were extremely hungry. They could have shot some small animal, but Bob thought it wise to wait until noon.

“By that time,” he said hopefully, “maybe we’ll have found the river – or something else.”

They followed the same trail until Joe stopped and looked about.

“We’re not getting any place as things are,” he said. “Seems to me the river should be over in that direction.”

“I think so too,” agreed Bob. “There should be plenty of branch paths that would take us over there.”

They found one before another five minutes had passed, and turned onto its narrow surface.

“The world’s greatest jungle,” mused Bob, shaking his head.

“Sure is a whopper,” the other agreed. “Wonderful. I had no idea it would have such a wide variety of plants, and that it could be so dense.”

All that morning the boys spent in vainly searching for the river. The trail that they had turned onto continued, but where it would lead to they did not know. It might have gradually circled several miles out of the way.

During that desperate search the chums saw a large number of all types of wild animals, although none happened to be dangerous. Monkeys crowded thickly down to the lowest boughs, small gnawing creatures darted across the path, brightly colored birds flew swiftly overhead. Occasionally the boys could get a glimpse of a snake slinking through the underbrush. It was a wonderful menagerie and could have been enjoyed to the full had they not been in such a terrible plight.

“Do you know,” remarked Bob, his eyes on a small creature, “I believe these animals are used to seeing people.”

Joe looked around inquiringly.

“Now take that small furred creature that just passed,” Bob continued. “Did you notice how wary it seemed? One glance at us was enough to send it running back at full speed. They never did that before. Now here’s what I think: we’re in a country inhabited either by rubber gatherers or Indians. Why rubber gatherers would be so far from civilization I don’t know, unless – ”

“I don’t think they would be,” interrupted Joe. “We didn’t come across any boat that they might have come in. And of course they wouldn’t have come all these hundreds of miles by land.”

“Then it’s Indians. Savages, cannibals, maybe, for all we know. It’s their bows and arrows that have scared these wild animals out of their wits.”

The youths knew not what to make of the situation. There could easily be Indians in this region, for Professor Bigelow was almost sure they were near the strange savage tribe that Otari told about. But how the natives would treat these two lone whites was a mystery. If there should be a battle the youths knew that their rifle could be relied upon only as long as the supply of cartridges lasted. Then they would be compelled to surrender.

“I have a plan,” stated Joe, several minutes later. “If anything should happen that we are discovered by savages, it might be best to act extremely exhausted, as if we couldn’t stand up a minute longer. We could even fall in our tracks before they quite get sight of us. The chances are they would sympathize with us and take us into their village.”

“Then what?”

“We could gain their friendship and have them lead us to the river.”

“Fine!” cried Bob Holton, his hope renewed. “Takes you to think of some plan to get us out of danger. Most likely we could carry it out, for these savages are only grown children when it comes to catching on to anything unusual. But we’d have to be very careful and keep a close watch for any treachery.”

Along toward noon the youths began to look for game. They were by now furiously hungry and felt as if they could devour almost any creature that would fall at the report of their rifle.

They did not have to wait long before a large duck-like bird flew over and perched on a tree bough, not twenty feet away. Joe handed his rifle to his chum.

“Take a shot at it,” urged Joe. “We may not see another chance as good.”

Bob aimed carefully and fired just as the bird prepared to take flight. A moment later feathers flew and the creature fluttered to the ground.

“Hurrah!” cried Joe. “Now we eat!”

A fire was built of dead wood in the vicinity, and the young hunters’ quarry was placed over the flames to bake. Before long a delicious odor filled the clearing, and the youths prepared a feast fit for a king.

“Roast duck! Think of that!” cried Joe.

The bird tasted good, despite the fact that it was rather tough. Bob and Joe ate heartily, until only a small portion was left. Then they stretched themselves on the soft grass for a short rest.

“I feel like getting some sleep,” remarked Joe. “But of course – ”

He stopped suddenly and strained his ears to listen.

Bob looked inquiringly but remained quiet.

A moment later there came a long, weird chant that cut through the thin jungle air with remarkable clearness. It was repeated several times, always nearer. Never before had the youths heard anything like it, and they were intensely bewildered.

Bob looked inquiringly at his friend, but the latter could give no explanation.

“Beyond me,” he muttered.

Again the cry came, and then the boys jumped to their feet in horror.

“Savages!” cried Bob excitedly. “Indians – wild Indians. They’re coming this way!”

CHAPTER XXIV
The Hideous Village

“OH!” groaned Bob hopelessly. “Guess it’s all up with us.”

“No, it isn’t,” the other youth retorted. “You remember what we said to do in such an emergency, don’t you? Act extremely exhausted, as if we couldn’t move another foot. Lie on the ground – do anything to make them feel sorry for us. They will if the thing is carried out right.”

The cries were gradually getting louder, indicating that the Indians were coming closer. Occasionally some savage would chant louder than the others, and then there would be a grand chorus of shouts and yells.

“They’re getting nearer,” muttered Joe. “Come on, let’s lie on the ground. Act as if you’re half dead.”

The youths threw themselves on the soft grass and awaited developments.

They had not long to wait.

A figure burst into view from around a bend in the trail. Another, followed by fully twenty other savages, their gruesome faces showing surprise and bewilderment at sight of the youths.

Who were these persons – persons of a strange color? Were they enemies? Were they on the ground waiting for a chance to kill? What was that strange long thing that was beside them? What were they doing here? Had they been sent down from the sky to bring destruction to villages, or had they wandered from an unknown region in the remote beyond?

For fully ten minutes the savages were silent. Then they began chattering loudly and moved stealthily up to the boys, bows and arrows and blowguns in readiness.

Bob and Joe waited in terrible suspense, half expecting to be pierced by deadly weapons. The youths longed to move about, if only for a moment. Once Joe felt an itching along his back, and the desire to scratch was almost uncontrollable, but he finally managed to remain quiet.

An Indian that was evidently the chief felt of the boys’ bodies and limbs carefully, while his men looked on, ready to send an arrow at once if necessary. At last, after feeling the beating of the boys’ hearts, the native regained his feet and conversed with the others.

Then Bob and Joe were picked up by strong arms and carried through the jungle.

Where would they be taken? What was to be their fate? Could they gain the friendship of the savages? These questions were in the youths’ minds as they were being carried along the trail.

“Maybe they’re going to put us in boiling water,” thought Joe, and he shuddered in spite of himself. “But then,” he finally reasoned, “they probably won’t do that. After all, very few tribes are cannibalistic.”

How long the tramp continued, Bob and Joe did not know, but at last, after what seemed several hours, they came to a spot where the path broadened into twice the original width, and a few minutes later they parted the bushes and came to a large native village, where at least sixty wild Indians were walking about. At sight of the warriors and their burdens the Indians rushed forward and crowded around, their eagerness to get a view of the strange people resembling that of small children at a circus.

There was a turmoil of excited chattering, in which everyone took part. Questions flew thick and fast, and it was all the warriors could do to answer them.

Bob and Joe were placed in one of the native huts and for a short time left to themselves. There was a crude door at the entrance, and this was shut to keep out the curious.

Then for the first time they opened their eyes and looked about.

“We’re in a fairly large hut,” whispered Bob, glancing about. “And there are several pieces of furniture to keep us company. Over there is a kind of a table, laden down with pots and – Hurrah! There’s our rifle. What do you know about that!”

“They’re certainly generous,” admitted Joe. “It’s a wonder they didn’t take it and start pulling the trigger, which would no doubt have resulted in five or ten of them getting their brains blown out.”

“But now,” mused Bob, “what do you think? What’ll they do with us?”

“I don’t happen to know,” was the response. “But we’ll – ”

He ceased abruptly, as he noticed that the door was opening. The youths took a sitting position and tried to act as innocent as they could.

A second later the chief entered, followed by ten others. They stopped short when they noticed that the boys were sitting up, and stared in wonder.

Bob and Joe threw their hands apart in a gesture of helplessness and smiled gratefully. Bob beckoned the men to come in the hut.

They stood undecidedly at first, but finally, convinced that these strangers meant no harm, moved on in the dwelling.

Then the boys did all they could to convey the idea that they were thankful to the Indians for saving them from death from exhaustion, and in the end it looked as if they had succeeded. Not until the big chief smiled, however, did they feel secure, for there were grim looks on the faces of all the savages. But when the chief showed his teeth in friendship, the youths felt that the battle was won. With the head native on their side things looked a great deal brighter.

“Now for something to eat,” said Bob to his chum. “I’m not particular what it is, just so it’s nourishing.”

He put his hands to his mouth, and began working his jaws as if chewing. Then he imitated drinking. The chief understood, and he gave directions to one of his men, who dashed off to another part of the village.

Meanwhile the others stood gazing at the youths, who in their sun-tanned condition were scarcely less dark than the Indians themselves.

In a short time the Indian returned with plates and pots of food, which he placed on the ground beside them.

“Do you suppose the stuff’s all right?” asked Joe, hesitating to begin eating.

“Don’t know why it wouldn’t be,” Bob returned. “Why should they poison us? At present we’re too much of a curiosity to kill. They’ll at least wait for the novelty to wear off.”

The food tasted good despite the fact that the boys were ignorant as to what it was. They ate heartily, and in a very short time their strength was restored.

Then by signs they asked permission to walk around the village. At first the natives hesitated, but at last the chief nodded in approval, and the youths got to their feet.

“If we could just speak some of their language,” said Bob, as they went out of the thatched house.

“Be easy then,” affirmed Joe. “But maybe we can get them to take us to the river, and then Professor Bigelow can talk with them.”

The chief led the way around the settlement, pointing with pride to many articles that were the results of the Indians’ handiwork. Many objects were totally new to the boys, and they viewed them with interest. But when they came to one large hut they saw something that turned their blood cold with horror.

Hanging thickly on the walls were scores of dried human heads, their features perfectly preserved. In fact the ghastly trophies were so thick that there were no cracks between them.

Bob and Joe glanced around the room in terrible awe. Suddenly, as they turned about, their eyes fell on something that again caused them to be horror-stricken, this time more than before.

Near the corner were two heads that were – white!

“Explorers,” breathed Bob, rather nervously. “Or were they missionaries? At any rate these heads were those of white men – and they’ve been killed for their heads!”

The youths felt fairly sick, and once Joe reeled as if to fall. But he got a grip on himself and resolved to take matters as they were. At present they were in no danger. The terrible and yet genial chief seemed to be their friend. But how soon his lust to kill would come to the surface they did not know.

They spent no more time at the horrible trophy house, for it contained such things as one might see in a nightmare. Bob and Joe made up their minds to seek out something more pleasant.

They found it in a large board that had lines crossing and crisscrossing from one side to the other. The chief got out a box and took out several wooden pegs, which he placed in the spaces on the board. He moved them back and forth and laughed.

“Must be some kind of a game,” concluded Bob, thoroughly interested.

The boys spent several hours in touring the village, and although they were constantly enfolded by the crowd of curious savages, they enjoyed the experience. It was unique and different, but they felt some repulsion for the various activities carried on by these heathen people.

“All right for a visit,” mused Joe, “but I don’t think I’d care to live here.”

“I’d feel a whole lot safer back in the boats with our dads and the professor,” said Bob, as he thought of the hideous dried human heads. “Still,” he went on, “I suppose we should do all we can to help Professor Bigelow. Here is a chance for him to get plenty of information of the kind that he wants most.”

Late that afternoon Bob and Joe took the rifle and, motioning for the chief to follow, started into the jungle just back of the village. They intended to give the native a real surprise and thrill, such as he had never before had.

At last he went with them, probably wondering what the strange whites had in mind, but willing to find out.

“Maybe we can show him how to kill a jaguar,” said Joe, keeping a sharp watch over the forest.

No game was in the immediate vicinity of the village, owing to the frequent hunting trips made by the savages. But when they had gone several miles there came fresh signs that wild creatures were close by.

Suddenly they caught sight of a large tapir rooting in the tall grass.

Bob took the rifle and, motioning to the Indian, he pointed to the gun and then to the animal.

A moment later he pulled the trigger.

At the report of the weapon the big Indian jumped in fright and was on the verge of running back to the village, when Bob pointed again to the gun and then to the tapir, which was now dead. Then for the first time the chief caught the meaning, and he looked at the boys with something like worship in his eyes.

What strange magic was this? A long thing that spouted fire had killed a tapir instantly, without a struggle. These people must be gods.

From that moment on, the chief’s friendship for the youths increased to devotion, which at times promised to be embarrassing. But Bob and Joe did not care. This would be all the better opportunity for Professor Bigelow to secure information on the savages’ daily life and customs.

The three hunters trudged on farther, hoping to stir up more game. The boys wished particularly to get a shot at a jaguar, so that the power of the gun could be demonstrated still further.