“They’s a fire here ’bout,” replied the captain. “Don’ you smell him?”
“Yes, I believe I do!” exclaimed the explorer also sniffing. “Cautiously, Colcord--if there’s a fire there must be men. We may be close to our quarry. Go silently and we may surprise him.”
At the surprising news that there was a camp fire near, every one grew tense with excitement and expectancy, for while there was a chance that it might prove to be an Indian encampment, yet there was also a chance--and a very promising one--that it might be the fire of the fugitive they sought. Moreover, even were it an Indian’s fire the man they were hunting might be there and silently they waited as with noiseless strokes of their saddles the Indians urged the boat towards the bank, following the scent of pungent smoke as unerringly as hounds on the trail.
They had almost reached the rocky shores and, with weapons ready, the men were preparing to leap ashore and dash into the forest towards the thin wisp of blue haze that was now visible among the trees, when from the jungle ahead, the sharp report of a pistol rang out. So totally unexpected and startling was the sound that even the stolid Indians uttered cries of alarm and surprise.
“By glory, he’s seen us!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Missed us though--come on! Over the top, boys! We’ll--”
His words died on his lips as from the dark forest came a quavering, blood-curdling scream; an unearthly awful sound.
“What in blazes is that?” cried Rawlins, as the boat grated on the rocks and he sprang ashore.
“Jaguar!” snapped out Mr. Thorne. “He must have fired at the beast! Come on!”
But before he could leap onto the rocks the Indians had seized their paddles and with terrified cries of “Kenaima! Kenaima!” were struggling madly to push the boat from shore.
“Stop that!” commanded Mr. Thorne. “No makeum fool!”