“Gosh, perhaps it’s a map of where they hid their loot!” cried Tom excitedly.
“And we can go and get it!” put in Frank.
“I’ll say ’tis and we can!” yelled Rawlins. “It’s all over but the shouting! Come on, let’s beat it for Georgetown with this duck and then hike after their loot! This bush work may be all right, but me for the ocean. I’m itching to get under water again. By glory, treasure hunting’s my middle name!”
Mr. Pauling laughed. “I had an idea that hunches were,” he chuckled. “But come on. Nothing more to keep us here and it’s mainly your hunches, Rawlins, that have carried us through.”
“Not a bit of it,” declared the diver. “You’ll have to thank the radio detectives for that. I’d never have had any hunches if it hadn’t been for them.”
A few minutes later the lonely jungle lake had been left behind. The boat sped down the creek towards the great river, while the Indians’ rousing, homeward bound chantey startled the screeching parrots from the tree tops. A monkey crept curiously from his hiding place and gazed quizzically at the deserted seaplane. Beside a jungle stream an Indian washed the painted eyes and grinning fang-filled mouth from his chest and smiled contentedly and with grim satisfaction as he thought of how well his tribesman had been avenged. The long search which had carried Mr. Pauling and his friends so far and into such strange places was over. Their mission had been accomplished. The radio detectives had done their part, the arch criminal was a prisoner; they had come to the end of the trail and now only the plunging, swirling, thrilling rush down the great river and through the churning rapids lay between them and civilization.
THE END
SPLENDID STORIES FOR BOYS
OVER TWO SEAS, by RALPH HENRY BARBOUR and H. P. HOLT