“I took to the water when halfway between the camps and waded for a couple of hundred yards.”
“Then you don’t think that they will be able to track you?”
“No. But they may search the neighborhood before they leave.”
“Harvey reports the main body still at the white rock. How do you account for that?”
“The band is undoubtedly resting for the day. It is probable that the savages have travelled some distance and have called a forty-eight hours’ halt. I can think of no other reason, for surely there could be no game to attract them in this vicinity, and there is no hostile tribe near for them to attack.”
“You don’t suppose they are in search of the gold, do you?” asked Harvey.
“Gold! They don’t know what gold is. They are the most ignorant Indians in all Peru.”
This whispered conversation was suddenly brought to an end by Ferguson, who placed his fingers on his lips, to enjoin silence, and pointed through the opening nearest the river. They looked in the direction, and saw a head projecting beyond a rock. It was the head of a Majerona, long black hair, and skin a light copper color. The savage looked up and down stream, then was lost to sight for a moment, and soon stood out in the open, where he was joined by several others.
They were naked, save for strips of hide that served as loin cloths. They were tall, well-formed men, straight and muscular: each held a long bow, and dependent from the belt of hide, instead of swung over the shoulder, was a quiver filled with arrows. The cannibal who had first thrust out his head had done so cautiously, as if to survey the country, but they soon became bold, evidently convinced that they were alone. First, they took a few steps up stream, at which the white men tightened their grips on the weapons, and then, for some reason, they turned about and hurried away.
“Whew! that was a narrow escape!” muttered Ferguson.