“We’re sunk unless we can convince ’em we’re friendly!” Ken declared. “I’ll go down to meet ’em—”
“Don’t risk it,” Jack warned, grasping his arm. “Those boys mean business this time.”
His words were drowned by a sudden shout which came from the savages. A shower of arrows, shot with great force from powerful bows, descended on the camp site.
Ken and Jack retreated from the fire, dragging the trembling Pedro with them. The three huddled in the underbrush, tensely waiting.
“We might have a fighting chance if we were armed,” Jack muttered. “As it is, we’re wholly at their mercy.”
“It’s better we’re unarmed,” Ken returned. “Maybe if we don’t return the fire of arrows or make any hostile moves, they may get it through their thick skulls that we mean them no harm. Wow!”
The exclamation was wrung from his lips as an arrow whizzed by his ear to bury itself in the bark of a tree trunk directly behind.
“Sure, we can convince ’em we’re friendly!” Jack exclaimed. “If one of those arrows ever hits us, we won’t be doing any talking!”
The three flattened themselves upon the earth. For a while the rain of arrows kept up but then subsided.
Cautiously, the Scouts raised themselves up to survey the situation.