“Even if we get away, what of Mr. Livingston and Pedro?” Jack asked in an undertone. “We can’t leave them behind, and they’re in no condition to travel even under favorable condition.”
“It must be a trap,” Willie insisted. “These natives are stupid. But not stupid enough to leave this hut unguarded unless they want us to walk off.”
“They’ve been drinking chicha or whatever it is, pretty steadily since we were dragged in here,” War pointed out. “Maybe they’ve all passed out, including our guard.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Ken advised bluntly. “Some sort of celebration is in full swing all right, but our guard had his wits about him a half hour ago. There’s something mighty queer about this exodus.”
“At any rate, there’s no future in staying here,” Jack announced. “I’m going to slip out and look around. The rest of you wait and see if I get peppered with arrows!”
While the other Scouts watched anxiously, he moved some distance from the hut. Cautiously, he surveyed the darkened village. No one was visible. Though he had no way of accurately telling time, he judged that it lacked about two hours of dawn.
A fire, in which a lamb had been roasted whole earlier in the night, still smoldered. Otherwise, there was no sign of life or activity. Had the natives suddenly decided to abandon their villages, and if so, why?
“This sure is queer,” Jack muttered. “I don’t get it.”
He made a quick tour of the village, seeing not a man, woman or child. Some distance away, through the dense trees, he caught the flash of lighted straw torches. There were a great many of them, and they were moving away from the village.
“This is the best chance we’ll ever have to get out of here,” Jack told himself. “But dare we take it?”