Ken had finished tying up Jack’s arm. “The wound isn’t deep, but it may get infected,” he said anxiously. “I wish we had some iodine and a first aid kit!”
“I’ll be okay,” Jack replied carelessly. “All in all, I’m lucky to be in one piece.”
“That’s so,” returned Mr. Livingston, his face grave. “Cannibal fish will kill a bird instantly, if one is unfortunate enough to drop into infested waters.”
“How do you figure War and I weren’t attacked when we first dived in?”
“You were wearing shorts. That probably helped. I’ve read that caribe fish are less likely to recognize flesh and blood if a man is clothed.”
“That pool must be alive with ’em,” Ken shuddered. “As far as I’m concerned, the Incas can keep their treasure!”
“Funny thing,” Jack said thoughtfully, “that one fish was the only one I saw. There may be others, but not many.”
A low whistle from the pool belatedly reminded the three that War still was on the rock ledge below. Jack and Ken lowered the vine rope, pulling him up.
“The fish can keep their old pool!” War exclaimed, shivering as he began to dress. “I’ve had enough—”
His words trailed off. From the direction of the tunnel, the three heard two sharp whistles.