“Malaysian head-hunters, unquestionably,” replied Theriere.
Red Sanders shuddered inwardly. The appellation had a most gruesome sound.
“Come on!” cried Theriere, and started off after the mucker, who already was out of sight in the thick forest.
Red Sanders and Wison took a few steps after the Frenchman. Theriere turned once to see that they were following him, and then a turn in the trail hid them from his view. Red Sanders stopped.
“Damme if I'm goin' to get my coconut hacked off on any such wild-goose chase as this,” he said to Wison.
“The girl's more'n likely dead long ago,” said the other.
“Sure she is,” returned Red Sanders, “an' if we go buttin' into that there thicket we'll be dead too. Ugh! Poor Miller. Poor Swenson. It's orful. Did you see wot they done to 'em beside cuttin' off their heads?”
“Yes,” whispered Wison, looking suddenly behind him.
Red Sanders gave a little start, peering in the direction that his companion had looked.
“Wot was it?” he whimpered. “Wot did you do that fer?”