We laughed at this, but my humor was soon short, as another vine slipped over my forehead, taking my Panama hat with it.
After this we were more careful, fearful that some of us might be seriously injured, and a little later we went into camp in the midst of a tiny clearing.
We were just finishing our supper when a most doleful howl arose on the air, coming from the rear and to the right of us. I leaped up and drew my pistol, expecting to be attacked by some wild animal.
“Here’s excitement!” ejaculated the newspaper correspondent. “What can it be—a bear?”
He had hardly finished when a perfect chorus of howls arose, coming closer. I gazed in alarm at Captain Guerez and Alano. My chum laughed outright.
“Don’t get scared, Mark; they are only wild dogs.”
“Wild dogs!” put in Burnham. “Well that is the worst yet! And they are not dangerous?”
“If you met a large number of them alone they might be,” replied Captain Guerez. “But they won’t think of attacking such a party as ours. They’ll hang around until we leave and then search the camp for stray food.”
In spite of this explanation, however, Burnham insisted that a guard be kept during the night, and we each took two hours at the task. Before the sun had struck us from over the treetops, we had breakfast and were off. Sure enough, the wild dogs rushed in the moment we had left the opening. They were a lean and ugly-looking set of curs.