“How are we going to investigate anything when we’re hungry?” demanded Jimmie. “I can’t even think when I’m hungry.”
“Take away Jimmie’s appetite,” grinned Carl, “and there wouldn’t be enough left of him to fill an ounce bottle!”
Pedro still sat in the basin of the old fountain, rocking his body back and forth and wailing in a mixture of Spanish and English that he was the most unfortunate man who ever drew the breath of life.
“The animal industry,” he wailed, “is ruined. No more will the hunters of wild beasts bring them to this place for safe keeping. No more will the Indians assist in their capture. No more will the gold of the Gringo kiss my palm. The ships came out of the sky and brought ruin. Right the Indians are when they declare that the men who fly bring only disease and disaster!” he continued, with an angry glance directed at the boys.
“Cheer up!” laughed Jimmie. “Cheer up, old top, and remember that the worst is yet to come! Say!” the boy added in a moment. “How would it do to step out to the entrance and shoot a couple of those noisy savages?”
“I never learned how to shoot with an empty gun!” Carl said scornfully.
“How many cartridges have you in your gun?” asked Jimmie of Sam.
“About six,” was the reply. “I used two out of the clip on the jaguars and two were fired on the ride to Quito.”
“And that’s all the ammunition we’ve got, is it?” demanded Carl.
“That’s all we’ve got here!” answered Sam. “There’s plenty more at the machine if the Indians haven’t taken possession of it.”