Nobody's dreams could have been a bit more happy than those of Dick Temple just at this moment.
He was sitting once more on the deck of the great raft, which was slowly gliding down the sunlit sea-like Amazon. The near bank was tree-clad, and every branch was garlanded with flowers of rainbow hues.
But Dick looked not on the trees nor the flowers, nor the waving undulating forest itself--looked not on the sun-kissed river. His eyes were fixed on a brightly-beautiful and happy face. It was Peggy who sat beside him, Peggy to whom he was breathing words of affection and love, Peggy with shy, half-flushed face and slightly averted head.
But suddenly this scene was changed, and he awoke with a start to grasp his rifle. A shrill quavering yell rang through the camp, and awakened every echo in the forest.
The Indians--the dreaded Paynee tribe of cannibals--were on them. That yell was a war-cry. These pagan Paynees were thirsting for blood.
[CHAPTER XXI--THE FOREST IS SHEETED IN FLAMES]
For just a few moments Roland was taken aback. Then, in a steady manly voice that could be heard all over the camp, he gave the order.
"All men down! The Indians are approaching from the west. Fire low, lads--between you and the light.
"Don't waste a shot!" he added.
