Two conflicting emotions held them motionless, speechless. One was of joy at the flight of their guard, the other was something akin to the terror which had sent Ugly into the bush at headlong speed.
The noise of the Indian’s progress through the forest might still be heard as trailing vines tore at his garments and sent him floundering to the ground only to leap to his feet and dash recklessly on once more. The thing advancing upon them was silent, the crouching figure moving over the ground like an ape, the features obliterated as to outline by a veil of yellow flame from which misty emanations proceeded.
Case was not at all superstitious. He saw in the queer figure only a trick of some enemy, and so sprang for the automatic rifle which the Indian had cast away in his flight. The next moment it was leveled at the advancing figure. The result was as remarkable as it was instantaneous.
The figure dropped to the ground, rolling about, kicking spasmodically at the empty air, and emitting shouts of laughter which rang oddly through the forest. Case understood and darted forward, shouting that it was Jule, up to another of his tricks!
“Whoo—pee!” yelled Jule, rolling about in an abandonment of mirth.
“I’ll show you!” Case cried, taking the boy by the back of the neck. “I’ll show you what we do to spooks in Brazil!”
Frank stood as if still unconvinced.
“Quit!” Jule remonstrated, as Case lifted him to his feet. “You let me go! Don’t you know any more than to take a fellow by the hair of his head. “Quit, I tell you!”
Case released the boy, whose face and hands were still shining with the sulphur which he had rubbed from old-fashioned matches, and pushed him away as he arose to his feet.
“You smell like a match factory!” he said.