“Make for the trail,” panted Joe. “Then we might get back to the village.”
They kept up the fast pace for a distance of several hundred yards, and then, panting and gasping, they slowed down to a trot.
“Guess we’ve thrown them off the track,” breathed Joe, hobbling along almost on one foot.
“Let’s hope so,” Bob answered, glancing around for a brief moment.
At last they parted the foliage and burst into the village, their faces red with fatigue, their bodies dripping with perspiration.
Mr. Lewis came out to meet them, and he glanced up in some surprise.
“What happened?” he asked, sensing that the youths had met with some misfortune.
“Peccaries!” returned Bob. “A drove of peccaries! Doesn’t that mean something?”
“Ah!” the naturalist exclaimed. “Well, it’s no wonder you’re so worn out. Let’s hear about it.”