Mr. Holton and Professor Bigelow now came running out, along with a few Indians.
Bob related their narrow escape from the wild pigs, and Mr. Holton shook his head gravely.
“You don’t want any more such encounters,” he said. “Good luck like that couldn’t happen twice.”
“At that, we would have got away sooner if Joe hadn’t sprained his ankle,” said Bob.
“A sprained ankle is a bad thing to have when in a wild land,” said Professor Bigelow, with a grim smile. “It often proves one’s own undoing. But now,” he added, “I’m off to converse with the chief. I’m getting a wealth of information about these strange people.”
But though he was meeting with success, the professor was destined not to be satisfied in prolonging his stay in this village. It happened in this way. The explorers were seated about the campfire one evening when the chief happened casually to mention a strange Indian tribe that lived in the remote beyond. At once the anthropologist was on the alert, ready to hear anything that Otari might say.
“Tell me something about them,” urged the scientist in the native tongue.
The chief explained that little was known about the tribe, except that the members were extremely warlike and did not hesitate to kill anyone that looked to be an enemy. Often they were cannibalistic, boiling their victims in huge clay kettles. Asked how he knew about them, Otari replied that one of his tribe, a born rover and adventurer, happened to come across them when on an exploring expedition in the upper reaches of the river. At first he was taken prisoner but was later released and allowed to return down the river.
For nearly five minutes after Otari had finished, Professor Bigelow was thoughtfully silent, absorbed in picturing the journey into the unknown. How wonderful it would be to visit this strange tribe! What an opportunity to win recognition from eminent men of his profession!
“How far away is this place?” he asked at last.