“You mean—savages?” he demanded, at the same time looking sharply about.
“I may be wrong,” Bob said quietly, “but that is my opinion. And as we’re about in the region inhabited by the savage tribe that Professor Bigelow was searching for, it seems that these paths could have been cut by them. What do you think?”
“I’m all too afraid that you’re right,” was the reply. “And we’ll have to be very careful from now on. At the slightest unfamiliar sound we’ll have to hide.”
Bob groaned.
“If I only had my rifle,” he cried. “Or if I had brought my revolver it wouldn’t be quite as bad.”
But there was no use regretting something that could not be helped, and Bob and Joe resolved to meet conditions as they were. Perhaps if it should happen that Indians discovered them, it would be best not to use their weapons except in self-defense. If the natives’ good will could be gained, it would not only help them but be of benefit to Professor Bigelow also.
All the remainder of that afternoon the youths tramped on up the trail, hoping to burst at last upon the river. They were tired and downhearted when finally they stopped by a small spring of cool water. Experience had taught them that in the great majority of cases these jungle springs were ideal drinking places and that only a very few were poisoned. So they drank freely of the refreshing liquid and felt much better for it.
“Better stop here for the night, hadn’t we?” asked Bob, taking in the surrounding country.
“Yes,” his friend replied. “There’s a good place to sleep,” pointing to a large hollow in the ground.
A little later darkness fell suddenly, and with it came the usual chill of the atmosphere. Joe had some matches in a small waterproof box, and he took them out and ignited the dry branches of an uprooted tree. The fire blazed lively up into the black reaches of the jungle, giving off heat that was welcomed by the two chums as they sat close together.