“Explorers,” breathed Bob, rather nervously. “Or were they missionaries? At any rate these heads were those of white men—and they’ve been killed for their heads!”
The youths felt fairly sick, and once Joe reeled as if to fall. But he got a grip on himself and resolved to take matters as they were. At present they were in no danger. The terrible and yet genial chief seemed to be their friend. But how soon his lust to kill would come to the surface they did not know.
They spent no more time at the horrible trophy house, for it contained such things as one might see in a nightmare. Bob and Joe made up their minds to seek out something more pleasant.
They found it in a large board that had lines crossing and crisscrossing from one side to the other. The chief got out a box and took out several wooden pegs, which he placed in the spaces on the board. He moved them back and forth and laughed.
“Must be some kind of a game,” concluded Bob, thoroughly interested.
The boys spent several hours in touring the village, and although they were constantly enfolded by the crowd of curious savages, they enjoyed the experience. It was unique and different, but they felt some repulsion for the various activities carried on by these heathen people.
“All right for a visit,” mused Joe, “but I don’t think I’d care to live here.”
“I’d feel a whole lot safer back in the boats with our dads and the professor,” said Bob, as he thought of the hideous dried human heads. “Still,” he went on, “I suppose we should do all we can to help Professor Bigelow. Here is a chance for him to get plenty of information of the kind that he wants most.”
Late that afternoon Bob and Joe took the rifle and, motioning for the chief to follow, started into the jungle just back of the village. They intended to give the native a real surprise and thrill, such as he had never before had.
At last he went with them, probably wondering what the strange whites had in mind, but willing to find out.