“Maybe we can show him how to kill a jaguar,” said Joe, keeping a sharp watch over the forest.
No game was in the immediate vicinity of the village, owing to the frequent hunting trips made by the savages. But when they had gone several miles there came fresh signs that wild creatures were close by.
Suddenly they caught sight of a large tapir rooting in the tall grass.
Bob took the rifle and, motioning to the Indian, he pointed to the gun and then to the animal.
A moment later he pulled the trigger.
At the report of the weapon the big Indian jumped in fright and was on the verge of running back to the village, when Bob pointed again to the gun and then to the tapir, which was now dead. Then for the first time the chief caught the meaning, and he looked at the boys with something like worship in his eyes.
What strange magic was this? A long thing that spouted fire had killed a tapir instantly, without a struggle. These people must be gods.
From that moment on, the chief’s friendship for the youths increased to devotion, which at times promised to be embarrassing. But Bob and Joe did not care. This would be all the better opportunity for Professor Bigelow to secure information on the savages’ daily life and customs.
The three hunters trudged on farther, hoping to stir up more game. The boys wished particularly to get a shot at a jaguar, so that the power of the gun could be demonstrated still further.
“The old boy’d just about throw a fit if he saw the rifle pot off the king of Brazilian wild beasts,” smiled Joe.