“Don’t know that they would,” Bob replied, exchanging meaning glances with Joe. “Still it’s wise to be on the safe side.”
It was evident that Bob’s significant statement had the men highly puzzled. Finally Professor Bigelow demanded an explanation.
“There’s nothing to it—except that these people are headhunters,” said Joe. “If you don’t believe it just take a look at the place where they keep the heads. And say! They’ve killed a couple of white men, too.”
Astonished gasps came from Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis, but not from Professor Bigelow. Anthropologist as he was, he had suspected this from the start. Very few savage tribes in the wilds of Brazil did not have that custom.
Suddenly a groan made all turn about, to see that the Indian of the crew who had been wounded by a spear had regained consciousness. His side apparently pained severely, for on his face was a look of agony.
Mr. Holton got to work at once.
“Ask the chief if we can have some water,” he said to Professor Bigelow. “Bob, suppose you run down to the boats and bring a box of antiseptic. Go as fast as you can. Meanwhile we’ll be taking care of others that were wounded.”
Bob grabbed a rifle and dashed off down the path for the stream.
He reached the boats in record time and hurriedly got out a box of first-aid materials. Then he made his way back to the village.
But he had gone only a few yards when a fluttering noise caused him to look up.