With a great sweep of his arm he described a circle in the air. Then the same circle was made but pointing toward the ground, part of the imaginary line being drawn across the trail.
Then he pointed forward and nodded: he pointed backward and shook his head.
“Do you remember what my father said about the charmed circle—the circle the Chucunaque Indians have established?” Cliff asked.
“Yes,” Tom agreed. “Where few white men go.”
“More than that,” Nicky added. “According to the gestures of our brother, who ought to be initiated into the Mystery Boys order and taught some signs that can be understood—according to him, the way leads in but the way doesn’t lead out again!”
CHAPTER XXII
IN THE CLOSED CIRCLE
Three days were spent on that trail: at times the chums felt as though the humid, close air would overcome them, the exertion would overwhelm their endurance.
Nevertheless they kept on stubbornly. The Indians seemed not to mind any amount of exertion, and it was agreed by the white comrades that they would not show themselves weaker. Truly they were not trained to such a life, yet they were determined to stand up—and they did. Grit carried them along when weary muscles rebelled.
At last they came into a cleared spot in the foothills. In it was a sizeable village, the capital city, as one might say, of the tribe.
“I’ll be mighty grateful for a hut and a long rest,” Nicky panted, walking resolutely, with shoulders back, into the clearing.