“That is exactly what the Chucunaque Indians are afraid of,” Mr. Gray told them. “The Government of Columbia has tried to colonize their country but they have fought every effort and the Government had to give up because the Indians won’t let a white man get into their lands. They have drawn a sort of sacred ring around themselves and no one can get into the country without their permission, and once in, will never be heard of again unless the Indians let him go.”
“That doesn’t look very promising,” Tom said despondently.
“But if we had a plan, as you said,” Nicky said hopefully, “only—what kind of a plan would fit that sort of people?”
Jack, who kept his face shaved and clean and who took pride in his new respectability, had been listening without comment; he spoke up.
“One thing I do know, from Porto Bello and other places,” he said, “is that the Indians are all pretty sickly. Now, back in Colorado, I used to be a sort of ‘jack-leg’ doctor, a rough-and-ready kind of a doctor, I admit—but I knew something about medicine and so on. If we had some medicines, now, and any books——”
“The very thing!” cried Tom, exultantly. “We have a medicine kit on board, and it tells how to use things—first aid and all that!”
“And we have plenty of zinc ointment, and other remedies that are useful for skin diseases and so on,” Mr. Gray declared. “I know enough about tropical exploration to provide those things, and we have them.”
“Then, maybe I could pose as a great medicine man,” Jack suggested. “Not that I would be, you see, but I could do some things, maybe.”
“And we know first aid,” Nicky cried, eagerly. “The Scouts all know first aid and how to take care of hurts and stings and cuts.”
Tom found an objection.