PROTRUDING from a tree bough not ten feet away was a long, sinister snake, its evil eyes glistening in what little sunlight penetrated the dense jungle. Whether it was poisonous Joe did not know, but he knew that even though it were not it would be dangerous to the extreme.

As cautiously as possible he nudged his companions, and then the naturalists held their rifles tighter. Here, only a short distance away, was a jararaca, one of the most poisonous of Brazilian reptiles—a snake that often was known to take the aggressive.

For a moment there was silence—an ominous silence that ended in a blood-curdling hiss.

Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis raised their rifles and took long and careful aim. Bob followed suit, although he was not sure that his aim would be true.

Then, just as the snake prepared to strike, the men fired simultaneously, and Bob pulled the trigger a second later.

In such a crisis it was necessary that their bullets take effect, and they did.

The reptile’s head was shattered into a horrible pulp that was all but sickening, and the great body lashed about in pain. For several minutes the movements continued; then, as life faded out, the snake became less active, finally stretching out into one last mass.

“Whew!” breathed Bob, relaxing for the first time. “That was some encounter.”

Mr. Holton nodded in affirmation.

“If we had been stung by those terrible fangs it would have been the last of us,” he said, casting a resentful look in that direction.

“The venom is extremely powerful,” remarked Mr. Lewis, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “It is yellow in color, and takes effect almost immediately. The nervous system becomes paralyzed in a very short time.”

“A pleasant way to die—I don’t think,” muttered Joe, shrugging his shoulders.

They made a wide circle about the reptile’s body and started on the return journey.

“I’d like to have it as a specimen,” remarked Mr. Lewis, referring to the jararaca. “But in its shattered condition it would not be worth the taking.”

The hunters rested awhile under the shade of a large hardwood tree, whose branches extended out over a great distance. Then Mr. Holton took up his belongings, and the others did the same.

Gradually the jungle became less dense, and at last they came to the village, where they were given a hearty greeting by the Indians, who were glad to see the hunters back in the village. They found Professor Bigelow in the hut, his hands flying over the keys of the typewriter.

At first he did not notice them, thinking they were Indians, but finally he lifted his gaze.

“What kind of luck did you have?” he inquired absently.

The others hesitated a moment at the professor’s almost unconscious question. It was evident that the anthropologist was becoming deeply absorbed in this work of observing the daily life of the little-known Indians. Then, with a wink at the others, Mr. Holton decided on a preposterous answer to see how the professor would take it.

“We brought down two tigers and an elephant,” he said, in as sober tones as he could summon.

“Hmm. Well, that’s fine”—the typewriter still clicked rapidly. “I suppose you’ll have them skinned at once?”

Bob and Joe could not help breaking out in laughter, and the naturalists joined them. Professor Bigelow looked up in surprise.

“I must confess I wish I could see something humorous,” he said, stopping his writing for a moment and looking at his companions in wonder.

The others were laughing all the harder now, and poor Professor Bigelow was bewildered beyond words. Only an explanation would satisfy him.

As soon as Mr. Holton could regain his breath he hastened to assure the professor that it was nothing about his person that caused the laugh, but only his intense scientific enthusiasm. He joined in the merriment also when the joke was told.

“That’s one on me,” he said mirthfully. “I guess I was too deeply engrossed in this manuscript.”

The remainder of that day was spent rather idly, for, hot as it had previously been, it seemed to grow all the more stifling. Bob remarked that he did not feel like doing anything but loafing, and the others were none different.

The next day Bob, Joe, and their fathers again started out on a collecting trip and added many new specimens to the already large assemblage. They brought in gorgeously colored macaws, screamers, woodpeckers, trumpeters, finfoots, waxbills, and many other birds. They shot many small animals, including a type of opossum, a large lizard, and an armadillo. It was indeed a large number of specimens that the naturalists prepared that night.

“So far, everything is working out fine,” smiled Mr. Lewis, as he put the fauna up for exhibition.

Meanwhile the chief, Otari, was helping Professor Bigelow as best he could and gave him several articles of daily use as a present, in return for which the professor gave the Indian beads and mirrors and other objects dear to all primitive people.

“I have enough material now to write several books,” the professor said joyfully. “The museum certainly will welcome this information. And these articles that the chief gave me—well, they will tickle the museum heads greatly.”

Time tended to increase rather than lessen the number of daily interests to the explorers, and they found themselves living as in a dream. The great tropical forest about them added an enchantment to the work, and the simple, primitive people that they were living with caused them to imagine themselves living in prehistoric times.

“It’s great, Joe, old boy,” said Bob, deeply stirred. “Who would have ever thought that away out here in the wilderness it would be possible to come across things so interesting?”

“Yet,” said Joe, “I suppose they wouldn’t be interesting to everyone.”

One day, when the party had been at the Indian village nearly a week, Bob and Joe asked permission to go into the forest and try their luck at getting specimens.

“All right,” Mr. Holton replied. “But don’t get too far away.”

Bob picked out a rifle and Joe a small shotgun, and after parting words with their elders they made for the jungle.

The trail was one that they had never taken, and it was consequently necessary to be doubly careful to pick the right branch. But they had little difficulty, as the main path was much wider than the branches.

In no time they were engulfed by the jungle, which was here even thicker than they had previously found it. Monkeys were more numerous in the tree boughs, and they peered doubtfully at the white hunters who had invaded their land.

Joe raised his shotgun and brought several down, intent upon leaving them at the spot until they would return to the village.

“So far, so good,” remarked Bob. “Wonder what else we’ll come across?”

“Time will tell,” Joe replied.

On and on they trekked, keeping a sharp lookout on all sides. Once Bob lost his footing and went sprawling on the ground.

“Better be more careful,” warned Joe.

Suddenly there came a loud snort, and the youths were on the alert at the instant.

Gripping their guns tightly, they stopped and waited.

Again it came, and the next minute they caught sight of a wild pig, or peccary, rustling the tall grass not far away.

“Keep still,” whispered Bob, raising his rifle. “Maybe I can get him. Then we can have meat—and his hide as a specimen.”

Several moments Bob spent in taking careful aim. Then he pulled the trigger.

Bang! Oink! Oink! Silence.

“Hurrah!” cried Joe. “Killed him dead as a doornail. Now to get his——”

He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of something that froze him with horror. Not fifty feet down the path rushed a drove of peccaries numbering at least twenty.