SPEARS and arrows and darts flew thick and fast, striking down many a man on both sides. Fierce cries filled the atmosphere and made the Americans shudder. Here in the untamed wilds of Brazil was taking place as terrible a battle as the world had ever known. Savages—wild, hostile Indians—were the participants, and no people anywhere were more terrible when excited to insane fury.

For some time none of the explorers spoke. They were too captivated by the scene. But at last Mr. Holton turned thought into action.

“Get your rifles in readiness,” he commanded. “It’s up to us to drive this tribe away. The chief’s men seem unable to do it.

“Now we’re all good shots,” he went on. “Suppose we fire a volley of bullets and see if we can’t make them leave without bloodshed. If we can’t, we’ll have to shoot to kill. Come on, now.”

The whites raised their rifles, and, one at a time, pulled the triggers. Five shots rang out, much to the surprise of the savages. But as no damage seemed to be done by the strange reports, the Indians regained confidence and sent spears and arrows in the explorers’ direction. As a result, one of the crew went down, wounded in the thigh.

“We’ll have to shoot to kill,” said Mr. Lewis at once.

He raised his rifle and, taking careful aim, fired at the nearest native, who went down instantly.

Mr. Lewis’s shot was followed by those of the other whites, and at once panic ensued among the invading savages.

After only a thin defense, they took to their heels with cries of fright and bewilderment, leaving their dead and wounded behind.

“Guess that drove them off all right,” said Bob with a grim smile. “Come on, let’s——But wait! Look! The chief’s tribe is worshiping us.”

Bob was right. The Indians had fallen to their knees, waving their arms and muttering words that were not understood even by Professor Bigelow.

Even the chief, accustomed as he was to the rifles and the whites’ power to bring down animals, bowed his head in awe at his tribe’s deliverance.

It was a most embarrassing situation, and for a time the explorers were at a loss to know what to do next.

Finally Professor Bigelow walked forward and uttered kind words, at the same time raising hands for the savages to rise to their feet.

He succeeded well. At once they got to their feet and resumed something of their usual attitude, although they were not quite convinced that these people were not gods.

The chief went forward and conversed with them so rapidly that Professor Bigelow could not keep up.

“He’s telling of his visit to our camp,” the scientist said. “He perhaps considers it a much-prized experience.”

As soon as the chief had finished, the Indians jabbered excitedly, eager to get all the details. Occasionally they would look at the whites as if they considered them super-beings.

“They can’t get over the thought that we have higher powers than they have,” mused Bob. “But maybe,” he hesitated, his thoughts going back to the terrible trophy chamber of dried human heads that was one of the tribe’s prized possessions, “it will be just as well to let them go on thinking that way. It would be hard to say when they might turn against us if they thought we were ordinary persons.”

“Turn against us?” demanded Mr. Lewis, rather surprised. “What makes you think they would do that? They seem all right.”

“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.

At once his jaw dropped in astonishment, and a look of surprise and wonder came on his face.