THE sight that Bob beheld was one that few hunters and scientists have the opportunity of seeing. Strange sights were common enough in all little-known lands, but this was indeed a wonder of wonders.

Not thirty feet in the air a bird resembling an eagle was carrying a half-grown tapir with apparently perfect ease, although the tapir was three times heavier than itself. The tapir was very much alive, as indicated by its writhing movements, but these availed it nothing. It might as well have been caught in an iron vise.

For several minutes Bob stared spellbound, taken completely aback.

Finally he called himself to action and raised his rifle.

“Dad and Mr. Lewis would no doubt welcome the addition of such an unusual specimen as this eagle,” he thought and then pulled the trigger.

The report of the gun was immediately followed by the dropping of the bird and its prey. It fluttered about for a moment and then lay still. The tapir had been killed instantly by the fall.

Much to Bob’s surprise, the bird could be lifted easily, and he hastened on to the Indian settlement, confident that the naturalists would nearly throw a fit over the strange eagle.

And he thought right. Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis exclaimed in delight and surprise when they caught sight of Bob and the strange creature he was carrying.

“Where did you ever find it?” asked Mr. Lewis, and Bob was forced to tell of the entire experience.

“The great hairy eagle,” pronounced Mr. Holton, when the youth had finished. “I thought they were confined to the jungles of Guiana, didn’t you, Ben?” he asked of Joe’s father.

“Yes,” was the reply. “Never heard of their being found here. Such is unusual indeed. The claws are the most powerful of any known bird.”

But there was little time for further examining the specimen, for the wounded Indians needed treatment. The member of the crew was looked after first, and then they turned to the chief’s men, many of whom were seriously wounded. As for those who had been struck by poisoned arrows, treatment was unnecessary, for death had set in long before.

The better part of an hour was spent in giving first-aid to the unfortunate savages, and in the end they felt that a large number of lives had been saved by their actions.

“But don’t think that the natives have no cure for human ills,” said Professor Bigelow. “The chances are that they know of many remedies that surpass those of civilization in curing properties.”

When the task was completed, the Indians invited the whites to come in the main hut and participate in a feast in honor of their ability to drive off the hostile invaders. The invitation was accepted at once, for the explorers were all very hungry.

“Wonder what they’ll give us to eat?” asked Joe, as they went into the thatched hut.

“Perhaps it’ll be better not to know,” Bob grinned.

Whatever it was, however, it tasted good, and they ate heartily of everything.

“Now I’m going to get in touch with the chief, whose name I recently learned is Reemikuk,” announced Professor Bigelow. “But first, however, I must have my typewriter. That means a trip to the boats.”

“And while he’s doing that, Mr. Lewis and I can have a look about the village,” Bob’s father said. “Perhaps you boys can show us the places and things of interest. Will you do it?”

“To be sure we will,” returned Joe. “But first,” he said with a grim smile, “you must prepare yourselves to see things that are unpleasant.”

“What do you mean?” his father demanded.

For answer the youths led the way to the trophy house and its hideous contents.

Impulsively the naturalists shrank back in disgust at the scene. Never had they laid eyes on such a place of horror before.

“To think,” muttered Mr. Lewis, “that even these wild people could do such hideous things!”

But despite the gruesomeness of the place they spent several minutes there, unable to tear themselves away from its terrible fascination.

At last Mr. Holton made for the outside.

“Now for something more pleasant,” he said. “What is there, boys?”

“Plenty,” answered Joe. “There are games and baskets and carvings and....”

All the remainder of that day was spent in examining the many articles of interest made by the simple savages.

When at last they went back to the hut that was to be theirs during their stay at the village, they found the professor in earnest conversation with the chief and a witch doctor.

The Indians were talking slowly, so that the scientist could pick up every word. He glanced up at the other whites only for a moment, so deeply engrossed was he in what the savages were telling him.

“He seems to be enjoying himself immensely,” observed Joe aside to his chum.

“No doubt about it,” Bob replied. “And look how the Indians are regarding the typewriter. Probably think it’s another of the whites’ magics.”

Professor Bigelow was enjoying himself. Every strange custom of the savages appealed to him as a wonderful item to put in the book he intended to write about the primitive inhabitants of these wild regions. But two days later something happened that, although considered a very interesting custom by the anthropologist, was not to the liking of the other whites. A band of twenty-five warriors had gone into the upper reaches of the river several days before, and now they returned laden with—human heads!

“Ugh! Me for the hut,” said Bob, a sickly feeling creeping over him as he viewed the ghastly trophies.

And the others, with the exception of Professor Bigelow, felt the same way. The anthropologist, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the terrible scene.

“How thrilling a custom!” he said to his friends that night, as they prepared to retire.

For answer the others only groaned.

But if the explorers thought the mere carrying in of human heads was gruesome, they were to witness something still more terrible before a week would pass.