The next day was busily spent by the boys. Jack had his portable wireless to assemble. Raynor was assigned as “chief of baggage,” and Captain Sparhawk and Mr. Jukes, with Muldoon, who spoke the Papuan dialect after a fashion, occupied the time rounding up the native bearers and finding a suitable “head man.” The latter was very important to the success of the expedition, both to keep the other natives up to their work and to find trails and, if necessary, act as interpreter. Through the good offices of Jabez Hook, a “smart Yankee” who ran a “general store” at Bomobori, and was a warm friend of Captain Sparhawk’s, they finally found just the man they wanted. He was a tall, up-right Papuan with an exceptionally intelligent face, who spoke fair English, knew the country thoroughly and appeared about thirty years old. Salloo, as he called himself, agreed to have everything in readiness for a start into the interior by the next morning. He held out hopes that from some of the interior tribes they would get news of the lost ones, for among the natives news travels fast, and if ‘Bully’ Broom had conveyed prisoners into the inland some of the tribesmen would be sure to know about it.

When Jack returned from the Sea Gypsy, where he had set up his apparatus, he reported that all was well on board and everything going forward smoothly under the command of the first officer. Thurman appeared to be delighted with his chance to vindicate himself, but acting under Mr. Jukes’ advice, it had been deemed prudent to refuse him shore liberty till the party returned. Thurman did not seem to resent this, and told Jack that after all he had gone through, a “soft berth” and good meals on the yacht appealed to him. He had seen enough of the tropics, so he declared, to have no especial desire to go ashore at Bomobori.

It was not till eleven o’clock that night that they turned in. But when they did so it was with a satisfied feeling that every detail had been attended to. Not the least satisfactory result of the day had been Jack’s achievement of perfecting the portable wireless which would keep them at all times in touch with the yacht.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. The boys were up before any of the rest of the party, dressed in khaki suits, sun helmets and stout leggings, for much of the way would lie through ragged bush. Each lad carried a water canteen, a pocket filter, compass, knife, and wore a service revolver attached to a cartridge belt. In these “uniforms” they looked very business-like, and capable of giving a good account of themselves in any emergency. Soon after the other members of the party appeared somewhat similarly attired. Mr. Jukes’ pockets bulged with boxes of dyspepsia pills, and Muldoon wore his sailor uniform with the addition of leggings and a sun helmet.

“Shure I look like a sea soldier no liss,” was the way he summed up his appearance, and the boys couldn’t help agreeing with him.

While they were at breakfast, Salloo and his “bearers” presented themselves.

Salloo greeted them with a low “salaam,” and volunteered the information that:

“Him welly good day for makum start. Go many miles. Good trail for first part of journey.”

“Well, the further we go, the quicker we’ll get back,” commented Muldoon in true Irish style.

At eight o’clock they were off. Nobody in the town knew the true object of their expedition, but supposed they were off on a hunt for entomological specimens, for New Guinea swarms with rare forms of insect life and many intrepid collectors have found it a happy hunting ground, some of them paying for their devotion to science with their lives.

At first the question of traveling on horse-back had been mooted. But Salloo promptly vetoed this. The country was too rough and thickly grown to make horse-back travel feasible for more than a few miles, he declared. They might have used the river, but it was only navigable for a short distance when the swift current and the shoals made it dangerous for up-stream travel. Natives coming down it always abandoned their dugouts, which were simply hollow trees, at Bomobori, and went back to their villages on foot.

The town was soon left behind and they struck into a trail which was broad and well trodden. On all sides were dense groves of tropical vegetation, towering palms, spreading mangoes laden with golden fruit, that ever-present banana and fragrant guava and lemon trees. From the tall lance-wood and cotton trees great creepers and lianas, looking like serpents, twined and coiled. There was a moist, steaming heat in the air.

“It’s just like being in a big conservatory at home,” said Jack, and indeed the air had just the odor and closeness of a glass-house.

“This is fever territory,” declared Mr. Jukes, administering a large dose of quinine to himself. “There is to be no sleeping on the ground, remember.”

“I guess not, after the experience we had in our room at the hotel last night,” said Raynor, and amidst much laughter he narrated the details of their uncomfortable night.

As they pushed onward, there came from the river, which glinted like molten lead in the sunshine at their left, a long-drawn cry which startled all the white members of the expedition. It resembled the human voice and appeared to be the appeal of someone in agony.

“Shure there’s some poor soul in throuble over yonder forninst the river,” declared Muldoon, and before any one could stop him he had left the trail and was making for the water.

“Hi you white man, you comee back,” cried Salloo.

But he was too late. Hardly had Muldoon left the trail than he sank up to his knees in black, oozy mud which held him like liquid glue.

His struggles only made matters worse, and soon he was up to his knees in the evil-smelling, glutinous mass which bubbled about him as it sucked him down.

“Help! Murther! Shure, O’im kilt intirely!” cried the frightened man, waving his arms frantically.