  Ken and Jack fought the current desperately, but could not delay the swift progress of their balsa downstream. Irresistibly, they were drawn closer and closer to the brink of the waterfall. The stern swung around, and the craft went broadside, striking a large boulder. Pedro was spilled into the boiling waters. In trying to save him, Jack and Ken lost their paddles, and also were thrown into the stream. The former grasped a rock, and managed to extend a helping hand to Pedro, who clung desperately. But in assisting the guide, Jack lost his own grip on the rock. The current swept him on. He swam frantically, exerting all his strength. Exhausted and grasping for breath, he finally pulled himself out on shore. Dragging himself to his feet, he peered back to see what had become of Ken and Pedro. Both were clinging desperately to the rocks, but at any instant might be swept on over the falls. The balsa and all their vitally precious stores were gone. “Hold on!” he shouted hoarsely. “Don’t let go!” Jack had no rope. He knew he could expect no help from the Indians. “Stay back!” Ken shouted, as he started to wade toward the boulder. “You’ll be swept off your feet!” Feeling the vicious tug of the current, Jack retreated to the fringe of trees. His gaze fastened upon a long, tough vine which hung within reach. Ripping it down, he waded as far as he dared out into the shallow water. He floated the vine rope toward the boulder, but it was only after a fourth desperate try, that he reached his objective. Ken seized one end and tied the vine about Pedro’s waist. Working fast, and fearful that at any instant the make-shift rope would snap, Jack pulled the guide to safety. Moaning with fright, Pedro collapsed on the beach. Once more Jack paid out the vine. Ken was able to grasp it on the second try, and also was hauled to shallow water. Resting briefly, he and Jack then carried Pedro back among the trees. Darkness now covered their movements, but they knew the forest was alive with unfriendly Indians. The two Scouts were too shocked and discouraged to discuss their desperate predicament. The loss of the balsa and their stores was a serious matter. Their only hope, it seemed, lay with Mr. Livingston and the other Scouts. Yet if the following party should arrive at the broken bridge, it might find itself ambushed. “We ought to warn ’em what they’re running into,” Jack muttered. “But how?” He fished in his packets. His Scout knife was gone, but there remained a metal, water-proof container of matches. “I’ll get a fire started,” he announced. “Won’t it draw the Indians?” “It may,” Jack conceded, “but you can be sure they’re watching our every move anyway. So there’s nothing to be gained by freezing to death. Besides, if Hap reaches the bridge, he’ll be able to see the fire.” “But he won’t know it’s ours, Jack. He may think it’s a native camp.” “Anyway, let’s have a fire,” the other urged. “We can dry out our clothes at least.” While Ken did what he could to make Pedro more comfortable, the crew leader searched for suitable wood. The matches had remained dry. Choosing a protected spot where a large boulder provided a windbreak, he built a small fire. Then, while Ken and Pedro warmed themselves, he gathered more wood. This he stacked nearby, intending to throw it all on, should there be any evidence that Hap’s party had arrived at the broken bridge. The fire cheered the three and gave them a measure of reassurance. “No attack yet,” Ken remarked hopefully. “Maybe those Indians intend to leave us alone.” “Don’t count on it,” Jack replied. “They’re just being deliberate.” Time wore on. Pedro slept fitfully, but Ken and Jack were afraid to doze off even for an instant. They kept the fire going and maintained a ceaseless vigil for their friends. “Hap should be at the bridge by this time,” Ken said anxiously. “Something’s happened.” Jack felt particularly sick at heart, blaming himself for the disaster that had befallen. “We made our first bad mistake in not testing the bridge,” he said. “That was Pedro’s error, Jack.” “Yes, but we should have watched him. Then I misjudged the swiftness of the current.” “We both did,” Ken corrected. “No use blaming yourself, Jack. What’s done is done.” “This means the end of the expedition, even if we weren’t beaten before,” Jack went on. “It will be nip and tuck getting back to Cuya with only the supplies Hap, Willie and War have on their backs. And there’s Pedro—” “Let’s meet one problem at a time,” Ken advised. “Our first is to make contact with Hap before the Indians do. Try to catch some sleep now while I watch.” Jack settled himself as comfortably as possible, but he was too tense to doze. Some time later, Ken touched his arm. Instantly, he was alert. “What gives?” Without speaking, Ken pointed along the shore. “Alive with savages!” Jack gasped, pulling himself to his feet. “They’re going to attack!” Beyond the rim of firelight, he dimly could see the banks lined with Indians, who had landed in canoes and balsas. They wore no feather headdress, but their faces had been made grotesque with red paint from the juice of forest berries. “We’re sunk unless we can convince ’em we’re friendly!” Ken declared. “I’ll go down to meet ’em—” “Don’t risk it,” Jack warned, grasping his arm. “Those boys mean business this time.” His words were drowned by a sudden shout which came from the savages. A shower of arrows, shot with great force from powerful bows, descended on the camp site. Ken and Jack retreated from the fire, dragging the trembling Pedro with them. The three huddled in the underbrush, tensely waiting. “We might have a fighting chance if we were armed,” Jack muttered. “As it is, we’re wholly at their mercy.” “It’s better we’re unarmed,” Ken returned. “Maybe if we don’t return the fire of arrows or make any hostile moves, they may get it through their thick skulls that we mean them no harm. Wow!” The exclamation was wrung from his lips as an arrow whizzed by his ear to bury itself in the bark of a tree trunk directly behind. “Sure, we can convince ’em we’re friendly!” Jack exclaimed. “If one of those arrows ever hits us, we won’t be doing any talking!” The three flattened themselves upon the earth. For a while the rain of arrows kept up but then subsided. Cautiously, the Scouts raised themselves up to survey the situation. Natives were swarming in from behind the trees, moving swiftly and menacingly. Those in advance carried throwing sticks. Behind them were others with battle axes and war clubs. “We’re surrounded!” Ken gasped. “They’ve got us!” Jack went forward to meet the oncoming swarm. His hand was flung up in a salute, a token of good intentions. “Amigos! Friends!” he shouted. All about him, he beheld only leering, hostile faces. An Indian with a long spear seized him by the arms, spinning him around. He struggled and tried to shake off his captor. But he was powerless to move. His arms were held as if by bands of steel. A heavy object crashed down on his head and he knew no more. |
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