For some time after their precipitate departure from the spot where the red-bearded man’s body had been found, those in the boat remained silent.

The Indians, frightened and with all their primitive superstitions aroused, plied their paddles and glanced fearfully first at one shore and then at the other, but uttered no words. Colcord, half Indian as he was, shared his copper-skinned companions’ terror to some extent and kept the boat in midstream, swinging her wide of each point and islet. The boys, still shuddering at the horrible sight they had seen, were subdued and too much impressed to talk; Mr. Pauling, Mr. Henderson and the explorer were deep in thought and even the irrepressible Rawlins had no comment to make in the face of this awful tragedy.

But as the point where lay the gruesome remains of what had once been the red-bearded giant was left behind and the trees hid the circling birds of ill omen from sight, the spirits of those in the boat revived and their thoughts turned to the future and what might lie ahead of them. There was now but one man to search for, the chase had narrowed down, but this very fact added to their problems and reduced their chances of success.

“As you remarked, Rawlins, I would like to know where the other man is,” said Mr. Pauling, breaking the silence. “There’s a deep mystery here.”

“I’ll say there is!” assented the diver, “but the whole thing’s been one darned mystery after another, ever since the boys first heard those signals back in New York.”

“Yes and they’ve usually solved themselves as they arose,” Mr. Henderson reminded him. “But it looks as if this one would never be solved. I’m afraid the answer died with that chap back there in the bush.”

“And I’m afraid we’ll never set eyes on the chief of the rascally gang,” declared Mr. Pauling. “I expect he’s come to a violent end also.”

“What puzzles me,” said Mr. Thorne, “is why they left their plane and how they became separated. Of course, there’s a chance that they wrecked their machine in landing or that some accident happened to it later or perhaps they tried to fly away and came a cropper, but even then it seems natural that the men should have remained together.”

“Perhaps they were,” suggested Mr. Pauling. “Isn’t it possible that they were attacked and one was killed while the other escaped?”

“No, I hardly think so,” replied Mr. Thorne. “The avenger never attacks a victim openly--the very nature of his vengeance precludes that. His only weapon is a short club or his bare hands and he’d have no chance against a well-armed man and still less against two. No, he invariably sneaks upon his victim while the latter sleeps or is off his guard.”

“But are you sure that fellow was killed by a Kenaima?” asked Mr. Henderson. “Isn’t it possible they had a quarrel with the Indians and that he was struck down and his comrade taken prisoner or carried off wounded?”

The explorer shook his head. “There are no hostile Indians in Guiana,” he averred. “They are all peaceable and would never dream of quarreling with white men, no matter how great the provocation. Besides, there’s not the least doubt that he was the victim of Kenaima--the wooden spear through his body proves that--and there was no sign of a struggle. No, that man killed an Indian and thereby sealed his own doom. It’s quite possible that his companion was innocent and was not included in the Kenaima and hence was unharmed, but if so, where can he be?”

“I’ll bet old Red-whiskers deserted his bunkie and skipped off,” declared Rawlins. “Then he did up a Buck and got what was coming to him. Let’s beat it for the plane--maybe the Grand Panjandrum’s still over there waiting for his mate to come back.”

“By Jove! that’s a possible solution to the puzzle,” exclaimed Mr. Pauling, “and even if he did not desert he may have gone off on a hunt and while away killed an Indian. Yes, I think we’ll find the answer at the plane--if we can find it.”

“It’s a plausible theory,” admitted Mr. Henderson. “But there’s a flaw in it. How did the victim of the Kenaima cross this river? Mr. Thorne says Maipurisi is to the east and as far as we know the fellows had no boat.”

“Hmm, that’s true,” mused Mr. Pauling. “Looks as if we’re up against another mystery.”

“Perhaps they carried a folding boat or found an Indian canoe,” suggested Tom.

“Yes, that’s possible,” agreed his father, “but whatever the explanation our best plan is to go to the plane at once. How far are we from Maipurisi, Thorne?”

“A good long day’s paddle,” replied the explorer. “Taguma Creek flows from the lake and empties into this river about three miles above here. We might make the lake by to-morrow noon.”

“Well, whatever’s happened has happened within the past four days,” declared Rawlins. “They were there and talking by radio then. How long should you think that man had been dead?”

“Impossible to say,” replied Mr. Thorne. “Probably not over two days. If he’d been there longer than that, there would have been nothing but bones left.”

“Gosh! the last time they talked they were asking for help,” cried Frank. “Perhaps the Kenaima was after them then.”

“You’re right!” ejaculated Mr. Pauling. “That must have been it. They knew their danger and probably tried to escape. But why didn’t they get off in their plane?”

“Search me!” said Rawlins. “Let’s get hold of old Monocle Eye and ask him!”

Suddenly Colcord bent forward, shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed ahead. “They’s a coorial yander!” he announced.

Instantly all turned and peered forward to where, barely visible among some rocks, they could now see a dug-out canoe apparently deserted.

“Run over and let’s have a look at it,” Mr. Thorne commanded the captain.

Swinging his big steering paddle and with a word to the Indians, the Boviander turned the boat from its course and headed for the little derelict.

As they drew near, they saw that it was drawn upon a ledge and was secured to the rocks and so placed that it was completely hidden from view except when approached from downstream.

“Odd!” ejaculated Mr. Thorne. “Some one left it here, but where can they be? This little pile of rocks wouldn’t conceal a rabbit and it’s fifty yards from shore. Funny place to leave a boat.”

The next moment they were alongside and as Rawlins leaned over and peered into the craft, he uttered a surprised exclamation. “By glory, it’s theirs!”

“Jove, you’re right!” affirmed Mr. Pauling.

There was no doubt of it. In the canoe was a Luger pistol, a cartridge belt, a few cans of food, a short-handled ax and a roll of kahki-colored cloth.

Rawlins leaped into the coorial and examined the various articles.

“Now what the dickens do you suppose they left their pistol for?” he cried as he picked up the weapon. “And they were off for a trip too--took grub along and a tent. Hello! Their plane’s done for! Look here! This cloth’s the covering of one of her wings!”

“I’ll he hanged!” exploded Mr. Henderson. “Then they had deserted the machine and were getting off in this canoe. They can’t be far away!”

Rawlins laughed. “I’ll say one of ’em’s a blamed long ways off!” he cried. “But the other chap may be hanging about. Great Scott, he may be watching us from shore now!”

At the diver’s words every one started and glanced at the forest-covered banks as if half expecting to see the leader of the “reds” peering at them from the foliage. Then Sam, who had been holding to the rail of the canoe, leaned over and reaching into the bottom of the craft picked up some object and examined it.

“Tha’s a cur’ous lookin’ feather, Chief,” he remarked, handing his find to Mr. Pauling.

“Hmm, ’tis odd,” agreed the latter. “Guess they must have killed some bird.”

Joseph, who was seated next to Sam, had turned and as he saw the soft, curled black plume his eyes seemed about to pop from his head, his mouth gaped and in a gasping whisper, he exclaimed, “Kenaima!”

“What’s that?” demanded Mr. Thorne, as with one accord every Indian wheeled about and sat staring with frightened eyes at the innocent black feather in Mr. Pauling’s hand. “How you sabby him Kenaima, Joseph?”

“Me sabby too much!” stammered the terrified Indian. “No likeum, must for makeum walk plenty quick this place!”

“What does he mean?” asked Tom who could see nothing in the little feather to cause such excitement and terror in the Indians.

“He means that feather came from the Kenaima,” replied the explorer, “and I’ll swear he’s right. The avenger always wears a girdle or mantle of black Powi feathers--the Indians believe they are magic and render the wearer invisible--and this feather is from a Powi and has been used in a cape or girdle. You can see where the quill has been split and stripped--the way the Indians always prepare them when making feather ornaments.”

“Then the Kenaima’s been here!” exclaimed Frank, “Uugh, let’s get out of here.”

“Not till we get at the bottom of all this,” declared Mr. Pauling decisively. “If these fool Indians are frightened by their superstitions, I’m not and they’ll have to get over it, Kenaima or no Kenaima.”

The Indians were now jabbering excitedly in low tones and Mr. Thorne was doing his utmost to quiet them and allay their terror.

“No makeum ’fraid!” he admonished them. “This fellow Kenaima long time gone. You sabby him no makeum Kenaima for Buckman. Him killum white fellow like so! Him makeum gone topside same way. This fellow Mr. Pauling good frien’ Kenaima, him want killum bad white fellow all same Kenaima. Him gotum plenty peai--plenty peai. Must for no makeup ’fraid. Must for do all same him tellum.”

Somewhat reassured and quite willing to believe--after having witnessed and heard the radio messages--that Mr. Pauling and his friends had “plenty peai,” and seeing no reason why a white man should not be traveling into the bush on a little “Kenaima” of his own, the Indians quieted down, although they looked askance at the innocent feather and breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Pauling tucked it into his pocket.

“What do you make of it, Thorne?” he asked. “You’re the only one who knows the bush and the Indians. How do you account for this boat with the rascals’ property in it, being moored here in midstream and with a feather--which these Indians claim is from the Kenaima--in it also?”

“I can’t account for it,” replied the explorer, “but I can offer a theory. It is quite possible that the Kenaima trailed the men, that he saw them land here and that he examined their boat after they had left and dropped one of his feathers. Or again he may purposely have placed the feather here as a token that he was on their trail--not stopping to realize that it would mean nothing to them.”

“Hmm, but why should they land here and how did that red-bearded rascal get miles below here to be killed?” queried the other.

“That baffles me,” admitted Mr. Thorne. “And the fact that the pistol is here adds to the mystery. If they started out to hunt, or went ashore for any purpose, it seems unreasonable to think they would not carry their weapons.”

“Well, we know it’s no use going on to Maipurisi and trying to find their plane,” declared Mr. Henderson. “It seems to me we’ve come to the end of the trail and might as well go back. Wherever the other villain is, it’s hopeless to try to locate him.”

“I’ll say it’s not!” contradicted Rawlins. “He’ll come back to his boat and we can lie low and nab him when he does.”

“Provided he lives and hasn’t seen us, perhaps,” said Mr. Pauling.

“Well, I’ve a hunch he’s not dead and he can’t go on, without a boat or grub,” argued the diver. “I vote we sneak in somewhere and hide and wait. If he don’t come back by dark we won’t be any worse off than we are now.”

“We might as well try that scheme,” agreed Mr. Thorne. “He may be off in the bush hunting for his comrade and if he hasn’t seen us, he’ll return in time as Mr. Rawlins says.”

“Very well,” assented Mr. Pauling. “I’ll try anything once and it’s one last chance.”

Accordingly, the explorer explained to Colcord what was wanted and the Boviander, after a few words with the Indians and peering about the shores of the river, swung the boat clear and, rounding the tiny rocky islet, headed for a dark and shadowy creek that emptied into the river several hundred yards upstream.

They had proceeded but a short distance when one of the Indians turned and said something to Colcord in the Akawoia tongue. Instantly, the Boviander sniffed the air and muttered a reply.

“What’s up, Colcord?” demanded Mr. Thorne.

“They’s a fire here ’bout,” replied the captain. “Don’ you smell him?”

“Yes, I believe I do!” exclaimed the explorer also sniffing. “Cautiously, Colcord--if there’s a fire there must be men. We may be close to our quarry. Go silently and we may surprise him.”

At the surprising news that there was a camp fire near, every one grew tense with excitement and expectancy, for while there was a chance that it might prove to be an Indian encampment, yet there was also a chance--and a very promising one--that it might be the fire of the fugitive they sought. Moreover, even were it an Indian’s fire the man they were hunting might be there and silently they waited as with noiseless strokes of their saddles the Indians urged the boat towards the bank, following the scent of pungent smoke as unerringly as hounds on the trail.

They had almost reached the rocky shores and, with weapons ready, the men were preparing to leap ashore and dash into the forest towards the thin wisp of blue haze that was now visible among the trees, when from the jungle ahead, the sharp report of a pistol rang out. So totally unexpected and startling was the sound that even the stolid Indians uttered cries of alarm and surprise.

“By glory, he’s seen us!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Missed us though--come on! Over the top, boys! We’ll--”

His words died on his lips as from the dark forest came a quavering, blood-curdling scream; an unearthly awful sound.

“What in blazes is that?” cried Rawlins, as the boat grated on the rocks and he sprang ashore.

“Jaguar!” snapped out Mr. Thorne. “He must have fired at the beast! Come on!”

But before he could leap onto the rocks the Indians had seized their paddles and with terrified cries of “Kenaima! Kenaima!” were struggling madly to push the boat from shore.

“Stop that!” commanded Mr. Thorne. “No makeum fool!”

But his orders were unheeded, the Indians were panic stricken. The next second Sam had leaped forward and with his huge black hands was cuffing the cowering Indians right and left. Wrenching the paddles from their grasps he heaved them onto the beach. Almost before the others realized what had happened, the Bahaman sprang onto the rocks, the boat’s painter in one hand and his paddle in the other.

“Ah guess he won’ humbug yo’ no more,” he announced grinning. “Yo’ go ’long, Chief. Ah’ll ten’ to these boys!”

“I’ll say you will!” cried Rawlins and realizing that Sam was perfectly capable of “tending” to the Indians and the boat, he dashed up the bank followed by the others.

As the diver reached the first trees, the jaguar’s cry again came from the jungle, but faint and far away, and the next moment Rawlins uttered a shout.

“Here he is!” he yelled as with drawn revolver he leaped towards a smouldering fire. “But by glory, I guess the jaguar’s beat us to it!”

Huddled near the fire was a ragged, human form. As the diver and the others bent over the body, they knew that their search was over, for instantly all recognized it as that of the master criminal they sought. Dangling from its string was a cracked monocle; a German automatic pistol was lying by the outstretched hand, and blood was oozing from a great gash across the back of the man’s head.

“It’s he!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “But Rawlins is right--that jaguar finished him.”

Mr. Pauling had torn open the fellow’s tattered garments and was listening at his chest. “He’s not dead!” he announced. “Just knocked out. Hurry up, get the first aid kit and fix up his wound. He may live to answer for his crimes yet.”

Mr. Thorne had been examining the ground about the unconscious man and as Tom and Frank rushed back to the boat for the first aid kit, he stooped and examined the bloody wound on the man’s head.

“You’re dead wrong about one thing,” he announced in grave tones. “No jaguar made that gash--and there’s not a sign of a jaguar about.”

“I’ll say there was!” declared Rawlins. “By glory! Didn’t we hear him yell?”

The explorer smiled. “That was no jaguar,” he replied positively. “I’m not surprised the Indians were terrified. This man was struck down by the Kenaima!”

“What!” ejaculated Mr. Pauling, looking up in amazement. “You mean to say--”

“That we arrived in the nick of time to save this rascal from the fate of his red-bearded friend,” declared the explorer. “The avenger crept upon him and struck him down, but was undoubtedly frightened off by hearing us approach--remember he cannot be seen by human beings until his mission is accomplished--and he had no time to finish his job.”

“By glory, you’re right!” exclaimed the diver who had been examining the earth while Mr. Thorne spoke. “There’s a trail of bare feet leading away from here, but nary a track of a big cat.”

“Well my thanks to the Kenaima,” remarked Mr. Pauling. “I guess you hit nearer the mark than you thought when you said he was ‘plenty good fren’ of ours. But I’m mighty glad he didn’t finish this chap off. Dead men tell no tales and I’ve hopes this rascal will live to tell a lot.”

“Well, I’m sorry for that poor devil of a Kenaima lad,” declared Rawlins. “According to Hoyle, as you might say, he’ll have to go on bumping people off indefinitely as long as he didn’t run a stick through the old High Muck a Muck here.”

Mr. Thorne chuckled. “I don’t think you need worry over him,” he responded. “I expect he’ll consider that as long as he did a good job with the other victim, he’s fulfilled the spirit if not the letter of the law. But I’d like to know what these two rascals did to bring the Kenaima after them.”

“I’ll say they did a plenty!” said Rawlins. “Leave it to them to do dirty work--even if they’re in an uninhabited jungle.”

“Well they won’t do any more,” averred Mr. Pauling who, with the others’ assistance, was dressing and bandaging the man’s wound. “If we get him out of the bush alive, he’ll rue the day he ever went into the jungle.”

At last all that could be done was accomplished and the still unconscious man was lifted to an improvised stretcher and carried to the boat. The Indians were still sullen and Colcord wore a scowl, his spirits evidently ruffled, as he carried on a wordy argument with Sam who stood guard, holding the rope with one big fist and a threatening paddle with the other.

Placing the wounded man on his stretcher beneath the arched awning in the stern of the boat, Mr. Pauling called the Bahaman aboard, the explorer ordered the Boviander to push off, and the Indians, vastly relieved at being able to get clear of the spot, seized their paddles and swung the big coorial into the stream.

“I suppose it’s ‘home James,’ now,” remarked Rawlins. “We’ve got the goods--even if they are damaged, and by glory, I’m dead sorry it’s all over but the shouting.”

“So am I,” declared Tom. “Gosh, it’s hard to believe the excitement’s over and the man we’ve been after so long is really captured.”

“Gee, yes, and isn’t it too bad we can’t radio to Colonel Maidley that we’ve got him?” put in Frank. “I wish we had our sending set here.”

“Jehoshaphat!” ejaculated Tom, a sudden idea coming to him. “Perhaps we’ll have some excitement yet--I’d forgotten about the loot. Perhaps this fellow’ll tell us where ’tis.”

“Little chance of that,” declared his father. “He’d die with the secret, just to baffle us. Hello, he’s coming to! I’m sorry to do it, but we’ll have to put irons on him, Henderson. No knowing what he may do when he finds himself here.”

“Yes, it seems inhuman to manacle an injured man,” agreed Mr. Henderson as he rummaged in his kit bag and got out handcuffs. “But we can’t afford to take chances. He’d drown himself in a moment rather than go to trial. But we’ll be as merciful as we can. Just lock one wrist and ankle.”

An instant later the steel rings snapped about one of the man’s wrists and an ankle and Mr. Henderson snapped the others to the boat’s timbers. A few minutes after he had been thus secured, the fellow opened his eyes and looked about; but there was no sign of recognition in his glance, and mumbling a few incoherent words he again closed his eyes. Mr. Pauling poured a glass of water and put it to the fellow’s lips and he gulped it down eagerly, but said nothing.

“Off his bean a bit yet,” commented Rawlins, “and I’m not surprised. That was an almighty wallop he got.”

“Possibly he may never regain his senses,” said Mr. Pauling. “It will be a mercy for him if he doesn’t.” Then, glancing about, he exclaimed, “Here, where are we going? Have them swing this boat around, Thorne.”

“Aren’t you starting back?” inquired the explorer in surprise.

“Not yet,” declared Mr. Pauling. “I want to see that plane. We’ve got to have all the evidence we can get and I’ve an idea some may be there.”

“Hurrah!” cried Tom. “Then it’s not all over yet.”

Meanwhile the boat had been swung and once more was being paddled upstream, but Colcord and the Indians kept it as far as possible from the western bank and hugged the eastern shores. Two hours later they reached the mouth of a wide, dark creek and leaving the big river, paddled rapidly along the black and silent waterway into the very heart of the jungle. Once, as they passed a small island, the Boviander drew Mr. Thome’s attention to a pile of charred and blackened sticks a few yards from the beach and remarked that some one had camped there recently.

“Hmm, I expect that’s where these precious scoundrels stopped on the way out from Maipurisi,” said the explorer. “That looks as if we were right in our conjectures as to the location of the plane. By the way, Colcord, did the Indians recognize that canoe we found? Do they know what tribe it belonged to.”

“They say it Akuria, Chief,” replied the Boviander. “Akurias have plenty big camp topside Maipurisi.”

“Then that settles it,” declared Mr. Thorne. “They landed in Maipurisi and got their coorial from the Akuria village. Speed her up, Colcord, the sooner we get there the sooner you’ll be back to Wismar.”

But there was no chance of making the lake by nightfall and camp was made beside the creek. Strangely enough the Indians appeared to have completely overcome their fears of the Kenaima and worked as willingly and were as light-hearted as ever.

The wounded man was conscious, but appeared utterly oblivious to his surroundings and uttered no word. He ate the food which Sam fed to him, but he was evidently partly paralyzed and moved himself with an effort, not making any attempt to even lift his hands or arms.

“I’m rather glad of that,” said Mr. Pauling in a low tone. “He doesn’t realize he’s manacled and he doesn’t know yet that he’s a prisoner. It makes me feel a brute to keep him locked that way and if he continues as he is, I shall free him. No danger of his making a break as long as he cannot move a finger.”

“Well, I don’t know,” remarked Rawlins who had been watching the man closely. “He’s a slippery duck as you know and I’ve a hunch he knows a heap more than you think and isn’t as helpless as he’d have you believe. I’ve caught him looking at your back in a darned nasty way. He may be nutty, but by glory, a nutty murderer’s as dangerous as a sane one. I’d keep the bracelets on him if I were you.”

“I think Rawlins is right,” agreed Mr. Henderson. “Even if he is helpless and not himself, you can’t tell at what moment he may recover and we’d better be on the safe side.”

“Perhaps you’re both right,” acknowledged Mr. Pauling. “After all, I don’t suppose he’s worthy of much consideration.”

Throughout the night, some one was constantly on watch beside the wounded man, but he made no move, seemed to sleep well and in the morning was in exactly the same condition as before.

Before noon the canoe emerged from the creek onto a small lake and Mr. Thorne announced that they had reached their journey’s end.

“The plane may be anywhere along shore,” he said. “We’ll have to skirt around and hunt for it. But the, lake’s small and we should have little trouble.”

With all eyes searching each indentation and cove in the forest-clad shores, the coorial was paddled around the southern borders of the lake and before they had covered half its circumference, Tom gave a shout of triumph. “There ’tis!” he cried. “In that little bay.”

“Right you are!” affirmed the explorer. “Pretty bad wreck though.”

A minute later the boat was run ashore beside the dismantled plane and all scrambled out to examine it.

“Hurrah!” yelled Frank who had caught sight of the “reds,” camp and the radio instruments. “Now we can send a message to Colonel Maidley.”

“Righto!” agreed Mr. Pauling. “Get it off. No need of cipher now.”

Quickly adjusting the instruments, the boys called the government station at Georgetown and ticked off the message telling of their success and the fact that they had captured the long-sought ringleader of the gang. Then, telling Sam to load the instruments into the boat, they joined the others who were examining and searching the plane. There was little to be found, however. The hull was filled with water, but the nine Indians with the Boviander’s help dragged the plane high and dry and, the water having drained off, Mr. Pauling and his friends removed everything within. Then they searched for possible secret lockers or compartments and were busy at this when Sam approached.

Touching Mr. Pauling on the sleeve, he drew him to one side. “Tha’ man he mek to watch yo’,” he announced in low tones. “Ah was puttin’ tha’ ins’ments abo’d an’ Ah looks up an’ see he liftin’ he haid an’ tryin’ fo’ see what yo’ doin’. An, Chief, he move he han’s O. K. Ah sees he clutch he fis’s an’ Ah knows he was cursin’ under he breath. Ah’s pos’tive he’s jus’ playin’ possum, Chief.”

“Hmm,” mused Mr. Pauling. “Well, you stay there and keep a strict guard over him, Sam. Thank you for telling me.”

“Didn’t I say so?” exclaimed the diver when Mr. Pauling repeated Sam’s information. “He’ll bear watching all right.”

“Well, I think we may, as well leave,” declared Mr. Henderson. “There’s nothing more of interest here--only water-soaked provisions, extra clothes and--by Jove! what’s this?”

As he spoke he had tossed a sodden coat onto the shore and as he did so a dark leather wallet or bill book had dropped from a pocket. Stooping quickly, he picked it up and opened it while the others gathered close about. Within were bank notes of large denominations, a few letters absolutely illegible from the water and a larger folded sheet of tough parchmentlike paper. Carefully, Mr. Henderson unfolded it and glanced at it.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “It’s a chart.”

“I’ll say it is!” cried Rawlins. “And of the West Indies! By the great horn spoon, now we’ve got ’em dead to rights!”

“Gosh, perhaps it’s a map of where they hid their loot!” cried Tom excitedly.

“And we can go and get it!” put in Frank.

“I’ll say ’tis and we can!” yelled Rawlins. “It’s all over but the shouting! Come on, let’s beat it for Georgetown with this duck and then hike after their loot! This bush work may be all right, but me for the ocean. I’m itching to get under water again. By glory, treasure hunting’s my middle name!”

Mr. Pauling laughed. “I had an idea that hunches were,” he chuckled. “But come on. Nothing more to keep us here and it’s mainly your hunches, Rawlins, that have carried us through.”

“Not a bit of it,” declared the diver. “You’ll have to thank the radio detectives for that. I’d never have had any hunches if it hadn’t been for them.”

A few minutes later the lonely jungle lake had been left behind. The boat sped down the creek towards the great river, while the Indians’ rousing, homeward bound chantey startled the screeching parrots from the tree tops. A monkey crept curiously from his hiding place and gazed quizzically at the deserted seaplane. Beside a jungle stream an Indian washed the painted eyes and grinning fang-filled mouth from his chest and smiled contentedly and with grim satisfaction as he thought of how well his tribesman had been avenged. The long search which had carried Mr. Pauling and his friends so far and into such strange places was over. Their mission had been accomplished. The radio detectives had done their part, the arch criminal was a prisoner; they had come to the end of the trail and now only the plunging, swirling, thrilling rush down the great river and through the churning rapids lay between them and civilization.

THE END

SPLENDID STORIES FOR BOYS

By A. HYATT VERRILL