Lost in the Wilds of Brazil

“Now we must get to the boats,” Joe’s father said. “Professor Bigelow will be worried about us, if he is not by now.”

They hiked on up the river, the chief following.

“Won’t the old boy be surprised when he finds that Professor Bigelow can talk with him!” smiled Joe, as they rounded a long bend.

“That isn’t a strong enough word,” laughed Mr. Holton. “Still,” he hesitated, “we don’t want to be too sure that this Indian is from the tribe that the professor was searching for.”

The boats were several miles distant, and it would require several hours’ traveling to get to them. But the whites were all overly anxious and made good time.

At last, after passing through a thick grove of palms, they sighted the boats in the distance.

Professor Bigelow came running up at once, a broad smile of thankfulness on his bronzed, scholarly face. He gave the boys a welcome almost as warm as that of Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis. The crew, too, took part in the reception and muttered words of joy at seeing Bob and Joe alive and unharmed. Even the Indians who had previously attempted desertion joined in, outwardly at least.

“But look here, Professor,” said Bob. “We’ve found the savage tribe you were searching for and have brought you the chief.”

“What!”

For answer Bob motioned for the Indian, who was standing several score feet down the path, to come closer. He grudgingly did so, and the professor was taken completely aback in surprise and joy. His eyes opened wide, and it was some time before he could regain his composure.

“How can I ever thank you enough?” he muttered, his eyes on the sober Indian. “We might have searched for days and days and then not found the tribe.”

He turned to the chief and said something that the others did not understand. At once the savage’s face lightened, and he began chattering so rapidly that the professor had to put up a hand for silence.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not that familiar with his language,” laughed the professor. “I think, though, that if he’ll talk slowly I may be able to understand him. Luckily he’s from the same tribe that Otari told about.”

Again Professor Bigelow turned to the Indian and this time asked him to talk more slowly.

He did, and a long conversation followed. It was broken and awkward, but in the end the professor gained a large amount of information. There was a smile on his face as he turned to the others.

“He says he will tell me all I want to know about his people if I will go with him to his settlement. His people will treat us all right. I don’t think there is cause to worry about that. What do you think about going?”

“All right with me,” returned Mr. Holton. “That was one purpose for coming up here, you know. And the chances are that we’ll find an abundance of fauna in those remote forests. I’m all for it.”

“Fine,” burst out Professor Bigelow. “Then we’ll go at once. But first,” he hesitated, “we’ll have to decide who will go and who will stay with the boats.”

“Why not take the boats with us?” suggested Joe. “The stream that Bob and I followed to the river is deep, even if it isn’t wide. I think we can easily paddle through.”

The others gave their approval at once, and they moved on up to the boats.

They decided to get a lunch first, however, for all were tired after the day’s strain. The chief was in no special hurry to get back to the village, as he had often left on long hunting trips alone.

Soon after the meal the provisions that had been taken out were packed in the boats, and then all climbed in.

“Now let’s make time,” urged Mr. Lewis, and the crew paddled them upstream.

The afternoon was rapidly wearing away, and before long it would be night.

At last Mr. Holton called to the crew to stop the boats.

“It’s unsafe to paddle farther,” he said. “Suppose we turn up into that little bay over there.”

The suggestion was carried out. Then they made camp.

“Hope nothing happens tonight,” said Bob, as he prepared to turn in for the night.

“I’m with you there,” his chum returned. “Somehow I’ve had enough thrills for a while.”

But he had no way of knowing how soon action would present itself in a big way.

The next morning they were up early, preparing to resume the journey shortly after breakfast. The chief of the strange tribe told Professor Bigelow that they should reach his village late that day, if all turned out well.

“I’m not especially anxious to get back among those wild men,” Bob said aside to his chum. “But we must do all we can to help Professor Bigelow.”

Late that afternoon the chief said something to the anthropologist and pointed to a clearly defined trail that wound away through the heavy vegetation.

“He says that here is where we leave the boats and head for his village,” the scientist told the others in animated tones.

“Fine!” exclaimed Mr. Lewis, also delighted that the journey had come to an end. “There’s a place that will act as a harbor,” pointing to a groove in the shore.

He directed the crew to paddle the boats to land, and as soon as this was done all climbed out and made the crafts fast to staunch trees.

Professor Bigelow turned to the savage and conversed for several minutes. Then he moved to the boats.

“The village isn’t far away,” he said. “It will be safe to leave our provisions here for the time being.”

As a precaution, however, and also because the naturalists wished to secure new specimens, they carried their rifles and a good supply of ammunition.

The chief led the way along the path, the others close at his heels. The path was so well cut that they had no trouble in walking along briskly. A half-hour, the Indian said through Professor Bigelow, would be all the time required to get to the village.

Suddenly the explorers heard a faint screaming and shouting that came from the village, and at once the chief began chattering nervously.

Professor Bigelow gave a groan and translated to the others.

“He says that probably a fight is taking place between his tribe and another,” said the scientist.

“What!” cried Mr. Holton excitedly. “Then that means that we whites may have to use our rifles after all. Ask him if the other tribe is using poisoned arrows.”

The savage nodded in affirmation when the question was put before him, and the whites tightened their grips on their weapons.

“I guess this means that we’re in for some excitement,” Bob confided to his chum, as the party again followed the trail.

Ten minutes later they parted the foliage and came abruptly within full view of the village. All uttered cries of consternation at the furiousness of the battle that was taking place between the two savage tribes.

CHAPTER XXVI

The Terrible Battle

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.

CHAPTER XXVII

Human Heads Still Dripping!

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.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The Forced Get-away

“BOB!”

“Joe!”

“Did you see it?”

“Yes. Human bones! These savages are cannibals!”

It was night – a dark, lowering night. The moon was nowhere in sight. Not a star twinkled down from the heavy jungle sky. Huge, roaring fires blazed in front of the chief’s large hut, while about them danced scores of painted savages, shouting and screaming and gesticulating.

It was a scene wild enough to strike terror to the heart of anyone. Bob and Joe gazed fearfully into the raging mob, wondering if the lives of them and their companions would be taken for the feast.

The boys moved over to their elders, who were standing at the other side of their thatched dwelling.

“Cannibals!” Professor Bigelow was muttering. He had seen too.

Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis nodded, on their faces a grave expression. They were so taken aback as to be almost speechless.

“I think perhaps we had better get away from here,” said the professor, who, although deeply attentive to scientific work, knew when he was in a dangerous situation. “I know enough of the ways of primitive people to surmise what they’ll probably do to us if we stay. Their appetites for human flesh will be so stimulated that they will no doubt kill us also. Lucky that this happened as late as it did. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave so soon if I had not secured about all the information there is to be obtained about them.”

Just before leaving, Bob and Joe got out their cameras and took motion pictures of the gruesome feast, and in the end they were almost convinced that nothing of this kind had ever been shown on the silver screen.

With the aid of flashlights, whose beams, by the way, were concealed from the savages, the explorers had gathered their belongings together and were now ready to leave for the boats. Of course it would be perilous traveling at night through the jungle, but the chance had to be taken.

At that moment an Indian entered their hut, glanced about, and then started to call to the others.

Displaying a quickness remarkable for his size and weight, Mr. Holton launched himself full force at the fellow, sending him to the ground unconscious.

“Now let’s get away – quick!” he said. “There’s no telling when the whole tribe will be in here after us.”

As quietly as possible, the explorers and their Indian crew dashed away down the trail for the stream, never looking back, but fearing that they would hear the screams of the cannibals at any moment.

The flashlights rendered traveling easy, and as they had been over the trail many times, they reached the boats in record time.

Their possessions were piled inside. Then they climbed hastily in and were paddled swiftly away.

It was not until they had reached the main stream that they felt safe. Then they turned the boats downstream on the journey back to the coast.

“It isn’t wise to tax good fortune too much,” said Mr. Lewis, as the narrow stream faded in the distance. “We came up here for two definite purposes, and we’ve accomplished them both. First, Professor Bigelow has made a rather extensive study of little-known Indians, and second, Mr. Holton and I have collected hundreds of specimens for the museum. You boys have met with success in taking moving pictures, also. Now that our work is finished, we’d better get to the Purús at once.”

However, “at once” was a bit too hastily, for there were dangerous rapids that had to be portaged, totally unknown animals that diverted the naturalists’ attention, and a hundred and one reasons for making slow progress, even downstream. But at last they sighted the Purús in the distance.

“Now to hunt up Senhor del Pereo, the man who fitted us out with our boats and crew,” said Mr. Holton.

They found that individual in his house at the edge of the little town that rested between the two rivers.

He was more than glad to see the explorers back after such a long, perilous journey, and insisted that they remain at his house overnight, or until a boat could be found that would take them to the Amazon. The explorers accepted the invitation at once, glad of the chance to partake of the comforts of civilization after those long weeks into the unknown.

The next day they were fortunate in getting passage on a boat bound for Manáos. It was a small steamer, scheduled to reach its destination in less than five days.

At Manáos the explorers had another streak of good luck, finding a large liner that would take them straight to New York.

Down the mighty Amazon they steamed, at last coming into the port at Pará for a short stay.

After a walk about town, the Americans again boarded the vessel for the trip to New York.

It was an ideal evening as they steamed majestically out of the busy harbor and turned toward the United States.

“Do you know, Joe, old boy,” remarked Bob, as they sat with their elders on deck in the light of the full moon, “the farther away we get from the region we explored the more I prize our experience.”

Joe nodded.

“It was great,” he agreed. “And just think. We were lost – lost in the wilds of Brazil.”