CANNIBAL FISH
Those who watched anxiously from above, suddenly saw Jack’s
short-cropped head appear above the rippled water. He was thrashing
wildly.
“Something must have attacked him!” War exclaimed, preparing to dive to
the rescue of his friend. “He’s hurt!”
Jack was grasping his left arm, trying to staunch the flow of blood. His
face was agonized by intense pain.
“Keep out, War!” he called. “Caribe fish!”
Still grasping his injured arm, Jack scissored to the rock ledge. War
pulled him to safety. Blood kept gushing from the wound in his forearm.
Thoroughly alarmed, Ken lowered the vine rope. War boosted from below,
and Jack was hoisted to the rim.
“The wound isn’t very deep,” he muttered as Ken examined it anxiously.
“That savage little fish would have taken off a finger if I hadn’t
swerved! His teeth sunk into me like a razor!”
“Teeth!” Ken echoed incredulously as he bound Jack’s wound with a
handkerchief. “A fish with teeth?”
“That’s right,” supplied Mr. Livingston. “Caribe fish sometimes are
under-rated because of their small size. But in large numbers they are
exceedingly dangerous. That’s because they’re equipped with teeth which
work like shears, opening and closing by means of powerful jaw muscles.”
Ken had finished tying up Jack’s arm. “The wound isn’t deep, but it may
get infected,” he said anxiously. “I wish we had some iodine and a first
aid kit!”
“I’ll be okay,” Jack replied carelessly. “All in all, I’m lucky to be in
one piece.”
“That’s so,” returned Mr. Livingston, his face grave. “Cannibal fish
will kill a bird instantly, if one is unfortunate enough to drop into
infested waters.”
“How do you figure War and I weren’t attacked when we first dived in?”
“You were wearing shorts. That probably helped. I’ve read that caribe
fish are less likely to recognize flesh and blood if a man is clothed.”
“That pool must be alive with ’em,” Ken shuddered. “As far as I’m
concerned, the Incas can keep their treasure!”
“Funny thing,” Jack said thoughtfully, “that one fish was the only one I
saw. There may be others, but not many.”
A low whistle from the pool belatedly reminded the three that War still
was on the rock ledge below. Jack and Ken lowered the vine rope, pulling
him up.
“The fish can keep their old pool!” War exclaimed, shivering as he began
to dress. “I’ve had enough—”
His words trailed off. From the direction of the tunnel, the three heard
two sharp whistles.
“Willie’s signal!” Mr. Livingston exclaimed. “Take cover!”
Grabbing up his clothes and the vine rope, Jack followed the others into
the shelter they had selected for their hide-out.
“Where’s Willie?” he worried.
Before the group could settle itself, the other Scout came bounding into
view. He slid down behind the rocks, breathless from running.
“The natives are heading this way!” he announced.
“You weren’t seen going through the tunnel?” Ken demanded.
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.”
“What’s bringing those Indians back here now?” War asked irritably. “Why
don’t they stay in their village where they belong?”
“Quiet!” Jack warned him. “If we’re caught, it won’t be funny.”
The Scouts did not have long to wait. A swarm of natives came through
the tunnel, reforming at the exit in a procession.
“They’re carrying the Chief on a golden litter!” War whispered in awe.
“Or is it our friend Ino?”
At first the Scouts and Mr. Livingston could not see the face of the man
who sprawled comfortably beneath the feather-adorned canopy.
The great personage was borne ceremoniously by six sturdy Indians with
skirts of gold cloth and headdress of waving red plumes.
“Some style!” Willie chuckled. “It’s like a circus parade!”
Behind the litter, trooped natives with javelins, war clubs and painted
shields.
Presently the man on the litter shifted his position so that his face
became visible to those crouched behind the rocks. The Scouts stiffened
in shocked surprise.
It was Captain Carter!
“How did that conniving little crook get here and in the good graces of
the natives?” Jack muttered. “Why, they’re treating him as if he were a
king!”
“Do you suppose he was in the village at the time we were captured?”
speculated Ken. He went on, to answer his own question. “Maybe, but I
doubt it.”
“It’s clear he has top rating with the natives,” Jack declared. “I
suspect he’s tumbled to some vital secret. Otherwise, you may be sure he
wouldn’t waste time here. He must practically have his greedy hands on
Inca gold!”
The Scouts became silent for the procession now had drawn close. As they
watched, the litter was carried past the lake and on to a mass of quartz
rock which glistened in the late afternoon sun.
Two of the natives rolled aside a huge stone, which hitherto had escaped
the attention of the Explorers. Even from a distance, they could see
that it gave entrance to another small tunnel.
Captain Carter alighted from the litter. A native motioned for him to
enter the narrow passageway.
The seaman hesitated, seemingly suspicious that he might be walking into
a trap. But after a moment of indecision, he stooped and crawled through
the opening. One by one, the natives followed.
“Where can they be taking him?” War speculated. “He certainly isn’t a
prisoner.”
“They’re treating him like a ruler!” Jack snorted in disgust. “What do
you make of it, Hap?”
“How he managed to ingratiate himself, I wouldn’t know,” Mr. Livingston
replied with a wry smile. “But I’m sure he’s been here before. Unless I
have the wrong slant, the Indians have just revealed to him a most
closely guarded secret—the entranceway to the ancient Inca city!”