“WE MUST FIGHT!”
“Roasted alive!” ejaculated Bob and Barry in a breath.
Gus Stults uttered a scream of anguish and fell upon his knees.
“I ton’t vont to be roasted, not me!” he moaned. “Blease, captain, tell
dem I vos too tough to been roasted, vill you?”
“Hush, not so loud,” went on Captain Gordon. “If they suspect that we
know what they are up to, they will guard us more closely than ever.”
“That’s so,” said Barry. “But get away we must, that’s settled.”
“How are we going to do it?” asked one of the sailors.
“Make a dash for it,” suggested one.
“Yes, let us fight ’em,” burst out Bob. “Anything is better than to sit
still and let them murder us in cold blood.”
“Hot blood--if they roast us,” returned Captain Gordon, grimly. “Yes, I
am in for fighting, too.”
A lively talk followed, in the midst of which one of the Patagonians
entered, brandishing a war club.
“Talk no more!” he roared in his native tongue. “Talk no more, or all
of your heads shall be split open!”
He strode up to Barry and raised the club.
The next instant Bob leaped on him from the rear, and a jerk sent the
Patagonian to the ground.
The club was twisted from the Indian’s grasp and a blow from the weapon
laid him senseless.
But the attack was heard outside, and now a yell rent the air.
“The jig is up!” cried Barry. “We must fight or die!”
He ran to the doorway of the hut, and the others followed.
Here four gigantic Patagonians barred the way. Each native had his
knife in one hand and his war club in the other.
For one brief instant the Americans hesitated, then in sheer
desperation they hurled themselves at the natives.
There was a shock and a scream, and two of the natives went backward,
one struck down by the club in Bob’s hand.
Barry caught one wild-eyed Patagonian by the throat and was choking the
breath out of him when the fellow raised his long knife.
The blade would have entered Barry’s heart had not Bob come to the
rescue in a most unexpected manner.
Out shot the war club in the American lad’s hand, and down came the
long knife with a force that sent the point two inches into the wood.
“Ugh!” grunted the Patagonian, and tried to withdraw the knife. But
before he could do so Captain Gordon hit him a terrific blow in the ear
with his fist, and he went down like a ten-pin.
The fight was now an open one on all sides, and the rest of the natives
were hurrying up with all speed.
“Run for it!” shouted the captain. “Run, or it will be too late.”
And run they did, the natives coming after them like so many demons,
yelling, screaming, flourishing their knives and war clubs, and
shooting their arrows.
The party had just gained the edge of the forest when whizz! an arrow
struck Bob in the side and he staggered and fell.
“Bob!” muttered Barry, hoarsely. “Oh, Bob! tell me you are not dead!”
“Go--go on!” gasped Bob. “Don’t--don’t mind m-me!”
“I shan’t leave you!” replied Barry, boldly, and in a twinkle he had
his chum up and over his shoulder.
The rest had fled on ahead, and now Barry did his best to catch up with
them.
But his strength was not equal to the task, and he could move on no
faster than a dog trot.
“Better dro--drop me!” went on Bob, faintly. “Save your--yourself!”
“If you die, so will I,” replied Barry, bravely.
The Patagonians were quite close, when Barry saw a dense jungle ahead,
with a small opening among a number of vines.
Into the opening he plunged and moved onward a distance of fifty yards.
It was almost as black as night in the depths of the forest, and soon
he stumbled over a fallen tree and fell headlong.
And then something happened which fairly made his hair stand upon end.
From behind the fallen tree there emerged a powerful-looking jaguar,
with a roar which was blood curdling.
The fierce creature had eyeballs which glowed like balls of fire, and
these were turned full upon poor Bob at first and then upon Barry, who
was struggling to get up.
Both of the chums felt that their last minutes upon earth were at hand,
for the South American jaguar is as fierce as any lion or tiger that
ever lived.
The jaguar crouched down, and its tail began to swing slowly to and
fro, for the beast was getting ready for a spring.
Behind the boys came the pattering of feet of the Patagonians, closer
each moment.
Suddenly the jaguar raised its short ears as if to listen.
Then the head of the beast went up and its gaze was fixed upon the
opening behind the chums.
It saw the Indians approaching and gave a roar which echoed and
re-echoed throughout the jungle, and was answered by innumerable
monkeys and small animals.
The Patagonians heard the roar and came to a quick halt.
One had his bow up, and in a twinkle an arrow sped forward and caught
the jaguar in the left ear.
The wound was evidently a painful one, for the beast let out another
roar of wild rage.
Then with a spring it cleared the bodies of the fallen chums and made
straight for the Patagonians.
What a wild scattering followed! The natives hurried in all directions,
shrieking with fright and never trying to bring down the beast that was
after them.
Off they went into the open, and then plunged into another part of the
jungle.
The jaguar kept after them, and in less than three minutes a scream
from one of the Patagonians told only too plainly that the beast had
brought down its prey.
The crunching of bones could be plainly heard by Barry as he stood up
over Bob’s body to listen.
Poor Bob heard nothing. He had fainted from loss of blood.
What to do next Barry did not know.
The others of the party had gone off in a different direction, and
there was no telling where they were now.
Afraid that his chum was dead, Barry bent over Bob, to find him
breathing faintly.
He opened Bob’s shirt and saw that the wound was in the side, directly
under the arm.
There was some wet grass at hand, and with the water obtained from this
he bathed the wound and then tied it up with the sleeves torn from his
own shirt.
Would the jaguar come back to attack them?
This was the agonizing thought which entered Barry’s mind as he bathed
Bob’s face.
But no, the beast had more than its fill on the dead Patagonian, so
from that danger they were, for the time being, safe.
At last Barry picked up his chum once more and plunged into the jungle.
At a great distance he heard the Patagonians shouting, but soon these
sounds grew fainter and finally died out altogether.
The blackness of night and of the dense growth of the jungle was
everywhere, and he could not see his hand before his face.
Of a sudden he stumbled with his burden and both fell, down and down,
Barry knew not to where.
Then his senses forsook him and all became a blank.