Ain't no fight in
words like that."

"You heard the orders this morning. Let Lourenco do the talking. That
goes! We're skating on thin ice--so thin that if it breaks we drop plump
into hell. Less noise!"

"Right, sir," was the sulky answer. "I'm deaf and dumb."

"March," added McKay. The head of the column already was on the move,
led by the tallest Indian and a blowgun man, behind whom walked the two
Brazilians. The whole line took up the step in turn and passed on into
the unknown.

Again McKay consulted his compass at intervals, finding that now the
route led more to the south, though there still was an easterly trend.
After a time, however, the telltale needle informed him that they were
proceeding almost due east, and glances at the surroundings showed that
on their right was a densely matted mass of undergrowth. Not long
afterward another interwoven brush wall blocked the way, and this time
the leader veered to the west. Not until an opening appeared did he
resume his southward course. It dawned on McKay that the savages, having
no bush knives, were accustomed to follow the line of least resistance.
This obviously increased the distance traveled.

The men of Coronel Nunes, too, perceived this. A halt was called, during
which Lourenco talked with the guide, tapped his machete, and evidently
protested against needless detours. The leader, with a few words,
pointed south. Lourenco nodded and replied. The march was resumed, and
when the next impenetrable tangle was encountered the Indians in the van
stepped aside, the machetes of the Brazilians flashed out, and a way was
cut straight through. From that time on the long knives came into
frequent play and a direct course was maintained.

Suddenly, with a grunt of warning, the tall tribesman stopped. The plan
of chopping through instead of going around had brought the Indians into
a part of the forest which they had not heretofore traversed in their
search for the missing hunter. Now they stood in a small trough between
the knolls, under good-sized trees around which grew little brush. The
ground was soft, almost watery. In the damp air, faint but unmistakable,
hung the odor of death.

The savages at the rear came forward at once. All four of them spread
out and, sniffing the air, advanced up the trough. A cry broke from one
of them. The others, and the white men, too, hastened to the spot whence
the call had come.

Scattered about in the soft muck were bones,