eaks the Mayoruna tongue quite well, Capitao," said
Lourenco. "He says you and I shall enter and talk through his mouth with
the chief. All others remain outside, and we must leave our rifles
here."

"All right. Glad we can leave Tucu out here to control these fellows.
Here, Merry." He passed his rifle to Knowlton. Pedro took Lourenco's
gun. With packs still on their backs the chosen men proceeded to the
doorway and entered the house where waited the ruler of the Red Bone
tribe.

Behind them the line settled into easier postures of waiting. The Red
Bones, though so compactly ranged as to cut off any chance of escape,
held their distance, obviously neither inclined to fraternize nor ready
to precipitate conflict by crowding. Thus, while keeping their ears open
for any sound of a concerted movement from behind, the visitors could
use their eyes to inspect the huts nearest them.

In some of these, women stood near the doorways, staring with unwinking
absorption at the light-skinned, athletic men outside who were so much
better to look upon than their own mates. The Mayorunas returned the
stares with the brief glances of men accustomed to noticing everything
but totally uninterested--as well they might be, for these poorly
shaped, heavy-mouthed, mud-skinned females were not to be compared with
their own women. Knowlton and Pedro, too, looked them over, but with the
same expression as if inspecting a family of lizards. Then they glanced
into other huts now empty of life, and in a couple of these they saw
rigid red-hued objects hanging from the roofs.

"The red bones of the dead, senhor," Pedro muttered, and his blond
companion, peering again at the sinister decorations, nodded without
reply.

Voices came to them from the chief's house, talking with droning
deliberation. Evidently no cause for friction had yet arisen. They let
their eyes rove on beyond the guarded doorway, to pause at a house a
short distance away at the right. There stood a clubman, who leaned idly
on his weapon, but showed no intention of moving from his place. The
door of that house was closed. Not only closed, but barred on the
outside.

"Hm! Looks like a jail," said Knowlton. Pedro smiled, but an intent look
came into his face and he studied the closed house.

Suddenly both started. At one corner of the house, unseen by the
clubman, a head had cautiously slipped forth. For only an instant it
hung there before dodging back out of sight. But both