rogress
was not human, but reptilian. Puzzled, suspicious, yet doubtful, Tim
lifted the rear side of his net, on which no moonlight fell. Head out,
he watched for the crawling thing to come close.

It came, and for an instant he was in doubt as to its character, for
around it lay the deep shadow of some treetops which at that point
blocked off the moon. It inched along on its stomach, its black head
seeming round and minus a face, its body broad but flat--a thing that
looked to be a man but not a man. Then, pausing, it raised its head and
peered toward the hammock of Knowlton. With that movement Tim's doubts
vanished. The lifting of the head showed the face--the face of
Francisco, the face of murder. In its teeth was clamped a bare knife.

Forthwith Tim applied General Order Number Thirteen.

In one bound he was outside his net, colliding with Knowlton, who awoke
instantly. In another he was beside the assassin, who, with a lightning
grab at the knife in his mouth, had started to spring up. Tim wasted no
time in grappling or clinching. He kicked.

His heavy boot, backed by the power of a hundred and ninety pounds of
brawn, thudded into the Indian's chest. Francisco was hurled over
sidewise on his back. Another kick crashed against his head above the
ear. He went limp.

"Ye lousy snake!" grated Tim. "Crawlin' on yer belly to knife a sleepin'
man, hey? Blast yer rotten heart--"

"What's up?" barked McKay from his hammock.

"Night attack, Cap. If ye're comin' out bring along yer gat. Hey, Looey,
got yer gun on? Some o' these other guys might git gay. They're comin'
now."

True enough, the Peruvian gang was jumping from its hut. With another
glance at the prostrate Francisco to make sure he was unconscious, Tim
whirled to meet them, fist on gun.

"Halt!" he roared. "First guy passin' this corner post gits shot. Back
up!"

The impact of his voice, the menace of his ready gun hand, the sight of
Knowlton and McKay leaping out with pistols drawn, stopped the rush at
the designated post. But swift hands dropped, and when they rose again
the moonlight glinted on cold steel.

"Capitan, what happens here?" demanded Jose, ominously quiet.

"Knife work," McKay replied, curtly. "Your man Francisco attempted to
creep in and murder Senor Knowlton. If you and the rest have similar
intentions, now's your time to try. If not, put away those knives."

"Knives! _Por Dios_, what do you mean?"

"Look behind you."

Jose look