by a powerful
narcotic, had seemingly discovered some secret of life which enabled him
to produce monsters in his laboratory and to change the physical
characteristics of the Ungapuk Indians, who, in five years, had been
transformed from cannibals into cultured men and women.

And now Hale Oakham, hoping to win one of the Woolman prizes, was here
in the country of the Ungapuks, entering the jungle path that lead to
the unknown.

Fifty feet from the _igarape_, the path curved sharply away from a giant
tree. Hale approached the bend with his hand on his gun. Just before he
reached it, he stopped suddenly to listen.

A woman's voice had suddenly broken forth in a wild, incredibly sweet
song. Hale stood entranced, drinking in the heady sounds that stirred
his emotions like _masata_, the jungle intoxicant. The singer
approached the bend in the path, while the young man waited eagerly.

The first sight of her made him gasp. He had expected to see an Indian
girl. No sane traveler would imagine a white woman in the Amazon jungle,
with skin as amazingly pale as the great, fleshy victoria regia lilies
in the _igarape_.

When she saw Hale, she stopped instantly. With a quick, practiced twist,
she reached for the bow flung across her shoulders and fitted a barbed
arrow to the string.

* * * * *

She was a beautiful barbarian, standing quivering before him. In the
thick dull gold braids hanging over her bare shoulders flamed two
enormous scarlet flowers, no redder than her own lips pouted in alarm.
There was a savage brevity to her clothing, which consisted only of a
short skirt of rough native grass and breastplates of beaten gold, held
in place by strings of colored seeds.

The girl held out an imperious hand and, in perfect English, said:

"Go back!"

Hale drew his long body up to its slim height, folded his arms, and gave
her his most winning smile. His insolence added to his wholesome good
looks.

"Why?" he exclaimed. "I've come a couple of thousand miles to call on
you."

He saw that the eyes which held his levelly were pure and limpid, and of
an astonishing orchid-blue.

"Who are you?" Her throaty, vibrant voice was a thing of the flesh,
whipping Hale's senses to sudden madness.

"I'm Hale Oakham," he said, a little tremulously, "a lone, would-be
scientist knocking about the jungle. Won't you tell me your name?"

She nodded gravely. "I am Ana. I, too, am white." Her rich voi