base of the jungle. The river extended far to the southward, where it was lost by a sudden turn into the trees.

The canoe, a hollowed log pointed at both ends, swept forward with silent rapidity. The boy maintained his air of suspicion mingled with fascination. Once he raised his hand as a signal to the Indian to cease paddling and stared ahead, gripping his gun nervously. But it was a false alarm, and he waved the canoe on again.

An hour passed, and they approached a maze of small islands which cut the river into narrow channels. The end of their journey was in sight.

The canoe turned into the passage which separated the nearest island from the mainland and grounded beside a second dugout on a strip of sand at the foot of a sloping bank. For the first time in an hour the Indian spoke.

"Dar camp," he said, pointing toward the top of the bank. "Dar marster in big white tent. You call, he come. Me carry bags up. Me sorry you see no maipurie-what you call tapir."

"Righto, Wa'na," Paul Jenkins replied cheerfully, stepping ashore as daintily as his huge proportions would permit and ruefully examining his trousers, which were a trifle the worse for wear. "I'm sorry too.

You go ahead with the war-bags

and I'll find the camp. Yoohoo, Fred and Jack! Where are you?"

He began a ponderous scramble up the bank. "Coming!" a voice cried from over the hill, and an instant later he was pounced upon by a boy of his own age.

"Hello, Paul!" The new-comer grasped at him with one hand and pounded him on the back with the other. "How 's the old scout? Yeow! I'm glad to see you!"

"Fine, Fred! How 's old Skinny Shanks? Say, it certainly is good to see you! Who'd have thought I'd ever travel thousands of miles just to catch a glimpse of your ugly old emaciated face again!"

"I've got you where I want you now, Fatty!" Fred Milton shouted. "Whew, aren't you going to sweat, though, before we get through with you, you old porpoise! Come on up to the tent and we 'll hunt up Jack."

He led the way along a narrow trail, cut for fifty yards through thick underbrush, which debouched, into a clearing on the brow of a hill that overlooked the river. Several small tents were scattered about the place, and beneath a huge, spreading tree stood a larger one with a raised fly. Fred led the way toward this.

"Those other tents are for our different departments of work. That one over there with the chicken-wire around it is for the bulk of our specimens; the awning with the long table beneath it

is the skinning-room, where they are prepared. That's where Wa'na and the other Indians hang out most of the time when they 're not hunting in the 'bush' or going down river to fetch back fat boys fresh and green from New York. The tent in back of our large one was put up for the Indians, but they preferred sleeping in the open, so it's used as a store-room."

With Fred rattling on in this fashion, they entered the big tent. Paul was surprised to find it floored with rough boards; he had expected no such luxury in the far-away jungle. Three wooden cots, with their complement of gray army blankets, occupied one side of the spacious interior, and a long wooden table the other. Several boxes, whose contents had once been canned tomatoes, acted as stools. On the table were accumulated a variety of articles: books,-a hundred or more,-two microscopes, a small typewriter, a towering column of flat, yellowish boxes, -which he afterward discovered contained pinned insects,-several binoculars, the stuffed skins of three or four bright-colored birds, two large cameras, and a general litter of paper, knives, forceps, dividers, and rulers. Leaning against the table were a shotgun and a small rifle. A line was stretched between two tentpoles, and held, among other things, three flannel shirts, a pair of khaki breeches, and two swinging shelves on which lay numerous bird skins wrapped in cotton wool in the process of drying. This was Paul's first glimpse of the working laboratory of a naturalist in the field.

"Jiminy, you fellows are fixed up in good shape!" he exclaimed, in pleased amazement. "How did you get all that stuff up here? I thought we were going to rough it. Say, this is what I like!" There was a feeling of relief in his tone.

It

"Haw, Fatty," his companion chuckled, seating himself on one of the cots and motioning Paul to do likewise, "it 's rougher than you think. took us a long time to get all the equipment together, many trips in the old dugouts, and several in a large bateau that we hired. This is our permanent camp, so we wanted to make it as comfortable as possible. It's used as a base, and we take long trips into the interior every little while in search of material-though there really is n't much need of it; there 's plenty right at our back door. You'll find it rough enough on those trips, Fat-rough enough to spoil the fancy clothes you 've got on.'

"Callers!" the slight boy choked, "callers! The only visitors we 'll ever have are a few dilapidated Indians looking for a job or trying to sell us a bird or two. White people don't often come this far up river."

His chum looked surprised and slightly upset

at this news.

"But the living 's not so bad here," Fred continued. "There are a few queer noises to get used to at night, and you must n't mind a few insects crawling up your back, flying into your mouth, or falling into your plate when you eat. All our meat is killed in the jungle. About twenty dif

that you are hot. Say," changing the subject, "I wish Jack would come back. He went out with Walee, one of the Indians, a little while ago to photograph the nest of an ant-bird. Ought to have been back long ago. Hold hard-here 's Wa'na with your stuff. Put them down on the bed in the corner, Wa'na."

The Indian had entered, staggering under the weight of three duffle-bags, a gigantic valise, and several nondescript bundles, which he deposited in the spot indicated: Breathing heavily, he turned to depart. "Where you go now, Wa'na?" the thin chap in

ferent kinds are on our menu: deer, peccaries, monkeys, tinamous, curassows, and a dozen others, which beat all hollow anything you can get at home. It's cool at night and not hot in the daytime "

"Not what?"

The stout boy wiped his streaming face with an already wringing-wet handkerchief, which failed completely in its duty of further absorbing moisture.

"If you don't call this hot, what is it?" he demanded.

"That 's only because you 're not used to it. Just wait until we 've run some of the fat off you! Look at the thermometer hanging over your head, if you don't believe it. I bet you it reads hardly over eighty."

He reached toward the instrument. "What did I tell you? eighty-two! It's because you think you ought to be hot in the tropics

quired, using the broken English best understood by Akawai Indians of the British colony of Guiana, or, as it is locally known, Demerara. Wa'na paused in his exit. "Me go get trunk," and, grinning to himself, he disappeared.

"I just brought a few clothes and some other things. Thought I might need them," came the half-apologetic explanation.

Fred rolled on the cot in a convulsion of laughter. At last, having affectionately clapped his chum on the back several times as an outlet to his feelings, he managed to gasp:

"You 're the same old Fat; have n't changed a bit! Always got to have enough clothes. But we don't dress for dinner down here, Chub. Anyway, we can use 'em for gun-rags when my old shirt gives out."

"Aw, nothin' doing, Fred. There 's not any more than I can use."

"Sure we will! But, honestly speakin', I guess

it was a good move of yours, for there's nothing like comfort when you can get it. I've found that out already. It's fine to have a set of dry clothes to wear of an evening, because you 're pretty wet most of the day from showers and perspiration. What sort of a trip did you have? get seasick? run into any hurricanes?"

Question after question was shot at Paul, who answered to the best of his ability while still keeping pace with the interrogations.

"How did you like the steamer that brought you up river? How did the canoe trip strike you? See any animals?"

"Steamer was n't so bad, but cooking was rotten. Spent the night on board, but was kept awake most of the time by a million bugs that kept buzzing around. Trip in the canoe was fine! Came up the Essequibo in the steamer, and it was like traveling on a big lake six or seven miles wide. Never saw a river the size of that before. Even the Mazaruni's pretty near as wide as the Hudson at the Battery, and it 's not quarter as big as the Essequibo. Met the canoe at the end of the steamer route and traveled most of the day getting here. And, say! the water in the river 's the color of coffee! I never saw anything like it—" "Juices from tree roots, decayed vegetation, and swamp water. Go on."

"Wa'na-that 's his name, is n't it?-told me to watch out for tapirs along the shore, but I did n't see any, though I kept my eyes open. Did n't see any animals and mighty few birds. Thought the tropics were full of them.”

"There are lots, both birds and animals, but you won't notice many until your eyes become trained to see them. Hullo, here 's Jack! Oh, Jack!"-triumphantly-"Paul 's here!"

CHAPTER II

THE MILTONS AND PAUL

AFTER a cordial greeting, in which Fred took an active and noisy part, Jack Milton seated himself between the two boys. He was six years older than his brother, tall, broad-chested, and with a square, determined chin. Fred too was tall, but thinner and wiry. He had Jack's chin and blue eyes, but his mouth carried a perpetual grin, and his face was a mass of freckles. Jack had spent a year in France flying over the enemy lines, and had carried consternation to at least four Boche Fokkers, which had fallen victims to the deadly accuracy of his machine-gun fire. Owing to a slight wound in the shoulder, received near the close of hostilities, he had been sent home shortly after the signing of the Armistice, and two months later obtained his discharge from the service.

As soon as he was freed from further military

duty, Milton had returned to the work he loved. He was a naturalist, born and bred, a gift inherited directly from his father, who, before his death, had been one of the leading authorities on South American mammals. His mother had died a few years after Fred was born.

One day, shortly after his return to the museum where he was an assistant to the curator of the mammal department, he had been called to the office of the head of the museum.

"Sit down, Jack," Dr. Keene had said, waving him to a chair. "I have something to talk over with you. Make yourself comfortable; there is

much to be said."

Thoroughly mystified, Jack had seated himself. Then Dr. Keene had outlined at full length a plan for establishing a permanent camp in South America, under the auspices of the museum, for the purpose of supplying that institution with a continuous flow of specimens. This Milton was to have charge of.

"When you exhaust one region," the doctor had explained, "you can move to another. But the idea is to make a thorough collection of the fauna of a locality before you leave it. You know what that means: years, perhaps, in one place. Any collector in a few months can skim off what he considers the cream of animal life, but the true cream is what he really overlooks. He gathers the commoner species; you must go after the rarer material, that which we know little about. It is work your father would have relished."

Jack was naturally delighted with the prospect. The opportunity of his life, he felt, had come. He decided to take Fred, whose love of the outdoors equaled that of his brother, but only under the condition that the boy should continue his studies to fit himself for college. Fred had demurred good-naturedly at this condition, but accepted with alacrity. He would have agreed to anything that would take him on the journey.

"You want to make a greasy grind of me-hey, Jack?-even down in the jungle where the bugs bite and the monkeys howl?" he had grinned "Well, I'll go you, but have a heart and don't drive me too hard. Can Fatty Jenkins come down later on?"

Three months later found them with their camp established on the lower Mazaruni, twenty miles above the terminus of the colonial government steamer line. To the uninitiated, this may not seem far removed from civilization; but considering that their nearest white neighbor was fifteen miles to the northward, and that the jungle stretched unbroken for a thousand miles to the southward, clear to the banks of the Amazon River, and then two thousand more to Argentine, they had not chosen badly for a base camp.

As

Shanks. They were as inseparable as Jack Sprat and his wife, and between them managed to keep the school larder in a fair state of reduction. In the matter of food they agreed, and in many other things, but the love of city life was as inbred in Paul as was the outdoors in Fred. Immaculateness of dress was Paul's hobby; his chum was not so particular. Parties, theaters, social gatherings, were reveled in by the fat boy; Fred would rather ramble in the woods, with a pair of fieldglasses, a camera, or a gun.

Paul did not hate the country and the woods, he was simply not well acquainted with them. His bright ties and startling shirts seemed out of place in the field, therefore he attended functions

his parents willing, he would join the expedition at the close of the school term. Paul had laughed the idea down at first, remarking that the north was hot enough in the summer-time without having to travel south for comfort; that old New York was good enough for him; and that the only bugs and snakes he wanted to see were in glass cases at the museum. He had a horror of insects, and the sight of a reptile sent cold shivers down his back. Nevertheless, when Fred enlarged upon the beauties of the jungle, spoke of the wonderful shooting there, and the gorgeous birds, the imagination of his chum took fire, and at length he gave his promise. He would try the shooting and follow in the steps of Roosevelt.

When Paul gave his word to do a thing, if it was possible, he did it. So, after a successful struggle with his parents, having secured an outfit of clothes, rifles, and guns which would have sufficed an expedition of several years' duration through the heart of Africa, the close of school saw him on a small steamer bound for Demerara. The voyage was uneventful. On the seventh day out they sighted the first land of the West Indies, and then island after island hove into view: St. Thomas, St. Kitts, Guadeloupe, Dominica, Martinique, with its northern end shattered by the explosion of Mt. Pelée, Barbadoes, and finally, on the fifteenth day, Georgetown, British Guiana. Two days later he reached the camp on the Mazaruni.

CHAPTER III

MOSTLY INDIANS

"Now that you 're all settled and comfortable, let's go out and look things over," Fred suggested, when Paul with gentle care had unpacked some of his belongings and made himself at home as best he could in one corner of the tent.

"Wait a minute until I change my clothes,"demurred that boy. "It won't take a second." "Aw, come on! If you could sit most of the day in a canoe in those you 've got on, you ought to be able to wear 'em a while longer around camp."

Paul followed his impetuous friend out of the tent, but not without a reluctant glance at the sumptuous wardrobe he was leaving untouched. A bright green shirt with narrow yellow stripes particularly caught his eye. He sighed with regret that the time had not yet come for him to wear it.

They strolled about the camp while Fred pointed out the items of especial interest. Other than the several small tents already mentioned, there were three shelters roofed with palm leaves, but without walls. Two contained cord hammocks slung between poles, and the third, a small stove on which all the cooking was done. The hammocks belonged to the Indian helpers.

"Ever have any trouble with your hunters?" inquired Paul, whose knowledge of Indians was limited to Fenimore Cooper and Edward S. Ellis. He had visions of savage uprisings, skulking shadows in the jungle, blood-curdling war-whoops, and horrible massacres.

Fred was loath to cloud the illusions of his chum and replied in a careless manner, as if it mattered little:

"Oh, once in a while. You've got to handle 'em with care. If you get them riled up, they 're liable to do most anything-shoot you in the back when you 're walking in the jungle, catch you and

scalp you. They 've never run amuck yet, though, and attacked the camp." And he grinned mischievously to himself.

His companion shuddered. This was more than he had bargained for, but having once ventured into this terrible region, he would play the game.

"Did you ever get into a mix-up yourself, Skinny?" he asked, in an awe-stricken voice. "No, but Jack has. Ask him about it." Then casually changing the subject, he pointed to the large tree under which stood the big tent. "That's a cashew. In another month its fruit 'll be ripe-there are a few on the ground now!"

Fred picked up a red object, in shape, color, and consistency like a large strawberry. At the pointed end clung what the other thought was the coiled shell of a snail.

"No, that's no snail," his companion corrected. "It's the seed, hanging to the outside instead of the inside. You 've eaten them many a time in New York, Fatty, under the name of cashew-nut, but they 're really not nuts at all. They contain a pair of leaves just like a bean, and only need a little moisture to make 'em sprout after they hit the ground. Be careful there, man!" The large boy had made a motion to crack open the seed with his teeth. "That's poisonous! It has to be baked before it 's good to eat. The fruit 's all right, though. Try that." Paul bit gingerly into the juicy red pulp, then, the delicious, tart flavor pleasing his palate, swallowed it with avidity.

"Um-m-m, that was good, Skinny!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips. "But who ever heard of an honest-to-goodness fine fruit like that with a poisonous seed hanging to the outside? I never did. And cashew-nuts come from this tree, but have to be cooked before they 're fit to eat! What do you know about that!" mouthed at the tree.

He gazed open

"You 've got to be mighty careful, Fat, about eating wild fruit down here,"-Fred was in deadly earnest now; “most of it 's good, but some is terribly poisonous; and unless you 're wise to them, it's mighty hard to tell which is which. It's said that if a monkey 'll eat it, it 's all right for you; but the best plan, unless you 're absolutely sure, is to leave it alone altogether. That's what Jack says, and I guess he knows. Hullo, here 's Jim. Wonder what he 's got."

A naked Indian, clothed only in a red loin-cloth, emerged from the forest and advanced toward them carrying a large bird, which in outward appearance resembled a large grayish-brown chicken, but with smaller wings, a narrower neck, and thinner bill. Fred took it from the Indian and handed it to Paul.