The Radio Detectives in the Jungle Read online

  CHAPTER XI

  VENGEANCE

  With hopes revived the red-bearded man and his companion paddled theirstolen canoe up the creek and after some trouble reached the lakewhere their dismantled plane was drawn upon the shore.

  Now that they had a craft all their cocksureness had returned to them,for they knew that in the maze of waterways they could escape fromtheir pursuers. Now that luck had again turned in their favor they hadno fears but what they would ultimately reach some port where theywould be safe. Moreover, the matter of food did not trouble them. Theyknew that there were Indians scattered through the forest. Van Brunthad told them that all the Guiana tribes were mild, peaceable peopleand they felt confident that they could wrest supplies from the redmen even if they had to shoot them down to accomplish their ends.

  But they were not such fools as to start out without some supplies andnecessities. There were still a few provisions remaining in theirshelter, as well as matches and other necessities, and beaching theircanoe, they hastily gathered what belongings they desired and pushingoff deserted their hapless airship with a curse and paddled towardsthe nearest river. Before they had started, however, they had studiedtheir maps and had laid their plans. Although the Maipurisi Lake wasnot shown, they knew in a general way where they were and they judgedthat Mr. Pauling and his companions would follow the shortest and mostdirect route, for they did not delude themselves with the idea thatthe Americans were ignorant of their hiding place. In fact, they feltconfident that their radio conversation had been overheard and whileit had been in cipher and in Dutch at that, they had too much respectfor their enemies' intelligence and experience to assume that theSecret Service men had been unable to translate their messages.

  The leader, like all successful crooks, always acted on the theorythat those who sought him knew far more than he planned to have themand he invariably made his plans accordingly. So now he reasoned thatthey would have information that the plane had passed over Wismarheaded southward, that they would follow up the Demerara River andthat having heard his radio signals and thus having located him, theywould cut across by one of the streams that led towards Maipurisi.Accordingly, he decided that the only safe route was to make their wayto the Essequibo, descend that river and then, before they reached theoutskirts of civilization, follow some tributary that led westward tothe Venezuelan boundary. Once in that republic they would be far moresecure than even in Dutch Guiana, and, moreover, in order to reach theDutch colony they would be obliged to cross districts where Mr.Pauling's party had already passed and where, no doubt, watch would bekept for them.

  But for once the crafty master mind of the cutthroat gang had reasonederroneously. He had not taken the Indians into consideration; he didnot dream that these primitive savages were the most observant ofpeople; that an airplane, even flying thousands of feet above theirvillages, would be heard and seen and would cause such wonder and fearthat the news of its passage would be spread far and wide. It neverentered his mind that the Americans were accompanied by Indians andwere guided by a man who had spent years in the bush and wasthoroughly familiar with Indian ways and Indian character. And so, as,mightily pleased at the good fortune which had fallen them, the twomen headed their canoe westward towards the Essequibo, they wererunning straight into the clutches of their enemies.

  Had they but known of the sharp eyes that watched their every movementand of the sinister being who, armed with the sacred Kenaima club, wasthreading the jungle in their direction, they gladly would have soughtthe Americans, for the punishment which awaited them in the Courts ofJustice was nothing compared to the awful vengeance that lurked inthat hideously painted savage on their trail.

  In their aircraft, speeding through the sky at eighty miles an hour,the distance from the great river to the lake had seemed nothing. Fromfar aloft, the country had been spread like a map beneath them andfrom the height of a few thousand feet the lake had appeared close tothe big river with only a few miles of winding, forest-fringed creeksconnecting the two. But they soon realized that what seemed a shortrun by aircraft was interminably long when paddling along the twistingwaterways in a canoe. They had expected to come out upon the bosom ofthe Essequibo by nightfall at the latest, but sundown found them stillupon the dark and dismal creek surrounded by jungle. As they knew thatthey could not go on in the darkness, they were compelled to stop andcamp for the night.

  Fortunately the red-bearded fellow had had the foresight to strip someof the waterproof linen covering from the plane's wings and this theyerected for a tent. They built a rousing fire and tired out with theirunaccustomed labor of paddling, stretched themselves on another stripof linen and prepared to sleep. They were no longer worried, all theirself-confidence had returned and they joked and laughed to think howthe Americans would have all their long trip for nothing and wouldfind only the useless, deserted aircraft at the end of their journey.Their one regret was that they could not be present to gloat over thediscomfiture of their enemies and to see their puzzled looks and heartheir comments when they found the fugitives flown and were utterly ata loss to fathom the means of their escape.

  But despite their feeling of security, they were uneasy. They hadnothing to fear for they knew there were no hostile Indians in thecountry; they had the utmost contempt for any wild animals and theywere armed and could protect themselves even if they were attacked.Yet as the hours passed and the myriad strange noises and calls andcries of the wild things shrilled and grunted and croaked through thejungle, the slender highly strung leader tossed uneasily on his hardcouch and found himself staring, wide-eyed and sleepless into theblackness of the night. His companion--brutal, phlegmatic andabsolutely without nerves, was snoring lustily, and ashamed of hisridiculous fears, the other tried to follow his example.

  Then, just as he was dozing off, a low unearthly cry reverberatedthrough the forest, a blood-curdling moan, rising and falling in weirdcadence like the wail of a Banshee. At the sound, the noises of frogs,insects and night birds ceased as with one accord and an awful deathlysilence followed. With a sharp cry of terror the man sprang up, a coldsweat breaking out on his skin, shivers running up and down his spineand yet his companion slumbered on.

  Never in his life had this unprincipled, heartless villain known themeaning of fear, but like all of his sort he was an arrant coward atheart and, though he would be the last to admit it, thoroughlysuperstitious, and that awful cry, ringing through the midnightforest, was enough to bring terror to the bravest man.

  In a vague way he knew that jaguars dwelt in the forest, but Van Brunthad often talked of the bush and had laughed at the idea of a jaguarattacking a human being. It never entered his mind that the moaningscream, like that of a tortured soul, was merely the hunting cry ofthe big spotted cat. To him it was supernatural, something that couldnot come from a form of flesh and blood, and trembling and shaking hecowered there under his shelter with straining ears listening for arepetition of the awful sound. For a space he was tempted to arousehis sleeping comrade, but pride stopped him. The red-bearded fellowhad not heard the cry, he would scoff at the story, would claim hiscomrade had been dreaming or had had a nightmare and would curse atbeing aroused, and so he kept his vigil alone, starting at each soundof crackling twig or rustling leaf, gasping when a frog plumped with asplash into the creek and shivering as he crouched beside the fire.

  But the minutes passed, the cry was not repeated, the frogs andcreeping things resumed their chorus and at last, utterly exhausted,the man threw himself upon the rough couch and slept.

  With daylight the memories of the terrors of the night seemed scarcelymore than a dream and, indeed, the man tried to convince himself thatit had been a dream and forebore mentioning it to his companion. Butall through the day, as they paddled down the creek, he was nervous.He had a strange unaccountable sensation of being followed and fromtime to time he glanced back, half expecting to see something--he didnot, could not imagine what--behind them. So strong was this feelingthat when noon came and they st
opped for lunch, he insisted uponlanding at a small island in the creek and as the red-bearded man hadlong been accustomed to obeying his chief without question, he made nocomment and followed commands.

  Throughout the afternoon they paddled on and again sunset found themupon the creek and they began to fear that they had lost their way,that through some error they were following the wrong watercourse andthat they would not reach the river by continuing. And yet they couldnot see how this could be. They had passed no branches or other creeksof any size, the water still flowed in the direction they were goingand reasoning that it must eventually empty into a larger stream, theydismissed their fears on this score, decided that they hadmiscalculated the distance and the speed of their canoe and preparedto camp.

  The leader, however, had no desire to repeat his terrifyingexperiences of the preceding night and once more he headed the canoefor a tiny islet in the stream. Leaving his companion to start thefire and prepare for the night, he followed about the shore of theisland, pushed through the tangle of brash, investigated itthoroughly, and convinced that there was nothing on the place whichcould possibly be feared, he returned with an easier mind to the camp.

  Feeling perfectly secure, he soon fell asleep beside his comrade, buthis slumber was uneasy; he awoke from a fearful nightmare shaking asif with fever and tossing an armful of dry wood on the dying fire, hesquatted near it. Suddenly, from a tree above his head, an owl utteredits mournful cry and so frazzled were the man's nerves that he jumpedand yelled in alarm. Drowsily the red-bearded fellow opened his eyes,mumbled an oath when the other confusedly tried to explain and wassoon snoring again. Ashamed of his fright at the owl, the leader threwhimself down and closed his eyes, blaming his own foolishness. Butthough the monotonous chirping of insects and the soft gurgle of thewater lulled and soothed, he found himself still straining his earsfor any unusual sound and was as nervous as ever.

  Once he thought he heard the sound of a cautious footstep andinstantly he sprang up, cocked pistol in hand and peered anxiouslyinto the shadows. For a brief instant he seemed to glimpse a moving,shapeless form and raising his weapon he was about to fire, but hishand shook and trembled so he could not aim. Before he could steadyhimself by an almost superhuman effort, there was nothing to be seenbut the dark sluggishly flowing creek and the ghostly outlines of thetrees.

  But sleep was out of the question. For hour after hour he sat wideawake and with every sense alert until the gray dawn broke and theshadows of the night gave way to the faint morning light. Rising, hestepped towards the canoe and as he crossed the narrow strip of muddyshore between the water's edge and the fire he halted in his tracks,staring with unbelieving eyes at the ground. Plainly visible in theoozy soil were the imprints of naked human feet!

  Some one had been there in the darkness! Some one had crept about thecamp, and with fears once more aroused, but with murder in his heart,the fellow cocked his pistol and hurriedly strode about the islet. Butthere was no sign of a human being. No boat, no mark of a canoe havingbeen drawn ashore; only those footprints near the fire, footprintswhich came from nowhere and led nowhere. As far as appearances wentthe being who made them might have dropped from the sky and afterwardshave taken flight on wings.

  All of the man's superstitions were now aroused and regardless of hiscompanion's possible sneers and scoffings, he shook the slumberingred-bearded fellow awake and showed him the footprints. But the burlyrascal gave little heed to them, declaring they were merely footprintsof some Indian and might have been there for days. Swearingvociferously that he didn't see what there was about an Indian's trackto cause worry anyway, he vowed that he for one would be glad to runacross an Indian or an Indian village in order to get food, for unlessthey gained the river and managed to secure provisions they would befacing starvation as there were barely two days' rations remaining.

  But even with this very real and pressing danger confronting them, thememory of the mysterious footprints were uppermost in the leader'smind. He was brave enough in the face of real danger; as long astangible enemies were to be met he had nerves of steel, and he hadnever quailed when peril threatened. But this nerve-wracking, hauntingfear of an unknown, invisible something was beyond his control andsomehow he could not avoid connecting the terrible wailing cry he hadheard with the strange footprints on the island. And then, just beforenoon, the creek widened and, through the trees ahead, the broad rivercame into view and a great weight seemed lifted from his mind as thedismal creek was left behind.

  Just below the mouth of the creek they stopped for their midday reston a jutting, wooded point. The meal over, the red-bearded man yawnedprodigiously, vowed he was going to have a nap before going fartherand lighting his pipe, threw himself down in the shade of a tree. Theother, all his fears flown, now they were on the big river and withthe bright sunshine all about, remarked that he would wander off inthe hope of finding game and filling the magazine of his pistol withcartridges, he fastened the canoe securely, and puffing contentedly athis pipe strolled up the bank into the forest.

  There was little undergrowth, the huge trees, with their outjuttingroots and their drapery of trailing vines and lianas, stood well apartand treading softly and glancing here and there, the man walked amongthe trees with pistol cocked and ready.

  From the lofty branches bits of falling fruit and nuts told of birdsor other creatures feeding among the leaves; the hoarse yelping oftoucans sounded from the foliage; occasionally, a macaw uttered itsraucous scream and unseen parrots screeched and squawked. Once too, atroop of great, red, howling monkeys crashed off through the treetops, leaping from branch to branch and uttering hoarse barks ofprotest at the intruder. But no creature appeared within pistol shotand at last, thoroughly disgusted and realizing that he and hiscomrade were wasting valuable time and should be on their way, heturned about and started to retrace his steps towards the river.

  The next moment he halted in his tracks, shaking with nameless terror.His thin-lipped cruel mouth gaped, the ever present monocle droppedunnoticed from his eye, the hand that grasped his weapon trembled, foronce again that awful, blood curdling scream had echoed through thejungle.

  For a moment he stood, as though frozen to the spot, and then,thinking only to escape from the shadowy mysterious forest, to reachhis companion and the canoe, he dashed forward and raced pantingtowards the river. Once again, and seeming close behind him, came thatmaniacal wail and madly he tore downstream, leaping from rock to rock,plunging to his knees through the shoal water, while from the depthsof the jungle wavered and rose and fell the tiger's call with a noteof triumph and mockery in its unearthly cadence.

  As the terrifying sound ceased and the fear-mad man came in sight ofthe point, he gasped and halting stared about with unbelieving eyes.The canoe was gone!

  Instantly, his unreasoning terror of the screaming cry was forgotten,for here was something real and tangible, a calamity so great it droveall superstitious fears, all imaginary dangers from his overwroughtmind. He had left the boat securely fastened and he could not imaginehow it had gone adrift. But the fact had to be faced, the only chancewas to hurry down stream in the hopes that they might find the canoestranded on a bar or point, and cursing his companion for sleeping andthus permitting the craft to drift away unnoticed, he shouted to theother at the top of his lungs. But there was no response, no answeringcry, and swearing at the soundness of the fellow's sleep, he raced upthe bank to arouse him by more forcible methods.

  Then once again he stood staring in incredulous amazement. Thered-bearded man was not there! Beside the tree his pipe was lying onthe ground, the imprint of his bulky body still showed upon the softferns and tender leaves, but the man himself had vanished.

  Then the master criminal burst out with such a torrent of abuse,oaths, curses and epithets as should have caused the very leaves toshrivel, for now he realized what had happened. It came over him in aflash, goading him into a frenzy of anger. His companion had desertedhim. His nap had been but an excuse, a ruse, and taking advant
age ofhis leader's absence, he had made off with the boat and the slenderstock of food, leaving his comrade to perish there in the heart of thewilderness.

  Then, his stock of expletives and profanity exhausted, realizing theutter uselessness of raving at the empty air and with his ungovernabletemper somewhat relieved, his reason returned and calmly, withdetermined mind, he looked the matter squarely in the face.

  His case seemed utterly hopeless, but was it? Was it not possible forhim to win out? Back there by the lake their predicament had seemedequally without hope. They had thought that only by a miracle couldthey escape and the miracle, in the form of an Indian and a canoe, hadhappened. And with the thought of Indians new hope surged through him.To attempt to make his way downstream over the rough and rocky shoresand without food or shelter was, he knew, impossible; but there was achance, a slender chance, that there might be an Indian camp in thevicinity. He could do without food for a day or two he felt sure, andperhaps, by summoning all his strength, all his indomitable will powerto the effort, he could manage to reach an Indian village. To be surehe did not know if such existed, he had no idea in which direction togo, but even if he perished from hunger and exhaustion in the forest,it would be preferable to standing here beside the river and cursingthe villain who had deserted him and who was now, no doubt, miles downthe stream.

  Possibly, he thought, he might find a trail or a path and feeling thataction of any sort was better than inaction, he started into theforest, searching the ground for a trail. A moment later he uttered anexclamation of satisfaction, for there, faintly visible among theweeds and broad-leaved plants, was a narrow pathway leading inland.

  Encouraged and not stopping to think that it might be a game trailleading nowhere, he stepped forward along the almost indistinguishablepath. A score of paces ahead was a tangled thicket of high grass intowhich the trail led and hurrying along, he pressed through theherbage. The next instant a piercing cry of horror rang through thejungle, startling the birds in the tree tops and silencing thechattering monkeys.

  Lying face down upon the grass, his head resting in a pool of blood,was the body of the red-bearded man pinned to the forest floor by aspear driven between his shoulder blades!

  The horrified man gave a single glance at the lifeless, bleeding formand then, utterly bereft of his senses, crazed with terror of theunseen, mysterious assassin, he turned and dashed blindly, madly, fromthe spot.

  Unheeding, unreasoning, he raced among the trees, stumbling overrocks, tripping on upjutting roots, ripping his clothes as he torethrough thorny vines and palms, barking his shins, crashing into treesin his headlong flight, until utterly exhausted, he sank limply to theearth.

  How long he lay there he did not know. Possibly he lost consciousness,possibly his half-crazed mind was incapable of judging time; but whenat last he raised himself and glanced about, the sun was low in thewest and new terrors filled him as he realized that he must remain inthe jungle throughout the night. But his first nameless, unreasoning,mad fright had passed and while he was still weak and trembling, hismind was clear and he knew that if he ever was to escape from thisdread forest he must have shelter and a fire. Near him a huge moratree spread twenty-feet, slablike, buttressed roots and between two ofthese he would be somewhat protected. Gathering a quantity of deadbranches and twigs, he piled them near the tree and after a few futileattempts had a roaring fire going. He was desperately hungry, but foodwas out of the question, and seated between the mora roots in thegrateful warmth of the blaze, he steeled himself to withstand thegnawing pangs of his famished stomach.

  Presently there was a scratching sound above him, a bit of barkdropped upon his head and glancing quickly up he saw a squirrelclinging to the trunk of the tree and gazing wonderingly at theintruder. Quickly raising his pistol and taking careful aim, the manfired and at the echoing report, the little creature dropped lifelessat his feet. Quickly he skinned and cleaned the animal and ere theflesh was cold had spitted it on a pointed stick and was broiling itover the fire. It was a pitifully small morsel for a hungry, tiredman, but it was far better than nothing and ravenously he devoured thehalf-cooked, blackened flesh. And as he did so the thin lips smiledand a look of satisfaction spread across his features. If he couldkill one squirrel he could kill more--or perhaps larger game. He hadlearned a lesson of the bush; he had discovered that by sittingmotionless the wild things could be found more readily than by movingabout. He vowed that he would yet win out, that he would escape andwould reach civilization despite fate and his enemies.

  With his hunger somewhat appeased he leaned back against the moraroots and mentally determining that he would not again give way tocraven fear, he strove to dismiss the thoughts of the spear-piercedbody of his dead companion.

  But he could not forget it, could not drive it from his mind, anddespite every effort he found himself dwelling on the subject,wondering how and by whom the red-bearded giant had been killed. Thatit was the work of Indians he knew--the spear thrust through the bodyproved that--and he felt that the redskins who had done the deed hadalso taken the boat. Perhaps, he thought, that was it, possibly theIndians had followed them to recover their craft and surprising thewhite man asleep had murdered him. But if so, why was he not lyingdead beneath the tree where he had been sleeping? How did his bodyhappen to be some distance away in the thicket? It was a puzzle, amystery. The fact that "red-beard" was dead did not trouble him, or atleast it would not have troubled him had he possessed the canoe.Rather it would have been welcome, for it would have meant more foodfor himself. He had seen and dealt out swift and sudden death toooften to feel the ordinary man's horror of murder or a dead body, butfor some unaccountable reason this was different. There was somethingstrange, something mysterious about it and then there were thenervous, groundless fears he had endured while they had been upon thecreek.

  This brought to mind the awful screams he had heard and he shivered ashe thought of them, but there were no unusual sounds in the forestnow, all seemed peaceful and at last he dropped into a deep sleep.

  With morning came hunger and bearing in mind the squirrel of theprevious evening, he peered about, searching for some other creatureto kill. At last, with a gleam of almost savage satisfaction, he saw aplump, long-legged black and gray bird stepping daintily among thetrees and with another lucky shot secured it. He now felt sure that hewould not starve and having cleaned, picked and broiled the trumpetbird, he rose, stretched himself, adjusted his monocle, which by somemiracle had escaped destruction in his mad flight, and glanced about.

  Then, for the first time, he realized that he did not know in whichdirection the river lay. With the discovery he cursed vociferously inhis native German and then burst into a mirthless laugh. After all, itmade little difference. He was gambling on chance, on the faint hopeof finding an Indian village, and, as far as he could tell, onedirection was as promising as another and so, scanning the earth inthe hope that he might find a trail, he walked from his temporaryresting place through the forest.

  A few hours later he came upon a small brook or creek and, knowingthat if he followed this he must eventually come out somewhere, andfinding the bed of the stream an easier road than the jungle floorwith the cool water comforting to his blistered, aching feet, hesplashed along ankle deep in the stream.

  He had wisely refrained from devouring all of the trumpet bird andnow, feeling hungry and seeing nothing to shoot, he seated himself ona fallen tree and munched the bird's drumsticks. Throughout theafternoon he tramped on, forcing himself forward by sheer will power,for he was exhausted by the tramp, his feet were swollen and sore, hewas half starved and his skin was scratched, bruised, barked andbitten by insects. Then, when he felt that he could go no farther,that perhaps after all the best thing to do would be to put a bulletthrough his own head, he smelled smoke. There was no question of it,he sniffed the air and knew that near at hand was a fire, that he wasclose to a camp or hut, that there were fellow men not far away and,leaving the stream and following the scent of pun
gent wood smoke, hehurried onwards.

  Stronger and stronger became the odor. Now he could see the faintbluish haze among the trees and feeling that he was saved, that foodand help were near, he hurried forward. A moment later he saw thefire, a smouldering pile of branches, and with a despairing cry heflung himself down. The fire was his own! Close to it were the greatmora roots where he had spent the night; all about were scattered thefeathers of the trumpet bird. He had traveled in a circle, had comeback to his starting point and all that heartbreaking, terrible tramphad been for nothing!

  Utterly done up, thoroughly discouraged, feeling that he could do nomore, he lay there striving to summon sufficient courage to place hispistol at his ear and pull the trigger. Then to his dulling senses,came the sound of a stealthy footfall and roused to sudden interest,he raised his head, glanced about and cocked his pistol as he did so.And at the sight which met his eyes, he was galvanized into life andaction. Within ten feet of where he lay, crouched a hideous,terrifying apparition, a figure red as blood from whose chest glaredtwo huge, painted eyes and a fang-filled mouth, a figure whose mattedtangled hair framed a face demoniacal in his expression of mingledhate and fury and whose upraised hand grasped a heavy, hardwood club.

  With a yell that rang through the forest, the white man whirled andthrowing up his pistol pulled the trigger. But at the same instant theavenger leaped like his tiger namesake, the bullet whistled harmlesslypast his head, the club descended and his victim sank with a moan.With the savage, terrible cry of the jaguar gloating over its kill,the Indian stood above the huddled motionless form, fierce eyeswatching for the slightest movement, club upraised.

  Then suddenly, he turned, listening intently, as to his keen ears cameunexpected sounds, the noise of a boat's keel grating on rock and theshouts of men.

  For a brief instant the avenger hesitated, then with a bound hevanished in the shadows and from the depths of the forest came hismocking, triumphant cry--the bloodcurdling, awesome wail of thejaguar, He had accomplished his purpose. His murdered tribesman wasavenged.

  CHAPTER XII

  THE END OF THE TRAIL

  For some time after their precipitate departure from the spot wherethe red-bearded man's body had been found, those in the boat remainedsilent.

  The Indians, frightened and with all their primitive superstitionsaroused, plied their paddles and glanced fearfully first at one shoreand then at the other, but uttered no words. Colcord, half Indian ashe was, shared his copper-skinned companions' terror to some extentand kept the boat in midstream, swinging her wide of each point andislet. The boys, still shuddering at the horrible sight they had seen,were subdued and too much impressed to talk; Mr. Pauling, Mr.Henderson and the explorer were deep in thought and even theirrepressible Rawlins had no comment to make in the face of this awfultragedy.

  But as the point where lay the gruesome remains of what had once beenthe red-bearded giant was left behind and the trees hid the circlingbirds of ill omen from sight, the spirits of those in the boat revivedand their thoughts turned to the future and what might lie ahead ofthem. There was now but one man to search for, the chase had narroweddown, but this very fact added to their problems and reduced theirchances of success.

  "As you remarked, Rawlins, I would like to know where the other manis," said Mr. Pauling, breaking the silence. "There's a deep mysteryhere."

  "I'll say there is!" assented the diver, "but the whole thing's beenone darned mystery after another, ever since the boys first heardthose signals back in New York."

  "Yes and they've usually solved themselves as they arose," Mr.Henderson reminded him. "But it looks as if this one would never besolved. I'm afraid the answer died with that chap back there in thebush."

  "And I'm afraid we'll never set eyes on the chief of the rascallygang," declared Mr. Pauling. "I expect he's come to a violent endalso."

  "What puzzles me," said Mr. Thorne, "is why they left their plane andhow they became separated. Of course, there's a chance that theywrecked their machine in landing or that some accident happened to itlater or perhaps they tried to fly away and came a cropper, but eventhen it seems natural that the men should have remained together."

  "Perhaps they were," suggested Mr. Pauling. "Isn't it possible thatthey were attacked and one was killed while the other escaped?"

  "No, I hardly think so," replied Mr. Thorne. "The avenger neverattacks a victim openly--the very nature of his vengeance precludesthat. His only weapon is a short club or his bare hands and he'd haveno chance against a well-armed man and still less against two. No, heinvariably sneaks upon his victim while the latter sleeps or is offhis guard."

  "But are you sure that fellow was killed by a Kenaima?" asked Mr.Henderson. "Isn't it possible they had a quarrel with the Indians andthat he was struck down and his comrade taken prisoner or carried offwounded?"

  The explorer shook his head. "There are no hostile Indians in Guiana,"he averred. "They are all peaceable and would never dream ofquarreling with white men, no matter how great the provocation.Besides, there's not the least doubt that he was the victim ofKenaima--the wooden spear through his body proves that--and there wasno sign of a struggle. No, that man killed an Indian and therebysealed his own doom. It's quite possible that his companion wasinnocent and was not included in the Kenaima and hence was unharmed,but if so, where can he be?"

  "I'll bet old Red-whiskers deserted his bunkie and skipped off,"declared Rawlins. "Then he did up a Buck and got what was coming tohim. Let's beat it for the plane--maybe the Grand Panjandrum's stillover there waiting for his mate to come back."

  "By Jove! that's a possible solution to the puzzle," exclaimed Mr.Pauling, "and even if he did not desert he may have gone off on a huntand while away killed an Indian. Yes, I think we'll find the answer atthe plane--if we can find it."

  "It's a plausible theory," admitted Mr. Henderson. "But there's a flawin it. How did the victim of the Kenaima cross this river? Mr. Thornesays Maipurisi is to the east and as far as we know the fellows had noboat."

  "Hmm, that's true," mused Mr. Pauling. "Looks as if we're up againstanother mystery."

  "Perhaps they carried a folding boat or found an Indian canoe,"suggested Tom.

  "Yes, that's possible," agreed his father, "but whatever theexplanation our best plan is to go to the plane at once. How far arewe from Maipurisi, Thorne?"

  "A good long day's paddle," replied the explorer. "Taguma Creek flowsfrom the lake and empties into this river about three miles abovehere. We might make the lake by to-morrow noon."

  "Well, whatever's happened has happened within the past four days,"declared Rawlins. "They were there and talking by radio then. How longshould you think that man had been dead?"

  "Impossible to say," replied Mr. Thorne. "Probably not over two days.If he'd been there longer than that, there would have been nothing butbones left."

  "Gosh! the last time they talked they were asking for help," criedFrank. "Perhaps the Kenaima was after them then."

  "You're right!" ejaculated Mr. Pauling. "That must have been it. Theyknew their danger and probably tried to escape. But why didn't theyget off in their plane?"

  "Search me!" said Rawlins. "Let's get hold of old Monocle Eye and askhim!"

  Suddenly Colcord bent forward, shaded his eyes with his hand and gazedahead. "They's a coorial yander!" he announced.

  Instantly all turned and peered forward to where, barely visible amongsome rocks, they could now see a dug-out canoe apparently deserted.

  "Run over and let's have a look at it," Mr. Thorne commanded thecaptain.

  Swinging his big steering paddle and with a word to the Indians, theBoviander turned the boat from its course and headed for the littlederelict.

  As they drew near, they saw that it was drawn upon a ledge and wassecured to the rocks and so placed that it was completely hidden fromview except when approached from downstream.

  "Odd!" ejaculated Mr. Thorne. "Some one left it here, but where canthey be? This little pile of rocks would
n't conceal a rabbit and it'sfifty yards from shore. Funny place to leave a boat."

  The next moment they were alongside and as Rawlins leaned over andpeered into the craft, he uttered a surprised exclamation. "By glory,it's theirs!"

  "Jove, you're right!" affirmed Mr. Pauling.

  There was no doubt of it. In the canoe was a Luger pistol, a cartridgebelt, a few cans of food, a short-handled ax and a roll ofkahki-colored cloth.

  Rawlins leaped into the coorial and examined the various articles.

  "Now what the dickens do you suppose they left their pistol for?" hecried as he picked up the weapon. "And they were off for a triptoo--took grub along and a tent. Hello! Their plane's done for! Lookhere! This cloth's the covering of one of her wings!"

  "I'll he hanged!" exploded Mr. Henderson. "Then they had deserted themachine and were getting off in this canoe. They can't be far away!"

  Rawlins laughed. "I'll say one of 'em's a blamed long ways off!" hecried. "But the other chap may be hanging about. Great Scott, he maybe watching us from shore now!"

  At the diver's words every one started and glanced at theforest-covered banks as if half expecting to see the leader of the"reds" peering at them from the foliage. Then Sam, who had beenholding to the rail of the canoe, leaned over and reaching into thebottom of the craft picked up some object and examined it.

  "Tha's a cur'ous lookin' feather, Chief," he remarked, handing hisfind to Mr. Pauling.

  "Hmm, 'tis odd," agreed the latter. "Guess they must have killed somebird."

  Joseph, who was seated next to Sam, had turned and as he saw the soft,curled black plume his eyes seemed about to pop from his head, hismouth gaped and in a gasping whisper, he exclaimed, "Kenaima!"

  "What's that?" demanded Mr. Thorne, as with one accord every Indianwheeled about and sat staring with frightened eyes at the innocentblack feather in Mr. Pauling's hand. "How you sabby him Kenaima,Joseph?"

  "Me sabby too much!" stammered the terrified Indian. "No likeum, mustfor makeum walk plenty quick this place!"

  "What does he mean?" asked Tom who could see nothing in the littlefeather to cause such excitement and terror in the Indians.

  "He means that feather came from the Kenaima," replied the explorer,"and I'll swear he's right. The avenger always wears a girdle ormantle of black Powi feathers--the Indians believe they are magic andrender the wearer invisible--and this feather is from a Powi and hasbeen used in a cape or girdle. You can see where the quill has beensplit and stripped--the way the Indians always prepare them whenmaking feather ornaments."

  "Then the Kenaima's been here!" exclaimed Frank, "Uugh, let's get outof here."

  "Not till we get at the bottom of all this," declared Mr. Paulingdecisively. "If these fool Indians are frightened by theirsuperstitions, I'm not and they'll have to get over it, Kenaima or noKenaima."

  The Indians were now jabbering excitedly in low tones and Mr. Thornewas doing his utmost to quiet them and allay their terror.

  "No makeum 'fraid!" he admonished them. "This fellow Kenaima long timegone. You sabby him no makeum Kenaima for Buckman. Him killum whitefellow like so! Him makeum gone topside same way. This fellow Mr.Pauling good frien' Kenaima, him want killum bad white fellow all sameKenaima. Him gotum plenty peai--plenty peai. Must for no makeup'fraid. Must for do all same him tellum."

  Somewhat reassured and quite willing to believe--after havingwitnessed and heard the radio messages--that Mr. Pauling and hisfriends had "plenty peai," and seeing no reason why a white man shouldnot be traveling into the bush on a little "Kenaima" of his own, theIndians quieted down, although they looked askance at the innocentfeather and breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Pauling tucked it intohis pocket.

  "What do you make of it, Thorne?" he asked. "You're the only one whoknows the bush and the Indians. How do you account for this boat withthe rascals' property in it, being moored here in midstream and with afeather--which these Indians claim is from the Kenaima--in it also?"

  "I can't account for it," replied the explorer, "but I _can_offer a theory. It is quite possible that the Kenaima trailed the men,that he saw them land here and that he examined their boat after theyhad left and dropped one of his feathers. Or again he may purposelyhave placed the feather here as a token that he was on theirtrail--not stopping to realize that it would mean nothing to them."

  "Hmm, but why should they land here and how did that red-beardedrascal get miles below here to be killed?" queried the other.

  "That baffles me," admitted Mr. Thorne. "And the fact that the pistolis here adds to the mystery. If they started out to hunt, or wentashore for any purpose, it seems unreasonable to think they would notcarry their weapons."

  "Well, we know it's no use going on to Maipurisi and trying to findtheir plane," declared Mr. Henderson. "It seems to me we've come tothe end of the trail and might as well go back. Wherever the othervillain is, it's hopeless to try to locate him."

  "I'll say it's not!" contradicted Rawlins. "He'll come back to hisboat and we can lie low and nab him when he does."

  "Provided he lives and hasn't seen us, perhaps," said Mr. Pauling.

  "Well, I've a hunch he's not dead and he can't go on, without a boator grub," argued the diver. "I vote we sneak in somewhere and hide andwait. If he don't come back by dark we won't be any worse off than weare now."

  "We might as well try that scheme," agreed Mr. Thorne. "He may be offin the bush hunting for his comrade and if he hasn't seen us, he'llreturn in time as Mr. Rawlins says."

  "Very well," assented Mr. Pauling. "I'll try anything once and it'sone last chance."

  Accordingly, the explorer explained to Colcord what was wanted and theBoviander, after a few words with the Indians and peering about theshores of the river, swung the boat clear and, rounding the tiny rockyislet, headed for a dark and shadowy creek that emptied into the riverseveral hundred yards upstream.

  They had proceeded but a short distance when one of the Indians turnedand said something to Colcord in the Akawoia tongue. Instantly, theBoviander sniffed the air and muttered a reply.

  "What's up, Colcord?" demanded Mr. Thorne.

  "They's a fire here 'bout," replied the captain. "Don' you smell him?"

  "Yes, I believe I do!" exclaimed the explorer also sniffing."Cautiously, Colcord--if there's a fire there must be men. We may beclose to our quarry. Go silently and we may surprise him."

  At the surprising news that there was a camp fire near, every one grewtense with excitement and expectancy, for while there was a chancethat it might prove to be an Indian encampment, yet there was also achance--and a very promising one--that it might be the fire of thefugitive they sought. Moreover, even were it an Indian's fire the manthey were hunting might be there and silently they waited as withnoiseless strokes of their saddles the Indians urged the boat towardsthe bank, following the scent of pungent smoke as unerringly as houndson the trail.

  They had almost reached the rocky shores and, with weapons ready, themen were preparing to leap ashore and dash into the forest towards thethin wisp of blue haze that was now visible among the trees, when fromthe jungle ahead, the sharp report of a pistol rang out. So totallyunexpected and startling was the sound that even the stolid Indiansuttered cries of alarm and surprise.

  "By glory, he's seen us!" exclaimed Rawlins. "Missed us though--comeon! Over the top, boys! We'll--"

  His words died on his lips as from the dark forest came a quavering,blood-curdling scream; an unearthly awful sound.

  "What in blazes is that?" cried Rawlins, as the boat grated on therocks and he sprang ashore.

  "Jaguar!" snapped out Mr. Thorne. "He must have fired at the beast!Come on!"

  But before he could leap onto the rocks the Indians had seized theirpaddles and with terrified cries of "Kenaima! Kenaima!" werestruggling madly to push the boat from shore.

  "Stop that!" commanded Mr. Thorne. "No makeum fool!"

  But his orders were unheeded, the Indians were panic stricken. Thenext second Sam had leaped forward
and with his huge black hands wascuffing the cowering Indians right and left. Wrenching the paddlesfrom their grasps he heaved them onto the beach. Almost before theothers realized what had happened, the Bahaman sprang onto the rocks,the boat's painter in one hand and his paddle in the other.

  "Ah guess he won' humbug yo' no more," he announced grinning. "Yo' go'long, Chief. Ah'll ten' to these boys!"

  "I'll say you will!" cried Rawlins and realizing that Sam wasperfectly capable of "tending" to the Indians and the boat, he dashedup the bank followed by the others.

  As the diver reached the first trees, the jaguar's cry again came fromthe jungle, but faint and far away, and the next moment Rawlinsuttered a shout.

  "Here he is!" he yelled as with drawn revolver he leaped towards asmouldering fire. "But by glory, I guess the jaguar's beat us to it!"

  Huddled near the fire was a ragged, human form. As the diver and theothers bent over the body, they knew that their search was over, forinstantly all recognized it as that of the master criminal theysought. Dangling from its string was a cracked monocle; a Germanautomatic pistol was lying by the outstretched hand, and blood wasoozing from a great gash across the back of the man's head.

  "It's he!" exclaimed Mr. Henderson. "But Rawlins is right--that jaguarfinished him."

  Mr. Pauling had torn open the fellow's tattered garments and waslistening at his chest. "He's not dead!" he announced. "Just knockedout. Hurry up, get the first aid kit and fix up his wound. He may liveto answer for his crimes yet."

  Mr. Thorne had been examining the ground about the unconscious man andas Tom and Frank rushed back to the boat for the first aid kit, hestooped and examined the bloody wound on the man's head.

  "You're dead wrong about one thing," he announced in grave tones. "Nojaguar made that gash--and there's not a sign of a jaguar about."

  "I'll say there was!" declared Rawlins. "By glory! Didn't we hear himyell?"

  The explorer smiled. "That was no jaguar," he replied positively. "I'mnot surprised the Indians were terrified. This man was struck down bythe Kenaima!"

  "What!" ejaculated Mr. Pauling, looking up in amazement. "You mean tosay--"

  "That we arrived in the nick of time to save this rascal from the fateof his red-bearded friend," declared the explorer. "The avenger creptupon him and struck him down, but was undoubtedly frightened off byhearing us approach--remember he cannot be seen by human beings untilhis mission is accomplished--and he had no time to finish his job."

  "By glory, you're right!" exclaimed the diver who had been examiningthe earth while Mr. Thorne spoke. "There's a trail of bare feetleading away from here, but nary a track of a big cat."

  "Well my thanks to the Kenaima," remarked Mr. Pauling. "I guess youhit nearer the mark than you thought when you said he was 'plenty goodfren' of ours. But I'm mighty glad he didn't finish this chap off.Dead men tell no tales and I've hopes this rascal will live to tell alot."

  "Well, I'm sorry for that poor devil of a Kenaima lad," declaredRawlins. "According to Hoyle, as you might say, he'll have to go onbumping people off indefinitely as long as he didn't run a stickthrough the old High Muck a Muck here."

  Mr. Thorne chuckled. "I don't think you need worry over him," heresponded. "I expect he'll consider that as long as he did a good jobwith the other victim, he's fulfilled the spirit if not the letter ofthe law. But I'd like to know what these two rascals did to bring theKenaima after them."

  "I'll say they did a plenty!" said Rawlins. "Leave it to them to dodirty work--even if they're in an uninhabited jungle."

  "Well they won't do any more," averred Mr. Pauling who, with theothers' assistance, was dressing and bandaging the man's wound. "If weget him out of the bush alive, he'll rue the day he ever went into thejungle."

  At last all that could be done was accomplished and the stillunconscious man was lifted to an improvised stretcher and carried tothe boat. The Indians were still sullen and Colcord wore a scowl, hisspirits evidently ruffled, as he carried on a wordy argument with Samwho stood guard, holding the rope with one big fist and a threateningpaddle with the other.

  Placing the wounded man on his stretcher beneath the arched awning inthe stern of the boat, Mr. Pauling called the Bahaman aboard, theexplorer ordered the Boviander to push off, and the Indians, vastlyrelieved at being able to get clear of the spot, seized their paddlesand swung the big coorial into the stream.

  "I suppose it's 'home James,' now," remarked Rawlins. "We've got thegoods--even if they are damaged, and by glory, I'm dead sorry it's allover but the shouting."

  "So am I," declared Tom. "Gosh, it's hard to believe the excitement'sover and the man we've been after so long is really captured."

  "Gee, yes, and isn't it too bad we can't radio to Colonel Maidley thatwe've got him?" put in Frank. "I wish we had our sending set here."

  "Jehoshaphat!" ejaculated Tom, a sudden idea coming to him. "Perhapswe'll have some excitement yet--I'd forgotten about the loot. Perhapsthis fellow'll tell us where 'tis."

  "Little chance of that," declared his father. "He'd die with thesecret, just to baffle us. Hello, he's coming to! I'm sorry to do it,but we'll have to put irons on him, Henderson. No knowing what he maydo when he finds himself here."

  "Yes, it seems inhuman to manacle an injured man," agreed Mr.Henderson as he rummaged in his kit bag and got out handcuffs. "But wecan't afford to take chances. He'd drown himself in a moment ratherthan go to trial. But we'll be as merciful as we can. Just lock onewrist and ankle."

  An instant later the steel rings snapped about one of the man's wristsand an ankle and Mr. Henderson snapped the others to the boat'stimbers. A few minutes after he had been thus secured, the fellowopened his eyes and looked about; but there was no sign of recognitionin his glance, and mumbling a few incoherent words he again closed hiseyes. Mr. Pauling poured a glass of water and put it to the fellow'slips and he gulped it down eagerly, but said nothing.

  "Off his bean a bit yet," commented Rawlins, "and I'm not surprised.That was an almighty wallop he got."

  "Possibly he may never regain his senses," said Mr. Pauling. "It willbe a mercy for him if he doesn't." Then, glancing about, he exclaimed,"Here, where are we going? Have them swing this boat around, Thorne."

  "Aren't you starting back?" inquired the explorer in surprise.

  "Not yet," declared Mr. Pauling. "I want to see that plane. We've gotto have all the evidence we can get and I've an idea some may bethere."

  "Hurrah!" cried Tom. "Then it's not all over yet."

  Meanwhile the boat had been swung and once more was being paddledupstream, but Colcord and the Indians kept it as far as possible fromthe western bank and hugged the eastern shores. Two hours later theyreached the mouth of a wide, dark creek and leaving the big river,paddled rapidly along the black and silent waterway into the veryheart of the jungle. Once, as they passed a small island, theBoviander drew Mr. Thome's attention to a pile of charred andblackened sticks a few yards from the beach and remarked that some onehad camped there recently.

  "Hmm, I expect that's where these precious scoundrels stopped on theway out from Maipurisi," said the explorer. "That looks as if we wereright in our conjectures as to the location of the plane. By the way,Colcord, did the Indians recognize that canoe we found? Do they knowwhat tribe it belonged to."

  "They say it Akuria, Chief," replied the Boviander. "Akurias haveplenty big camp topside Maipurisi."

  "Then that settles it," declared Mr. Thorne. "They landed in Maipurisiand got their coorial from the Akuria village. Speed her up, Colcord,the sooner we get there the sooner you'll be back to Wismar."

  But there was no chance of making the lake by nightfall and camp wasmade beside the creek. Strangely enough the Indians appeared to havecompletely overcome their fears of the Kenaima and worked as willinglyand were as light-hearted as ever.

  The wounded man was conscious, but appeared utterly oblivious to hissurroundings and uttered no word. He ate the food which Sam fed tohim, but he was evidently partly paral
yzed and moved himself with aneffort, not making any attempt to even lift his hands or arms.

  "I'm rather glad of that," said Mr. Pauling in a low tone. "He doesn'trealize he's manacled and he doesn't know yet that he's a prisoner. Itmakes me feel a brute to keep him locked that way and if he continuesas he is, I shall free him. No danger of his making a break as long ashe cannot move a finger."

  "Well, I don't know," remarked Rawlins who had been watching the manclosely. "He's a slippery duck as you know and I've a hunch he knows aheap more than you think and isn't as helpless as he'd have youbelieve. I've caught him looking at your back in a darned nasty way.He may be nutty, but by glory, a nutty murderer's as dangerous as asane one. I'd keep the bracelets on him if I were you."

  "I think Rawlins is right," agreed Mr. Henderson. "Even if he ishelpless and not himself, you can't tell at what moment he may recoverand we'd better be on the safe side."

  "Perhaps you're both right," acknowledged Mr. Pauling. "After all, Idon't suppose he's worthy of much consideration."

  Throughout the night, some one was constantly on watch beside thewounded man, but he made no move, seemed to sleep well and in themorning was in exactly the same condition as before.

  Before noon the canoe emerged from the creek onto a small lake and Mr.Thorne announced that they had reached their journey's end.

  "The plane may be anywhere along shore," he said. "We'll have to skirtaround and hunt for it. But the, lake's small and we should havelittle trouble."

  With all eyes searching each indentation and cove in the forest-cladshores, the coorial was paddled around the southern borders of thelake and before they had covered half its circumference, Tom gave ashout of triumph. "There 'tis!" he cried. "In that little bay."

  "Right you are!" affirmed the explorer. "Pretty bad wreck though."

  A minute later the boat was run ashore beside the dismantled plane andall scrambled out to examine it.

  "Hurrah!" yelled Frank who had caught sight of the "reds," camp andthe radio instruments. "Now we can send a message to Colonel Maidley."

  "Righto!" agreed Mr. Pauling. "Get it off. No need of cipher now."

  Quickly adjusting the instruments, the boys called the governmentstation at Georgetown and ticked off the message telling of theirsuccess and the fact that they had captured the long-sought ringleaderof the gang. Then, telling Sam to load the instruments into the boat,they joined the others who were examining and searching the plane.There was little to be found, however. The hull was filled with water,but the nine Indians with the Boviander's help dragged the plane highand dry and, the water having drained off, Mr. Pauling and his friendsremoved everything within. Then they searched for possible secretlockers or compartments and were busy at this when Sam approached.

  Touching Mr. Pauling on the sleeve, he drew him to one side. "Tha' manhe mek to watch yo'," he announced in low tones. "Ah was puttin' tha'ins'ments abo'd an' Ah looks up an' see he liftin' he haid an' tryin'fo' see what yo' doin'. An, Chief, he move he han's O. K. Ah sees heclutch he fis's an' Ah knows he was cursin' under he breath. Ah'spos'tive he's jus' playin' possum, Chief."

  "Hmm," mused Mr. Pauling. "Well, you stay there and keep a strictguard over him, Sam. Thank you for telling me."

  "Didn't I say so?" exclaimed the diver when Mr. Pauling repeated Sam'sinformation. "He'll bear watching all right."

  "Well, I think we may, as well leave," declared Mr. Henderson."There's nothing more of interest here--only water-soaked provisions,extra clothes and--by Jove! what's this?"

  As he spoke he had tossed a sodden coat onto the shore and as he didso a dark leather wallet or bill book had dropped from a pocket.Stooping quickly, he picked it up and opened it while the othersgathered close about. Within were bank notes of large denominations, afew letters absolutely illegible from the water and a larger foldedsheet of tough parchmentlike paper. Carefully, Mr. Henderson unfoldedit and glanced at it.

  "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "It's a chart."

  "I'll say it is!" cried Rawlins. "And of the West Indies! By the greathorn spoon, now we've got 'em dead to rights!"

  "Gosh, perhaps it's a map of where they hid their loot!" cried Tomexcitedly.

  "And we can go and get it!" put in Frank.

  "I'll say 'tis and we can!" yelled Rawlins. "It's all over but theshouting! Come on, let's beat it for Georgetown with this duck andthen hike after their loot! This bush work may be all right, but mefor the ocean. I'm itching to get under water again. By glory,treasure hunting's my middle name!"

  Mr. Pauling laughed. "I had an idea that hunches were," he chuckled."But come on. Nothing more to keep us here and it's mainly yourhunches, Rawlins, that have carried us through."

  "Not a bit of it," declared the diver. "You'll have to thank the radiodetectives for that. I'd never have had any hunches if it hadn't beenfor them."

  A few minutes later the lonely jungle lake had been left behind. Theboat sped down the creek towards the great river, while the Indians'rousing, homeward bound chantey startled the screeching parrots fromthe tree tops. A monkey crept curiously from his hiding place andgazed quizzically at the deserted seaplane. Beside a jungle stream anIndian washed the painted eyes and grinning fang-filled mouth from hischest and smiled contentedly and with grim satisfaction as he thoughtof how well his tribesman had been avenged. The long search which hadcarried Mr. Pauling and his friends so far and into such strangeplaces was over. Their mission had been accomplished. The radiodetectives had done their part, the arch criminal was a prisoner; theyhad come to the end of the trail and now only the plunging, swirling,thrilling rush down the great river and through the churning rapidslay between them and civilization.

  THE END

  SPLENDID STORIES FOR BOYS

  OVER TWO SEAS, by RALPH HENRY BARBOUR and H. P. HOLT

  A splendid story of two boys' adventures in the South Seas.

  RENFREW OF THE ROYAL MOUNTED, by LAURIE YORKE ERSKINE

  Seldom does a book catch so vividly the brave spirit and dramaticdeeds of men in the wilderness.

  SPOTTED DEER, by ELMER RUSSELL GREGOR

  Another of this author's well-known stories of what an Indian's lifewas really like.

  THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS, by A. HYATT VERRILL

  A popular writer for boys and authority on the sea, tells a story ofexciting whale hunting.

  SCOTT BURTON AND THE TIMBER THIEVES, by EDWARD G. CHENEY

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  NED DEALS, FRESHMAN, by EARL REED SILVERS

  The author of the Dick Arnold stories gives the boys a true-to-lifetale of freshman year.

  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

  New York--London

  By A. HYATT VERRILL

  THE RADIO DETECTIVES THE RADIO DETECTIVES UNDER THE SEA THE RADIO DETECTIVES SOUTHWARD BOUND THE RADIO DETECTIVES IN THE JUNGLE THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS THE BOOK OF THE MOTOR BOAT ISLES OF SPICE AND PALM