once gone to the Laboratory with Ynilea. That day, the party had started from Cuzco by automobile, left the main thoroughfare, traversed an unmarked route over rocks and foot hills, finally leaving the machine and making their way through a well-concealed natural hallway until at last they came out on a ledge from which they were taken in a strange airplane the rest of the journey.

“Great Christoper’s ghost, wonder if this is another of those hidden ways,” he exclaimed excitedly, and forgetting for the moment the need to be cautious, he stepped on to a broken stump in among the protecting curtain. But, before he could advance another inch, his quick ear caught a sharp whistling sound which he thought must have come from Jim’s lips, but before he could turn about, something dark cut in under his arm, hit the nearest sapling and drove like the blade of a stiletto clean through its heart. The young tree quivered from the impact and in an instant tiny beads of sap oozed from the wound.

“Whew—” Bob waited a moment, too startled to think, then he managed to turn about, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. In the first place, it seemed to be snowing for the air was filled with fluttering white things which seemed to be struggling to go on, and although they looked like butterflies, the boy was sure he must be mistaken for he had never seen nor heard of anything like it. Through the queer storm he could see Jim crouched near the helicopter, the looped lariat hanging from one hand and his mouth open as if he had been about to yell a warning which had frozen on his lips. Quickly Caldwell’s eyes swept to where Jim’s were staring and instantly he understood from whence the murderous dart had been driven. He saw the three Indians, two of them facing him while the third had his gaze fixed on Austin. One of the men held a second dart in his hand and was slowly raising it above his head prepared to send it with deadlier aim than the first.

Then, as if some supernatural power had intervened, the fluttering white things dropped thickly into the space, completely filling it with their bedraggled bodies and helpless beating wings. As Bob stood a bit back in the protection of the swinging vines it was like observing the strange spectacle through a window. None of the insects landed within a couple of feet of him, but beyond the air was like a swirling blanket which effectively cut him off from sight of the Indians plainly determined to kill him. Anxiously the boy wondered about Jim, for he could no longer see anything but the butterflies, and through his mind raced half a dozen plans.

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