solidly entrenching themselves, they had lost all chance of mobility. Soon they would have been surrounded if Mr. Brewster and his companions hadn’t come along to scatter the foe. Kamuka called Biff’s attention to that fact.

“Macu run like scared deer,” said Kamuka. “But now your father is telling Mr. Whitman and Jacome to stop shooting. Why?”

“I guess Dad wants to keep the Macus around as a threat,” returned Biff grimly, “until he sees what Serbot intends to do. Urubu might take a pot shot at anybody.”

Kamuka gave a knowing nod. “You tell me!”

“Then you saw it was Urubu who fired after you?”

“Sure, Biff. I look long enough to see him aim. I tell Mr. Brewster all that happened, too.”

Evidently, Mr. Brewster had profited by Kamuka’s report. He had reached the bend where he was in direct sight of Serbot’s entrenched party, but he was motioning for Whitman and Jacome to stay behind him.

Serbot looked up from behind a pack, then gave a wary glance in the direction the Macus had gone. A few arrows came whizzing from high among the tree boughs, but they landed wide. They were sufficient, however, to shape Serbot’s next decision.

Serbot ordered Pepito and Urubu to resume their shooting after the Macus. At the same time, Serbot clambered over the packs and came along the path to meet Mr. Brewster, who in his turn ordered Mr. Whitman and Jacome to renew their fire on the distant head-hunters. Rifles barked in unison.

Biff and Kamuka joined their party in time to catch a last glimpse of the routed head-hunters.

“They won’t stop until they reach their camp,” declared Biff, “and maybe they’ll still keep on going from there.”

“Until they reach the Rio Negro,” added Kamuka, “and maybe they swim it quick.”

Mr. Brewster’s meeting with Serbot resulted in an immediate, though guarded truce. Mr. Whitman and Jacome moved up to back Mr. Brewster, while Serbot was beckoning for Pepito and Urubu to come and join him. The boys stayed in the background as did Serbot’s bearers, none of whom had been injured in the brief fray.

How many head-hunters might be lying dead in the brush or limping away wounded, there was no telling, but the battle had been won rapidly and effectively. Serbot seemed duly appreciative as he purred:

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