Lost in the Wilds of Brazil. Foster James H.

travel by native canoes for approximately five hundred miles.”

      Joe gave a long whistle.

      “Five hundred miles by canoe!” he gasped, almost unbelievingly. “Seems almost impossible. How can you take food enough along?”

      “Does seem sort of absurd. But we’ll manage it. And we expect to live on game and fish to a certain extent. Everything will have to be timed to a dot. We won’t dare stay any longer than our food supply lasts. When that begins to get low, back to civilization we’ll go.”

      “How long do you expect to be gone?” Bob asked.

      “We – ll, perhaps three or four months. We want to get as much done as possible. You see,” he explained, “as I said before, our stay is limited to the supply of provisions we have with us. If it were possible to carry enough, I would like to spend at least six months there. What a wonderful opportunity to study primitive man in his everyday life.”

      “Should think it would be rather dangerous,” remarked Joe. “He might object and study you instead. Headhunters, I mean.”

      “It’s a chance we have to take,” was the reply. “But after all, if we treat them kindly there is little danger. Human nature is much the same all over the globe.”

      “I’ll trust you to come out all right,” Bob said.

      “We hope to,” the scientist returned. “And we also hope to add greatly to the world’s knowledge of Brazil and its animal inhabitants.”

      “At present that isn’t very much, is it?” Joe asked.

      “You can’t exactly say that,” Mr. Holton answered, “for a large amount is known about different sections that have been more or less frequented by civilized man. But when you refer to the deeper, more inaccessible regions, then it’s different. Of course there have been numerous expeditions sent out to explore these unknown sections, but even now there is a large and interesting field open to the scientist.”

      “Well,” said Bob, after a short silence, “I only hope that Joe and I may go with you.”

      “We’ll see about it,” his father replied. “But I can assure you that consent from your mothers will not come without considerable – Well! Look who’s here. Come on the porch and sit down, Ben.” He referred to Joe’s father, Mr. Lewis, who, as usual, was to be his intimate companion during their stay in Brazil.

      Mr. Lewis was a man of medium height, with sparkling blue eyes and a complexion that was extremely bronzed.

      “Hello, friends,” he greeted, seating himself and wiping the perspiration from his brow. “I suppose,” he said to Mr. Holton, “you’ve been telling the boys about our coming expedition to South America. Right?”

      “Right!” echoed Bob. “And not only that, but Joe and I are going with you.”

      “What’s that!” Mr. Lewis cried in surprise.

      “Yes,” Bob’s father returned, “they’ve put in their request to be a part of the expedition. What do you think of it?”

      “Well – a – I hardly know. How do you think their mothers will look at it?”

      Mr. Holton shook his head.

      “Impossible to say,” he answered. “But we can all guess. Still, if we see fit to take the boys along, we can put the matter before them. They may consent after considerable pleading.”

      “Hurrah!” cried Joe, in tones of gratitude. “And I’m sure – ”

      He stopped suddenly and sniffed the air sharply.

      “There’s something burning,” he said quietly, and then moved around the house.

      The next instant he was back, pale-faced and panic-stricken.

      “Our garage is on fire!” he cried. “It’s all ablaze!”

      CHAPTER II

      Firebugs at Work!

      AT Joe’s ominous words, Mr. Lewis leaped to his feet.

      “Come on,” he said in wild excitement. “We can’t get there any too quickly, for not only are the cars in danger but a satchel of valuable papers as well.”

      “Something in connection with our expedition to Brazil?” asked Bob’s father, as he took second place in the race to the garage.

      “Yes. They’re very important. I should have taken them in the house at once.”

      As they turned to look at the scene, a feeling of helplessness crept over them, for already the blaze had leaped high in the air, and the crackling sound told that the fire had made considerable headway.

      Bob rushed into the house and telephoned the fire department. Then, with Mrs. Lewis and Joe’s sister, he moved back outside, to see that the structure was blazing even higher.

      Meanwhile the others had unlocked the doors and were inside, doing their best to roll out the cars. But the smoke was so thick that they were making little headway.

      “Quick!” cried Mr. Holton. “Where are the keys, Ben?”

      “I don’t know. I – I can’t seem to find them. Should be in my pocket. No, guess I left them in the house.”

      The next instant he was gone, leaving his friends to survey the situation more carefully.

      “It strikes me,” remarked Bob thoughtfully, “that if we wait for him to return with the keys it will be too late.”

      “But what – how – ” Mr. Holton stammered, but was interrupted by his son.

      “The only way that I can see is to break the glass in one of the doors. Then we can get inside to release the emergency brake. How about it?”

      “I’d hate to do that, my boy. Yet there seems to be no other way out.”

      As Bob had stated, it was evident that if they were to wait for the keys the cars would be badly burned. There was a possibility that the gasoline tanks might even explode, for at intervals particles of ignited timber fell from the blazing roof and missed them only a few inches. Rapidly the flames crept downward. Already they were halfway down the wall and moving like lightning. There was no time to lose. Something must be done!

      “Come on,” Bob urged, entering the garage once more. “We must get those cars out at any cost.”

      He looked about for some object with which he could break a glass, but could see nothing.

      “If there was only a board, or even – ”

      “Here,” came from his father, moving on up with a sharp piece of metal, “let me do it.”

      There was a crash, a splintering of glass, and the next moment Mr. Holton was inside. It took but a second to release the parking brake, and then the car rolled easily out of danger.

      “There,” panted the naturalist, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “Now to get to the coupé.”

      Just then there came the sound of fire bells, and before they had attended to the other car, several fire trucks pulled up in front of the house. Their occupants were easily attracted to the scene of the fire, and they lost no time in hurrying back.

      “Quick!” yelled Joe, almost panic-stricken. “Let’s get Dad’s private car out. The enamel is already off the left front fender.”

      Again Mr. Holton made use of the iron pipe, and the remaining automobile was pushed out just in time to avoid a large section of the roof that suddenly caved in.

      “A narrow escape!” breathed Bob, stopping only for a moment to examine the finish that had been slightly scorched.

      “A very narrow one,” returned Joe, as he thought of what would have happened had the roof fallen on the top.

      By now two lines of hose had been attached, and firemen were working unflinchingly to check the cruel flames which, owing to a strong north wind, were protruding