Neither of these openings were provided with anything in the nature of a door that could be closed.  Whenever the rare occasions arose for such a sealing of the inhabitants of a house, it was done by means of furs suspended in front of the entrance.

The white men noted this with quick eyes, and then went back to the front apartment.

“In the event of attack,” said the Professor with the utmost coolness, “you can take the rear door and I the front.”

Long nodded his head; he understood and was ready.

They had hardly entered the front apartment, when both were struck by the unusual chatter of voices on the outside.  There must have been a large gathering of people who were growing excited about something.

The Professor was about to step into the opening to learn what it meant, when Bippo burst into the apartment, the picture of fright and terror.

“Going to kill us!” was his alarming exclamation; “make me run—­almost kill me!”

“Where’s Pedros?” asked Long.

“He scared—­run into woods—­won’t come back—­run all way to Am’zon!”

“I think he’ll have to stop once or twice to get breath before he reaches there,” was the characteristic comment of the Professor, who standing near the door, listened more closely to the threatening words and exclamations on the outside.

It sounded singular to recognize more than one expression uttered in English by these people, who, until a few years before were unaware that such people were living.

But for the proof Ziffak had given of his loyalty the whites might have connected his absence with the ugly signs outside; but the confidence even of Jared Long in his friendship was unshaken.

“Bippo,” said the Professor, speaking with the same quiet self-possession he had shown in the first place, “they are going to attack us; more than likely we shall be killed, but there is a chance for you, because you are dressed like these people, and, so long as you can keep in the shadow, you can pass for one of them; you can slip out by the opening at the rear without being noticed; steal away, find Pedros if you can, and leave.”

The eyes of the servant seemed to protrude from his head, as he grasped the fearful meaning of these words.  Then, clutching his spear in his hand, he whisked like a shadow into the rear apartment beyond sight.

Grimcke and Long smiled in each other’s face; they could not blame the fellow for thinking of his own safety.

“The music will begin in a few minutes,” added the Professor.  “I think you had better guard the rear; you understand, Jared, that it’s no time to throw away any powder.”

“I don’t propose to waste my ammunition,” muttered the New Englander, as he stepped softly into the rear apartment.

Only a slight reflection from the fire on the hearth found its way into that part of the house, which had no window; but by the dim light Jared Long saw a dusky figure come rapidly from the door toward him.  He was on the point of raising his gun, when it spoke: