“Zacatas said that he and Jake and the others got safely to the Salado river section, but I knew that before, for that was where the fine shipment of animals came from.  Then Jake got that tip about the giants, and set off alone into the interior to locate them, for all the natives were afraid to go.  That was the last seen of poor Jake.”

“Bless my fire shovel!” cried Mr. Damon.  “What did Zacatas say became of the poor fellow?”

“No one knew.  Whether he reached giant land and was killed there, or whether he was struck down by some wild beast in the jungle, I never could find out.  The natives under Zacatas waited in camp for him for some time, and then went back to the Amazon region where they belonged.  That’s all the news I could get.”

“But I’m sure there are giants in the interior of South America, for Jake always knew what he was talking about.  Now I want to do two things.  I want to get on the trail of poor Jake Poddington if I can, and I want a giant—­two or three of them if it can be managed.”

“Ever since Jake disappeared I’ve been trying to arrange things to make a search for him, and for the giants, but up to now something has been in the way.  I happened to mention the matter to my friend, Mr. Damon, and he at once spoke of you, Tom Swift.”

“Now, what I want to know is this:  Will you undertake to get a giant for me, rescue Jake Poddington if he is alive in the interior of South America, or, if he is dead, find out how it happened and give him decent burial?  Will you do this, Tom Swift?”

There was a silence in the room following the dramatic and simple recital of the circus man.  Tom was strangely moved, as was his chum Ned As for Mr. Damon, he was softly blessing every thing he could think of.

Tom looked out of the long, opened windows of the library.  In fancy he could see the forest and jungles of South America.  He saw a sluggish river flowing along between rank green banks, while, from the overhanging trees, long festoons of moss hung down, writhing now and then as the big water anacondas or boa constrictors looped their sinuous folds over the low limbs.

In fancy he saw dark-skinned natives slinking along with their deadly blow guns, and poisoned arrows.  He thought he could hear the low growls and whines of the treacherous jaguars and see their lithe bodies slinking along.  He saw the brilliant-hued flowers, saw the birds of gorgeous plumage, and listened in fancy to their discordant cries.

Then, too, he saw a lonely white man in a miserable native hut thousands of miles from civilization, waiting, waiting, waiting for he knew not what fate.  Again he saw monstrous men stalking along—­ men who towered ten feet or more, and who were big and brawny.  All this passed through the mind of Tom in an instant.

“Well?” asked Mr. Preston softly.

“I’ll go!” suddenly cried the young inventor.  “I don’t know whether I can get you a giant or not, Mr. Preston, but if it’s possible I’ll get poor Jake Poddington, dead or alive!”