“Oh, he might be what they call a ‘bad half-breed’ down here.  I guess maybe he thought he could lord it over the other drivers when we got out in the jungle, and maybe take some of their wages away from them, or have things easier for himself.”

“Bless my wishbone!” exclaimed Mr. Damon.  “You don’t think he meant to use it on us, Tom?”

“Why no?  What makes you ask that?”

“Oh, I’m just nervous, I guess,” replied the odd man.

But if Mr. Damon could have seen that same half-breed a little later, as he slipped into a Rosario resort, with the yellow stain washed from his face, the nervousness of the eccentric gentleman would have increased.  For the man who had been detected with the revolver muttered to himself: 

“Caught!  Well, I’ll fool ’em next time all right!  I thought I could get away with the pack train, and then it would have been easy to turn the natives any way I wished, after I had found what I’m looking for.  But I had to go and carry that gun!  I never thought they’d spot it.  Well, it’s all up now, and if Waydell heard of it he’d want to fire me.  But I’ll make good yet.  I’ll have to adopt some other disguise, and see if I can’t tag along behind.”

All unconscious of the plotter they had left back of them, Tom and his companions pushed on, rapidly leaving such signs of civilization as were represented by small native towns and villages, and coming nearer to the jungles and forests that lay between them and the place where Tom was destined to be made a captive.

They were far enough away from the tropics to escape the intolerable heat, and yet it was quite warm.  In fact the weather was not at all unpleasant, and, once they were started, all enjoyed the novelty of the trip.

Tom planned to keep along the eastern shore of the Parana river, until they reached the junction where the Salado joins it.  Then he decided that they would do better to cross the Parana and strike into the big triangle made by that stream and its principal tributary, heading north toward Bolivia.

“For it is in that little-explored part of South America that I think the giants will be found.” said Tom, as he talked it over with Ned and Mr. Damon in the privacy of their tent, which had been set up.

“But why should there be giants there any more than anywhere else?” asked Ned.

“No particular reason,” answered his chum.  “But, according to the last word Mr. Preston had from his agent, that was where he was heading for, and that’s where Zacatas, his native helper, said he lost track of his master.  I have a theory that the giants, if we find any, will turn out to be a branch of a Patagonian tribe.”

“Patagonians!” exclaimed Ned.

“Yes.  You know the natives of the Southern part of Argentina grow to a considerable size.  Now Patagonia is a comparatively bleak and cold country.  What would prevent some of that big tribe centuries ago, from having migrated to a warmer country, where life was more favorable?  After several generations they may have grown to be giants.”