“The alligator nearly had your hand,” said the guide.  “They can turn in the water like a flash, wherefore it is not wise to pat one on the tail lest it present its mouth instead.”

They paddled on up the river, the dusky Indians now and then breaking out into a chant that seemed to give their muscles new energy.  The song, if song it was, passed from one boat to the other, and as the chant boomed forth the craft shot ahead more swiftly.

They made a landing about noon, and lunch was served.  Tom and his friends were hungry in spite of the heat.  Moreover, they were experienced travelers and had learned not to fret over inconveniences and discomforts. the Ind-ians ate by themselves, two acting as servants to Jacinto and the professor’s party.

As is usual in traveling in the tropics, a halt was made during the heated middle of the day.  Then, as the afternoon shadows were waning, the party again took to the canoes and paddled on up the river.

“Do you know of a good place to stop during the night?” asked Professor Bumper of Jacinto.

“Oh, yes; a most excellent place.  It is where I always bring scientific parties I am guiding.  You may rely on me.”

It was within an hour of dusk—­none too much time to allow in which to pitch camp in the tropics, where night follows day suddenly—­when a halt was called, as a turn of the river showed a little clearing on the edge of the forest-bound river.

“We stay here for the night,” said Jacinto.  “It is a good place.”

“It looks picturesque enough,” observed Mr. Damon.  “But it is rather wild.”

“We are a good distance from a settlement,” agreed the guide.  “But one can not explore—­ and find treasure in cities,” and he shrugged his shoulders again.

“Find treasure?  What do you mean?” asked Tom quickly.  “Do you think that we——?”

“Pardon, Senor,” replied Jacinto softly.  “I meant no offense.  I think that all you scientific parties will take treasure if you can find it.”

“We are looking for traces of the old Honduras civilization,” put in Professor Bumper.

“And doubtless you will find it,” was the somewhat too courteous answer of the guide.  “Make camp quickly!” he called to the Indians in their tongue.  “You must soon get under the nets or you will be eaten alive!” he told Tom.  “There are many mosquitoes here.”

The tents were set up, smudge fires built and supper quickly prepared.  Dusk fell rapidly, and as Tom and Ned walked a little way down toward the river before turning in under the mosquito canopies, the young financial man said: 

“Sort of lonesome and gloomy, isn’t it, Tom?”

“Yes.  But you didn’t expect to find a moving picture show in the wilds of Honduras, did you?”

“No, and yet—­ Look out!  What’s that?” suddenly cried Ned, as a great soft, black shadow seemed to sweep out of a clump of trees toward him.  Involuntarily he clutched Tom’s arm and pointed, his face showing fear in the fast-gathering darkness.