fluid which comes from the trees is not the sap of the wood but of the bark and we saw how the natives stick little tin-cups to the trees with bits of clay to catch the fluid.
On returning we rode along the edge of the jungle and Sefior Castro cautioned us “never to go into the jungle for you will either get lost, be killed by jaguars, bitten by snakes, or by fever laden insects which are just as bad.”
“To the south of us,” he went on calmly, “are the Caripunas—aboriginal Indians that kill and eat people if they get a chance.”
“Cannibals?” I asked to make sure I had heard aright, and when he said “yes” I could feel an electric oscillation run up and down my spinal column.
“How far away from here are they?” questioned Bert with a peculiar light in his eyes I had noticed whenever he spoke of adventure.
“The village is about 200 kilometers from here,” Señor Castro replied. “It’s strange but they seem to have some kind of a sixth sense by which they can tell the moment strangers arrive—some kind of a wireless telegraph system, I guess,” and he laughed.
Then he went on: “I don’t doubt but that