The little negro was back in a minute with the light and, taking it from him, Walter led the way hastily toward the shrieks which were growing fainter. He was closely followed by his chum and Chris with their automatics in their hands. As the lantern lit up the scene of the shrieks, Walter shrank back with a cry of fear and horror. A hideous head with lidless gleaming eyes was reared many feet above the ground. Recovering himself with an effort, the lad raised his automatic and fired directly between the gleaming eyes. At the same minute Charley and Chris discharged their weapons and the hideous head fell to the ground. Holding aloft the light, the three frightened boys advanced cautiously. Its rays shone down on a sickening sight. On the ground lay one of the gunmen crushed into a shapeless mass, while, still partly coiled around the man's body, a great boa constrictor writhed in its last death struggles. "Ugh!" shuddered Walter, "I did not know there was such an awful thing in Florida." "Fire drove it out of the jungle, I guess," said Charley jerkingly. "Let's get back to camp. Bratton has fallen and one of the Spaniards is badly hurt. We can do nothing here, it's all over." They had carried Bratton in and laid him upon his cot and were helping the wounded Spaniard in, when Walter cried: "Look at the machine! Look at the machine!" The machine and the air about it was a mass of flames. Black figures were leaping from its platform. "Rifle bullet hit gas tank," muttered Charley dreamily. "Explosion. Can't work nights. Keep her going daytimes, Walt. Enough men unhurt to do that. I'm tired, awfully tired. Think I'll go to sleep pretty soon," and the lad, weak from loss of blood, sank unconscious to the ground. When Charley opened his eyes it was to find himself in his cot, his arm neatly bound in splints, the sun shining in the open tent flaps, and Walter sitting on a box by his side. "How did I get here?" he asked in wonder. "The last I remember was the machine being in flames." "You keeled over in a faint," Walter replied cheerfully. "Loss of blood, I guess." "Was there any one killed?" Charley demanded anxiously. "We thought Bratton was for a while, but the bullet hit a rib and glanced out again, making only a flesh wound. He'll be all right again in a week. The three Spaniards on the machine got pretty badly burned, but not dangerously so. Luckily for them, the ditch was there. They jumped right off the machine into it. The engineer by some miracle escaped without a burn. Sicavia, the Spaniard that was wounded in the leg, will be around again in a few days. He has only got a flesh wound. I guess that's all, except we buried that dead gunman this morning." "The machine, is it running?" Charley questioned eagerly. "Yes, I got them to start her up again this morning. But we can't run her nights for we have neither lights nor a night crew." "Go on," said Charley gravely. "I see that there's worse to follow."