He reached carefully for the hunting knife in his belt, and, leaning up against Baderoon, his arm slipped behind him and cut his thongs. Then the knife was passed on, and Baderoon freed Sadok. The three silently arose and crept toward the guards leaning out the door. Fingers moved stealthily for their necks, while the boys watched them tensely. With a sudden pounce, both guards were seized and dragged within the hut without a sound. Sadok was strong as a gorilla, and his man soon ceased to struggle. The curator and Baderoon had more trouble with theirs, for the black had only one good arm, but the guard was finally subdued, gagged, and tied after a silent tussle in which all three joined. Then the boys were freed, and Sadok jumped for his sumpitan, parang, and kriss, which leaned up against the walls of the hut. “This way--quick now!” hissed the curator, pointing to the blank rear wall of the hut. Sadok ripped a door in it with his kriss, while the curator drew his pistol, inserted a small metal cylinder in its breech, and shoved down hard with the muzzle of the weapon on an abandoned shield of the guards. A crinkly noise like a spring came from within it, and he smiled grimly and replaced the pistol in its holster. Then they all crept out through the back wall into the dark jungle, Baderoon helping himself liberally to weapons as he left. Dwight, tingling with excitement, automatic in hand, crawled along on all-fours behind the curator, who followed Sadok, and so they worked steadily toward the beach over the thick, soft duff. At length the last of the line of canoes, close to the boundary of mangroves, rose up ahead, and, one by one, they crawled around both sides of it, keeping below the gunwale out of sight. The lurid glow of the fire was behind them, and, silhouetted against it were circles of mop-haired savages, singing in unison with the beat of the drums, the warriors dancing around the fire. Quietly they rose and lifted the bow of the long boat. Her stern was afloat and she gave easily, but it took their combined strength to shove her out. At last she floated, and they all got in, Sadok giving her a last artful shove that sent her silently around the end of the mangroves and out of sight. They groped for paddles, dipped them noiselessly, and stole along, close to shore, not even a ripple coming from her prow. The noise behind them grew gradually more indistinct, until the rhythmical dub-dub of the drums alone reached them. “Whoosh!” sighed Nicky, at last, and it seemed he had been holding his breath for a week. “Some getaway! But it’s about time those beggars went for their lunch, though!” he observed, facetiously, while his powerful shoulders swept the paddle easily. “‘My--word!’ as Bentham would say, but I don’t fancy being fried on stones for these heathen! I’ve contributed too many blankets and things to missionary boxes--and I want my money back!” he laughed.