“Lucky for you, son! He’d have ripped you open just as nice! Lots of new-chums have been killed that way!” said the curator, cheerfully. “Lie down awhile; you’ll feel better presently,” he ordered, for Dwight was white as a sheet. “But, congratulations, boy, first of all, on your getting back to us! I had not time to say so, you know, in the excitement of this ruction,” he apologized. “We’ll have to hunt in pairs in the future. Where have you been, Dwight, and why did you stay out all night?” “It was worth it!” smiled the boy, feebly, and he dug into his coat pocket and brought out the six-shafted bird of paradise, carefully swathed in his handkerchief. The curator undid the fastenings; then a whoop of joy escaped him. “Boy!” he beamed, reaching forward to shake Dwight’s hand again. “It sure _was_ worth it! Man, it’s the big prize of the expedition--so far!” He and Sadok then fired shots and called until they brought Nicky and Baderoon out of the jungle. Nicky came up on the run. “Where’s Dwight? What’s happened?” he cried, anxiously; then, catching sight of Dwight: “You--old--hatrack!” he burbled, flinging himself affectionately on his chum. “Say, the whole camp was worrying about you and firing guns, last night! Get lost in the jungle?” “Nope. He got--this!” cut in the curator, holding up the flaming glories of the paradise bird for Nicky to admire. “And then--a cassowary tried to scrape an acquaintance with him, so to speak!” He laughed, pointing out the huge bird lying in the grass, with Sadok working over his skin. “And, b’lieve me, your li’l’ old dart got there just in time!” chirped Dwight from the grass. “Shake, Sadok!” “Make a stretcher out of a couple of coats and two poles, boys!” ordered the curator, energetically, as Sadok finished the cassowary skin with a grunt of satisfaction. “We four’ll tote him to camp. How about Camp Cassowary for a name for this stop, hey, boys?” VIII PYGMY LAND “This is not an expedition--it’s getting to be a hospital!” exclaimed the curator, whimsically, as Dwight was tucked away under his own tent fly. “Baderoon’s arm is still game, and Dwight will be at least three days getting healed up--yet. Did you ever see such glorious country to move about in, or such wonderful weather?” Nicky agreed with him. He had collected in British Guiana and the West Indies, yet this was the first time he had been free of the eternal green maze of the deep jungle. Up here, high on the mountain flanks, it was hot and dry, and the vegetation was more like the open African veldt. Across the creek, to the east, and down into the lowlands, swept the damp jungle; back of camp, to the west, rose the mountain sides, inviting them irresistibly to climb up and see what might be seen from their tops.