rticles, vases, ornaments, tools and so on. Anything made by
artificial means is called an artifact."

"And potsherds are things with those Chinese laundry ticket scratches
on them," added Tom.

"Exactly," said the professor, laughing. "Though some of the
strange-appearing inscriptions give much valuable information. As soon
as we find some of them--say a broken bit of pottery with hieroglyphics
on--I will know I am on the right track."

And while the scientist and Mr. Damon kept watch at the top of the
shaft, Tom and Ned went out into the jungle to hunt. They had killed
some game, and were stalking a fine big deer, which would provide a
feast for the natives, when suddenly the silence of the lonely forest
was broken by a piercing scream, followed by an agonized cry of
"El tigre! El tigre!"

CHAPTER XIX

POISONED ARROWS

"Did you hear that, Tom?" asked Ned, in a hoarse whisper.

"Surely," was the cautious answer. "Keep still, and I'll try for a
shot."

"Better be quick," advised Ned in a tense voice. "The chap who did
that yelling seems to be in trouble!"

And as Ned's voice trailed off into a whisper, again came the cry, this
time in frenzied pain.

"El tigre! El tigre!" Then there was a jumble of words.

"It's over this way!" and this time Ned shouted, seeing no need for low
voices since the other was so loud.

Tom looked to where Ned had parted the bushes alongside a jungle path.
Through the opening the young inventor saw, in a little glade, that
which caused him to take a firmer grip on his electric rifle, and also
a firmer grip on his nerves.

Directly in front of him and Ned, and not more than a hundred yards
away, was a great tawny and spotted jaguar--the "tigre" or tiger of
Central America. The beast, with lashing tail, stood over an Indian
upon whom it seemed to have sprung from some lair, beating the
unfortunate man to the ground. Nor had he fallen scatheless, for there
was blood on the green leaves about him, and it was not the blood of
the spotted beast.

"Oh, Tom, can you--can you----" and Ned faltered.

The young inventor understood the unspoken question.

"I think I can make a shot of it without hitting the man," he answered,
never turning his head. "It's a question, though, if the beast won't
claw him in the death struggle. It won't last long, however, if the
electric bullet goes to the right place, and I've got to take the
chance."

Cautiously Tom brought his we