The boys were fortunate. Luiz hadn’t spotted them. Evidently, the guide had left the camp by another path and had followed a roundabout course to reach his present goal. Luiz, judging by the eager expression on his scheming face, was also following the call of the false bellbird. Cautiously, the boys took up Luiz’s trail until he reached a clearing. There, they sidled into a patch of jungle and spread the foliage just enough to view the open space in front of them.
A big man was sitting on a camp stool beside a tent. In front of him was a small anvil, and he gave it a ringing stroke with a hammer as the boys watched. Kamuka was the first to recognize the hawkish face that turned in Luiz’s direction as the guide approached.
Kamuka whispered, “Urubu!”
Biff had scarcely noticed Urubu. Instead, he was staring in total amazement at two other men who had come from the tent.
“One of those men is Nicholas Serbot,” he told Kamuka. “The other is his sidekick, Big Pepito. But they were in Manaus, the night we left there. How did they get here?”
“Airplane come upriver ahead of you,” replied Kamuka. “Stop atmalocanear rubber camp.”
BymalocaKamuka meant a native village some distance back from the Rio Negro. Quickly, Biff exclaimed:
“That’s where they met Urubu! They must have paid him to make trouble for us!”
Kamuka gave a chuckle. “Look like they pay Luiz, too.”
Urubu was introducing Luiz to Serbot and Pepito. In the background were several native bearers, apparently under orders to keep their distance. Serbot and Pepito were watching them to make sure they did. Biff took advantage of that.
“We can move up closer,” he told Kamuka. “Maybe close enough to hear what they are saying.”
Kamuka silently agreed, for he crawled along with Biff until they reached the very fringe of the thinner brush, only a dozen yards from where the four men stood. There, Kamuka whispered, “This far enough.”
The grass here was tall and studded with brilliant flowers and shrubs that had cropped up since the brush was thinned. By keeping almost flat on their stomachs, the boys remained completely hidden. Most of the discussion was in Portuguese, with a sprinkling of dialect, so between them Biff and Kamuka were able to understand most of what was said.
“I come for money, Senhor,” Luiz told Serbot. “Like Urubu said you would give me if I delay safari.”
“You will get your money later,” promised Serbot. “You can’t spend it here in the jungle anyway. If you even showed it, Brewster and Whitman would wonder where it came from.”
Luiz started to babble an objection, only to have Urubu interrupt him.
“You have only done half your job, Luiz,” Urubu reminded him. “You gave our safari time to catch up with yours. Now you must see that we have time to get ahead.”
“For that,” injected Luiz, “I should be paid double.”
“You will be,” agreed Serbot, “if you can tell us where Brewster intends to go, so we can get there ahead of him.”
Biff saw Luiz’s teeth gleam in a knowing smile. The small guide spoke in dialect to Urubu, who made a prompt reply. Kamuka understood the talk and whispered to Biff:
“Luiz says he can tell them what they want to know. He asks Urubu if he can trust them. Urubu says yes.”
By then, Luiz had turned to Serbot. Biff’s heart sank as he heard Luiz triumphantly announce:
“They go to Piedra Del Cucuy!”
“The big boundary rock!” exclaimed Serbot. “That must have been Nara’s boat that took Brewster and the boy up the river. Now, they probably plan to meet Nara there.” He turned to Urubu. “Can you get us to Piedra Del Cucuy first?” he demanded.
“Easily,” assured Urubu, “if Luiz takes them the long way.”
“Maybe I should leave them,” put in Luiz, “and come with you. Then they will have no guide and will not find the way at all.”
“That would be all right,” decided Serbot, “but learn what else you can first. Did Brewster mention the name Nara?”
“Nao, Senhor.”
“Did he say anything about a map?”
“Nao, Senhor.”
“Find out what you can about both. If you can get word to us, good. If Brewster becomes suspicious, join us. But your big job is to delay their safari. Use whatever way seems best.”
That ended the parley, except for parting words from Urubu to Luiz, which greatly interested the listening boys.
“Tomorrow, I signal before we start.” Urubu gestured toward the hammer and anvil. “If you do not come to join us, we will know you are staying with the safari—to guide them the long way.”
Urubu and Luiz were turning in the direction of the spot where the boys lay hidden. Biff whispered to Kamuka:
“Let’s crawl out of here fast—”
“Stay still!” Kamuka’s interruption came as a warning hiss. “Do not move—not one inch!”
Biff let his eyes turn in the direction of Kamuka’s stare. Despite the intense heat of the jungle, Biff could actually feel himself freeze. Coming straight toward them through the tall grass was the head of a huge snake!
Behind it, the grass rippled from the slithering coils that followed. Fully twenty feet in length, the gigantic creature could only be an anaconda, greatest of all boa constrictors.
To be caught within those crushing coils would mean sure death!
“Do not move—not one inch!”
Kamuka repeated that warning as the snake’s long body slid slowly past. Whether or not the creature was in search of other prey, to move would be to attract it. Biff realized that from Kamuka’s tone as well as his words.
Gradually, the sliding coils slackened speed. It was Biff who spoke now, his own voice strained, but low:
“It’s turning now, Kamuka. It may be coming back.”
“Maybe, but stay still. One move, you are gone.”
Despite himself, Biff raised his head, only slightly, but enough to look beyond the long, hoselike body that was still gliding by. Aloud, Biff groaned:
“There is Luiz—coming straight toward us—”
Biff threw up his arms to ward off the great boa’s tail as it lashed past. Looking up, he saw the snake’s huge mouth yawning toward him. Biff shut his eyes, thinking there was no hope now. Then a wild scream came from just ahead.
Biff and Kamuka bobbed up from the grass and saw what had happened. The anaconda, on the rove for prey, had lashed out for the first moving thing that approached it—Luiz. Caught in the snake’s coils, the guide was shouting:
“Urubu!Ajudo! Ajudo!”
Urubu took one quick look and relayed the call for help. Serbot and Pepito came from the tent, saw what was happening, and dashed back for their guns. Biff didn’t wait to watch what followed. He grabbed Kamuka’s arm and exclaimed, “Let’s go!”
They went. Behind them, they heard a burst of gunfire. Those first shots must have wounded the anaconda or frightened it away, for the next volley whistled through the foliage as Biff and Kamuka dived into the jungle. The boys found their path and raced along it until the shooting dwindled far behind them.
Breathless, they slackened their pace to a walk and talked over what had happened. In a worried tone, Biff said:
“They must have seen us or they wouldn’t have fired after us. I hope they didn’t know who we were.”
“More likely,” observed Kamuka seriously, “I think they don’t know what we were.”
“You mean they mistook us for some jungle animals?”
“Why not? We were gone quick—pouf! Maybe we were gone quicker thansucuria.”
By “sucuria” Kamuka meant the anaconda. He was referring to the giant water boa by its more popular Brazilian name. Kamuka’s comment brought a smile from Biff.
“I wonder if they shot the anaconda,” he speculated, “or whether it managed to get away.”
“Perhaps Luiz will tell us,” rejoined Kamuka, grinning, “when he gets back to our camp.”
“If Luiz ever gets back there at all!”
The boys lost no time in getting back to camp themselves. There, they told Mr. Brewster and Mr. Whitman all that had happened.
“Serbot must have learned a lot from somebody down in Minas Geraes,” decided Mr. Brewster, “though how, I can’t quite understand. I checked everyone who had talked with Lew Kirby, and I felt sure he had confided in me alone.”
“And how did Serbot hear about Joe Nara?” queried Mr. Whitman. “There have been rumors of head-hunters and abandoned rubber plantations off in the jungle. But no talk of prospectors and gold mines—at least none that reached me.”
“There were rumors farther up the river,” Biff’s father said, “according to what Nara told us. When Joe bought that cruiser and came down to Manaus, he turned rumor into fact.”
“Nara found out about us,” Hal Whitman pointed out, “so why shouldn’t Serbot find out about Nara? Or about us, for that matter? We know now where the leak came. Through Urubu.”
Mr. Brewster weighed that statement, then slowly shook his head.
“Urubu couldn’t have sent word to Serbot that fast,” he declared, then, turning to Biff, he queried: “You are sure Serbot told Luiz to find out what he could about Nara?”
“Yes,” replied Biff, “and about the map, too.”
“Then it wasn’t Serbot’s man who stole the map,” mused Mr. Brewster, “unless he wants that missing corner that I still have. Or else—”
Mr. Brewster interrupted himself, as sounds of excitement came from the bearers, who were busy thatching palm leaves to form a shelter. Their babble of dialect included the name “Luiz,” and a couple of the bearers were running to help the guide as he came limping into camp.
“Say nothing,” warned Mr. Brewster. “Just listen to what Luiz has to tell us.”
Luiz had plenty to tell when they formed a sympathetic group around him.
“I look for water hole,” Luiz told them, “and I meetuna grande sucuria—one big anaconda! He grab me around my body, like this!”
Graphically, Luiz gestured to indicate how the snake’s coils had encircled his body.
Biff and Kamuka kept straight, solemn faces as Luiz continued.
“I pull my gun quick!” Luiz thrust his hand deep in his trouser pocket and brought out a small revolver. “I fire quick, until the gun is empty.” He clicked the trigger repeatedly; then broke open the revolver and showed its empty chambers. “Still, anaconda hold me, until I draw knife and stab him hard!”
From a sheath at the back of his belt, Luiz whipped out a knife that looked far more formidable than his puny gun. He gave fierce stabs at the imaginary anaconda, his face gleaming with an ugly smile that was more vicious than triumphant. Luiz looked like a small edition of Urubu, whose ways he seemed to copy.
“Big snake go off into jungle,” added Luiz, wiggling his hand ahead of him to indicate the anaconda’s writhing course. “Hurt bad, I think. Maybe it is dead by now. But the animals were still afraid of it. I hear them run.”
His sharp eyes darted from Biff to Kamuka, but neither boy changed expression. Clumsily, Luiz pocketed the revolver with his left hand and thrust the knife smoothly back into its sheath with his right. He rubbed his side painfully, then beckoned to two of the natives and said, “We go look for water hole again.”
A short while later, the boys had a chance to exchange comments while they were gathering palm fronds for the shelter. After making sure that no one else was nearby, Kamuka confided:
“Luiz had no gun at start of safari. Urubu must have given gun to him.”
“To explain the shots if any of our party heard them!” exclaimed Biff. “And did you see the way Luiz looked at us when he mentioned scared animals? Maybe they glimpsed us going into the brush.”
“Maybe,” agreed Kamuka. “I think they shoot anaconda, or bigsucuriawould not let Luiz go so easy.”
“That’s another reason why Luiz claimed he shot it,” added Biff. “We might come across the anaconda and find the bullet marks.”
Shortly afterward, the boys found a chance to repeat those opinions to Mr. Brewster, who added a few points that they had overlooked.
“Luiz couldn’t possibly have brought the gun from his pocket, as he claimed,” stated Mr. Brewster, “because the snake was already coiled about his body. For that matter, he could not have drawn his knife, either.
“However, from the clumsy way he showed us the gun and put it back in the wrong pocket, you could tell he had never handled it before. In contrast, he was smooth and quick with his knife, which is obviously his customary weapon.”
One question still perplexed Biff.
“That other camp is a good way off, Dad,” Biff said, “yet we heard the anvil strokes before we started out. How come you didn’t hear the gunfire later?”
“Urubu may have made the first strokes closer by,” replied Mr. Brewster. “The anvil sound is also sharper than a gunshot and should carry farther. That is probably why they chose it as a signal. Kamuka did well to detect it.”
That evening, Biff was glad there had been time to build the thatched shelter, for a tropical dew had begun to settle, almost as thick as a dripping rain. It was less damp beneath the shelter, where Biff and Kamuka had slung their hammocks.
Mr. Brewster, however, had inflated a rubber mattress and had placed it near the fire, stating that he would use a poncho to keep off the moisture. From his hammock, Biff watched his dad arrange small logs and palm stalks as spare fuel. As he closed his eyes, Biff could hear his father talking to Luiz, who was standing close by.
“I will watch the fire tonight,” announced Mr. Brewster. “You have been hurt. You need rest more than I do.”
“But, Senhor,” objected Luiz. “Suppose you fall asleep—”
“I am sure to wake up at intervals. I always do. But you must get some sleep, Luiz. We need you to guide us to Piedra Del Cucuy. You are sure you know the way?”
“Most certainly, Senhor. But it may take longer than you expect.”
A pause—then Mr. Brewster asked bluntly, “Why?”
“Because the shortest way is not the best way,” returned Luiz. “We might meet floods, or streams where the piranha may attack us. They are very dangerous fish, the piranha—”
“I know,” interrupted Mr. Brewster impatiently, “but we have no time to waste.”
“You are meeting someone at Piedra Del Cucuy?”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Brewster. “A man named—” He caught himself, then said in a blunt tone:
“I won’t know our plans until we get there. We will continue on up the river. That is all that I can tell you.”
“Don’t you have a map, Senhor?”
Biff opened his eyes at Luiz’s question. He saw his father start to reach into his inside pocket, then bring his hand out empty. Shaking his head, Mr. Brewster said:
“No, I have no map. Go get some sleep, Luiz. You will need it.”
Biff glimpsed Luiz’s face as the sneaky guide turned from the firelight. Beneath the hatbrim, Luiz wore that same ugly smile that showed his satisfaction. Obviously, Luiz was planning his next move, probably for tomorrow.
When it came, his father would be ready for it, Biff felt sure. Soon Biff drifted into a fitful sleep from which he awoke at intervals. Sometimes he heard the crackle of the fire and decided that his father must have thrown on a log and then gone back to sleep. For, each time, Biff saw the figure of Mr. Brewster covered by the rubber poncho, near the pile of logs that had become much smaller during the night. It must have been the fourth or fifth awakening, when Biff saw someone move into the firelight’s flicker.
It was Luiz. He crept forward. Crouched above the quiet form, Luiz thrust his hand downward as if to reach into the sleeper’s pocket.
The figure under the poncho seemed to stir. Luiz recoiled quickly and sped his hand to his hip. Before Biff could shout a warning, Luiz had whipped out his long knife into sight and driven it straight down at the helpless shape beneath him.
Wildly, Biff tumbled from his hammock to the soggy ground. Coming to his hands and knees, he started forward just as another figure sprang into the firelight, too late to halt Luiz’s knife. The newcomer grabbed Luiz’s shoulders and spun the little man full about. For a moment, Luiz poised his blade as though planning to counter the attack.
Instead, he uttered an unearthly shriek, as though he had seen a ghost. Biff was startled, too, but his cry was a glad one. Etched against the firelight, Biff saw his dad’s face looking down at Luiz.
Tom Brewster himself was the man who had interrupted Luiz’s deadly work. The figure under the poncho, Biff realized, must be a dummy.
As the two men struggled for possession of the knife, they kicked the dummy apart with their feet. Suddenly Luiz managed to wrench free and dashed off into the jungle.
Mr. Brewster didn’t bother to start after the terrified guide. But Hal Whitman came rushing from the shelter waving a revolver. Mr. Whitman fired a few wild shots in the direction that Luiz had taken. The crackling of jungle plants came back like echoes, indicating that the gunfire had spurred Luiz’s mad flight.
“That’s enough, Hal,” laughed Mr. Brewster. “The fellow is so badly scared he won’t stop running until he reaches Serbot’s camp.”
“And the more he runs,” returned Mr. Whitman, “the more difficulty he will have finding it in the dark. Well, if Luiz gets lost in the jungle, he won’t talk to Serbot.”
“I don’t think it matters much, Hal. Luiz has already told Serbot all he knows.”
“Except that we found out his game. Now he will tell that to Serbot, too—if he finds him.”
By the flickering firelight, Biff saw his father’s face take on a troubled expression.
“You’re right, Hal,” decided Mr. Brewster grimly. “I hadn’t thought of that. It would be better to catch Luiz and take him along with us. It’s probably too late now, but it may be worth a try.” Mr. Brewster turned to Jacome. “Call Luiz, and see if he answers.”
Jacome gave a long call: “Luiz! Luiz!” Faintly, like a faraway echo, a voice responded: “Ajudo! Ajudo!”
In the firelight, Biff and Kamuka exchanged startled glances. Both had the same sudden thought, but it was Biff who exclaimed, “The quicksand! Luiz must have taken the same path that we did this afternoon!”
Jacome was calling “Luiz!” again, but this time there was no response. Mr. Brewster gave the prompt order:
“Bring lights and hurry!”
From the way the path showed in the gleam of their flashlights, it was plain that Luiz could have followed it rapidly in the dark, for it formed the only opening through the brush. Biff and Kamuka, racing along beside Jacome, were the first to reach the arch of trees above the quicksand.
They halted there, but saw no sign of a human figure in the muck. The glare revealed nothing but floating water flowers until big Jacome pointed out what appeared to be a lily pad. Biff exclaimed:
“Luiz’s hat!”
It was lying brim downward in the ooze, beyond the bough from which Biff had rescued Kamuka. This time it was Kamuka who scrambled along the branch and used a big stick that Jacome tossed him to prod the quicksand, but with no result.
From the bank, Mr. Brewster studied the scene grimly, noting that the farther out Kamuka jabbed the stick, the easier and deeper it went.
“That cry from Luiz was his last,” decided Mr. Brewster. “In his flight, he must have plunged much farther than Kamuka did this afternoon. That is why the quicksand swallowed him much faster.”
From the bank, Jacome and other natives dragged the mire with stones attached to long liana vines, but received no answering tugs from the pulpy quicksand. When they pushed long sticks down into the mire, they went completely out of sight, to stay.
“There’s no reclaiming anything lost in those depths,” Biff’s father said soberly. “That goes for Luiz, too.”
When they returned to the campsite, Mr. Brewster dismantled the crude dummy that he had placed beside the fire. It was formed from wads of grass, palm stalks, and small logs, which had made it bulky enough to be mistaken for a sleeping figure in the uncertain firelight.
“After what you told me,” Mr. Brewster said to Biff and Kamuka, “I decided to test Luiz. I did everything but mention Joe Nara by name. I made this dummy figure so I could watch Luiz if he tried to steal the map he had been told I carried. At the same time, I was guarding my life against his treachery.”
“But, Dad!” exclaimed Biff. “Serbot never told Luiz to kill you. He simply told him to delay our safari.”
“And to Luiz’s way of thinking,” declared Mr. Brewster, “the simplest way of accomplishing that would be by killing me. Here in the jungle, people think and act in very direct terms, particularly the natives.”
Mr. Brewster and Mr. Whitman began a discussion of the next steps to be taken. They agreed that the sooner the safari moved along, the better. Mr. Brewster put a question to Jacome.
“You have been to Piedra Del Cucuy before, Jacome. Could you find your way there again?”
“I think so, Senhor.”
“Then you will be our guide as far as the big rock. Have the bearers ready to move at dawn.”
Daylight was tinting the vast canopy of jungle leaves when the safari started back toward the main trail. The setting was somber at this early hour, but the silence was soon broken by some scattered jungle cries. Then, clear and sharp, came the metallic note of the bellbird. Mr. Brewster waved the safari to a stop and said:
“Listen.”
The call was repeated. Mr. Brewster turned to Kamuka and asked:
“What kind of bird is that?Campaneroor Urubu?”
Biff smiled at the way his father used the term for “bellbird” along with Urubu’s nickname of “vulture.” But Kamuka kept a very serious face as he replied.
“It is Urubu. Look, Senhor. I show you why.”
He pointed to a white-feathered bird that formed a tiny spot on the high branch of a tree.
“There is realcampanero,” declared Kamuka. “He is saying nothing. He would answer if he heard real call.”
Mr. Brewster studied the bellbird through a pair of binoculars and promptly agreed with Kamuka. He handed the glasses to Biff, who noted that the bird, which was something like a waxwing, but larger, had an appendage that extended from its forehead and draped down over its bill. This ornament, jet-black in color, was starred with tiny tufts of feathers. Mr. Brewster called it a caruncle and explained that it was commonly seen on various species of tropical birds noted for their ringing cries.
But this bellbird remained silent, even when the distant anvil sound clanged anew.
“Urubu is signaling for Luiz,” declared Mr. Brewster. “He may wait an hour or so and try again. When Serbot finally decides that we have moved on, he will think that Luiz is taking us the long way. We should get a good head start, right now.”
The safari pressed forward at a quick pace which was maintained most of the day. The going was not as hard as Biff had anticipated. Luiz’s talk of a tough trail had been a sham, so that the party would be willing to take the long route.
Even some of the streams they encountered were already bridged with fallen trees, making crossing easy. After one such crossing, Jacome suggested stopping to eat. Mr. Brewster opened some canned goods, but most of the bearers preferred bowls of coarse cereal, made from the manioc or cassava plant. This formed their chief diet.
Jacome gnawed on a large bone of left-over tapir meat. When he had finished half of the meat, he suddenly tossed the bone into the stream. Instantly, the water flashed with silvery streaks in the shape of long, sleek fish that fought for the bone and tore the remaining meat to shreds.
“Piranha,” grunted Jacome. “They rip anybody who goes in water. If we chop away tree, Urubu will have to stop to build new bridge to get across.”
“Serbot might suspect something,” objected Mr. Brewster. “If they guess that we are on the same trailaheadof them, they will hurry. It is better to let them think that they can take their time.”
Jacome still found time to fish for piranha during the short rest. The cannibal fish practically leaped from the water to take the bait. Jacome took no chances with the sharp teeth that projected from their bulldog jaws. He cut the lines and tossed the fish into a basket, hooks and all. When the safari made camp at dusk, they cooked the piranha, and the fish proved a tasty dinner, indeed.
Mr. Brewster kept the safari at a steady pace during the next few days in order to stay ahead of Serbot’s party. Jacome proved an excellent guide, remembering every landmark along the trail. One afternoon, a rain ended as they trudged beside the bank of a sluggish stream and Jacome pointed into the distance with the comment:
“Big rock. There.”
It was Piedra Del Cucuy, a huge, stumpy shaft of granite, towering hundreds of feet above the forest. The rock was streaked with tiny trees that looked like sprinklings from the vast green vegetation that spread beneath. Though the natural boundary marker was still a day’s march away, the mere sight of it spurred on the safari.
In the light of dawn, the big rock seemed much closer, and within a few hours’ trek, even its cracks and furrows showed sharply. Trails began to join, and suddenly the trees spread as the safari emerged upon a sandy beach lapped by the black water of the Rio Negro.
There wasn’t a sign of a boat nor of any habitation until Kamuka pointed to a movement in the brush, a few hundred feet downstream. Mr. Brewster stepped forward, spreading his arms with a wide sweep.
“If it’s Joe Nara,” Mr. Brewster told Biff, “he will recognize us. If not, be ready to get back to shelter!”
Two figures bobbed into sight, and Biff recognized the squatty forms of Igo and Ubi. They turned and gestured. A few moments later they were joined by Joe Nara. All three came forward to meet the safari. Nara was carrying a small package under his arm.
The bearers were laying down their packs and other equipment when Nara cried excitedly:
“We hoped it would be you, Brewster, but we weren’t sure. The Macus have been attacking villages up and down the river. Everywhere, we have heard the cry: ‘Macu! Macu!’ until we—”
“Hold it, Nara,” broke in Mr. Brewster. “We have more important things to talk about first.”
The native bearers were coming forward silently, and Biff realized that they were drawn by that dreaded word, Macu. But Mr. Brewster wasn’t able to hush Joe Nara.
“What’s more important than Macu head-hunters?” the old man demanded. “If you don’t believe me, Brewster, look at what I picked up downriver!”
Before Mr. Brewster could stop him, Joe Nara ripped open the package that he carried. Under the eyes of the native bearers who now were crowding close about him, Nara brought out a pair of shrunken human heads, triumphantly displaying one in each hand!
From the babble that followed, Biff realized that the damage had been done. The bearers shied away as though the tiny heads were alive and ready to attack them. They made a hurried retreat toward the trail from which the safari had come. Out of their excited chatter, Biff could distinguish the words:
“Macu here! We go home—quick!”
Biff, meanwhile, was studying the shrunken heads in amazement. Reduced to the size of baseballs, their human appearance was preserved in miniature form. Cords closed the lips, and feathered ornaments hung from the ears of these grotesque trophies.
Though Biff had heard how head-hunters dealt with their victims, he had thought of shrunken heads as curios rather than as something gruesome. But here, on a tropical riverbank, where the deadly Macus might pop up in person, the grisly trophies were fearful things indeed.
When Biff looked from the tiny heads in Nara’s hands to the scared faces of the clustered natives, he noted a striking similarity between them. He knew that the natives saw it, too, each picturing himself as a head-hunter’s prospective victim. Mr. Whitman and Jacome were trying to quiet the wild babble but to no avail. Mr. Brewster gestured to the shrunken heads and told Nara:
“Put those away.”
Old Joe wrapped the souvenirs with a chuckle, as though he relished the confusion he had caused. Jacome approached and spoke solemnly to Mr. Brewster.
“It is no good,” Jacome said. “They want pay. They want to go back to Santa Isabel—far away from Macu.”
“What about you, Jacome?” inquired Mr. Brewster. “Do you want to go with them?”
“I want to go, yes,” admitted Jacome, “but I want more to stay with you. So I stay.”
Mr. Brewster turned to Kamuka. “And you, Kamuka?”
“I stay with Biff.”
“Good boy!” Biff clapped Kamuka on the shoulder. “I knew a couple of little shrunken heads wouldn’t scare you.”
“I have seen such heads before,” rejoined Kamuka calmly, “but always heads of men. Never any head of a boy. So why should heads scare me?”
Mr. Brewster paid off the bearers in Braziliancruzeironotes, saying he would give them double if they stayed with the safari, but there were no takers. In English, Mr. Whitman undertoned the suggestion:
“Keep talking to them. They still may stay.”
“No, it must be voluntary,” returned Mr. Brewster, “as with Jacome and Kamuka. Otherwise, they will desert us later.”
The bearers hastily packed their few belongings, took a supply of food, and started back along the trail. Mr. Brewster remarked to Joe Nara, “Now I suppose we shall have to go upriver in theXanadu.”
“We can’t,” returned Nara. “We had to haul the cruiser up on shore below the big rapids. The friendly natives who helped were the ones who told us about the Macus and gave us the shrunken heads. We’ve come the rest of the way in a canoe.”
Nara paused and gestured down the riverbank.
“We hid it there,” he added, “so we could wait for you.”
“We have rubber boats in our equipment,” stated Mr. Brewster. “We can inflate them for the trip upriver.”
“But there are many more rapids,” objected Nara, “with no natives to help you carry the boats past them. You will have to go overland by a back trail.”
“Where will we find new bearers?”
“From a native village a mile or so in there.” Nara gestured to another jungle path. “I’ll send Igo and Ubi along to introduce you.”
Mr. Brewster delegated the task of hiring the bearers to Hal Whitman, who left, accompanied by Jacome and Nara’s two Wai Wai Indians. Biff and Kamuka took a swim in the safe water of the river. As they sat drying themselves in the sun, the boys watched Nara describe the route to Mr. Brewster. With a stick, old Joe drew a wiggly line in the sand and said:
“This here is the Rio Negro. I keep going up it until I turn east on another river.” Nara made a line that wiggled to the right. “I don’t know its right name—if it has any—but the natives call it—”
“Rio Del Muerte,” interposed Mr. Brewster. “The River of Death.”
“Lew Kirby told you that, did he?”
“Yes. That’s where he said I’d find you. Somewhere up the Rio Del Muerte.”
Nara showed a pleased smile at this new token of a bond between his former partner, Lew Kirby, and Mr. Brewster.
“Your trail will bring you to the Rio Del Muerte,” resumed Nara, “but you will strike it many miles above the mine.”
“How many miles above?”
“I wouldn’t know. I have never gone by that route. But the native bearers will know when they reach the Rio Del Muerte.”
“And then?”
“Then you follow it downstream until you meet me.”
“Where will that be?”
Nara eyed Mr. Brewster in quick, birdlike fashion, then decided to answer the question.
“At a split rock on the north bank,” stated Nara, “They call it La Porta Del Diablo, or the Devil’s Gate. Come through the gateway and continue up the ravine. It leads to El Dorado. I will meet you on the way.”
Mr. Whitman and Jacome were coming from the jungle with a crew of natives. Mr. Brewster spoke quickly to Nara. “Don’t show those shrunken heads to these chaps!”
This time old Joe kept his shrunken heads out of sight. He and his two Wai Wais left to get their canoe, and soon the Indians were paddling up the Rio Negro. Joe Nara was waving from between two heaps of packs and luggage.
Mr. Brewster, meanwhile, had opened a box of trinkets that he was distributing to create good will. Eagerly, the natives accepted colored marbles, bright shiny beads, little round mirrors, and other geegaws. Biff saw Kamuka looking longingly at the eye-catching gifts and mentioned it to his father, who promptly gave some to the Indian boy.
Kamuka took some marbles and a mirror, but with a slight show of reluctance. It was evident that he valued things that were useful as well as showy. Among the assortment, Biff found a small microscope. He handed it to Kamuka with the comment:
“Here’s something you will really like. This glass makes little things look big.” Biff held the lens above an ant that was crawling along a dried palm leaf. “Here, see for yourself.”
Kamuka tried the simple microscope and smiled when he saw that the insect appeared larger.
“I like it,” he declared, “but I like mirror better, because I can flash sunlight, like you did.”
“You can use this glass with the sun, too,” Biff said. “Hold it close to the leaf—that’s right—now tilt it so the sun shines through. Keep it that way and wait.”
Kamuka didn’t have to wait long. The sun’s focused rays soon burned a hole in the leaf. Kamuka tried another leaf with the same result. He turned to Biff and remarked:
“With a lot of dry leaves, all in one pile, you can start big fire with this—maybe?”
“You catch on fast, Kamuka,” complimented Biff. “Yes, a burning glass is often used to start a fire. It’s a right handy thing to have.”
Kamuka pocketed the microscope along with the mirror and his other new possessions. In a serious tone, he said, “Time to get ready for trail now.”
Biff noted that Jacome was assigning the new bearers to their packs and other equipment.
“Yes, recess is over,” acknowledged Biff. “Let’s get our packs and join the parade.”
The boys found, much to their relish, that they were not needed as pack carriers. Mr. Whitman had hired a few spare bearers at the village, and since this new crew was fresh, with less than a half day’s journey before sunset, Mr. Brewster had decided to let them take the full load.
“You two can go ahead,” Mr. Brewster told Biff and Kamuka. “The villagers tell me that the trail is well marked, so you won’t miss it. But there may be short stretches that need clearing before we come along.”
It worked out as Mr. Brewster anticipated. At a few spots, Biff and Kamuka encountered tangled undergrowth which they managed to hack away with their machetes, by the time the safari caught up with them. As they were starting ahead again, Mr. Brewster noted the position of the sun.
“Allow about an hour,” he told the boys. “Then start looking for a good campsite. You can wait there for us.”
Biff enjoyed the carefree, late-afternoon hike through the vast green vault of the jungle, particularly with Kamuka, who was quick to spot all forms of wild life. Once, Kamuka pointed to a curious creature with a huge shell that was moving across the trail. Biff looked just in time to see it roll up into a solid ball and play dead.
The thing was an armadillo, the most heavily armored denizen of the jungle. Again, Kamuka called a halt while they watched what looked like a Teddy bear with white legs attached to a gray, black-banded body. It was attacking a huge anthill, darting a long, thin tongue from its snouted muzzle. The creature was a giant anteater, feeding on its favorite prey.
Up popped a group of tawny natives
Up popped a group of tawny natives
Kamuka was quick as well as accurate with the machete. Once, while slashing at a low bush, he changed the direction of his swing. The long blade whisked within inches of Biff’s shin. As Biff sprang back, he saw the actual target of Kamuka’s quick aim.
The machete had clipped the head from a snake which had been rearing to strike at Biff’s leg. Pale yellow in color, with brown, diamond-shaped spots, it somewhat resembled a rattler, except that it had sounded no loud warning.
“Mapepire,” defined Kamuka. “Very bad. Worse poison thancurare, like Macu use on arrows.”
Biff decided that the snake was a species of bushmaster, one of the most deadly of tropical reptiles.
“Neat work, Kamuka,” Biff exclaimed gratefully. “You sure were johnny-on-the-spot that time!”
“Johnny-on-the-spot,” repeated Kamuka. “What does that mean?”
“Somebody who is around when you need them most.”
A troop of red howler monkeys were hopping from one high tree to another, sometimes hanging on to branches only by their tails. The boys were watching those acrobatics, when a sudden stir occurred in the brush around them.
Up from the bushes popped a group of tawny natives, wearing odd-shaped aprons made of hides decorated with bright feathers and large, dull beads. Their faces and bodies were streaked with scarlet dye that looked like war paint.