The stampede of mighty boa constrictors swept everything from their path. Their thick bodies and lashing coils spilled the canoes and plunged the native warriors into the canal, spears and all.
The snakes didn’t stop their mad rush. They whacked natives as well as boats when they passed them and left the canoes drifting in a churn of foam that made the canal look like a rapids clear beyond the bend. Then the living tidal wave was gone as quickly as it had begun. But Mr. Brewster wasn’t waiting for the natives to reclaim their canoes and spears so as to return to action.
“Back to the poles!” he ordered. “Heave away—away, everybody—and you, too, Nara!”
Old Joe, his face gleaming in happy surprise at the thing he had touched off, now laid aside his rifle and helped pry the barge from its sandy perch. By the time the hostile tribesmen were wading up on the sandbars that the anacondas had left, Nara’s boat was free. Outboards roared anew as the flotilla plowed its way to the main channel and on to the junction of the Casquiare and the Orinoco, where they headed downstream.
The rhythmic beat of distant tom-toms could still be heard that evening, when the motors were stopped and the boats allowed to drift down the river under a brilliant tropical moon. By morning, the drums had ceased, indicating that the Maco tribe had either given up the chase or that the flotilla was beyond the danger zone.
From then on, the expedition traveled mostly by day and picked suitable campsites overnight. Biff and Kamuka fished frequently and replenished the food supply by catching huge river turtles as well as a tasty species of catfish calledcajaro. Biff landed one that measured well over three feet in length.
Some nights, the boats were lashed side by side and moored near river settlements where they formed what Hal Whitman termed a “floating mansion,” complete to the kitchen. At one village, Joe Nara bought stacks of huge cassava cakes. These measured two and a half feet across, but were only a half-inch thick. They had been brought upriver wrapped in plantain leaves.
These formed the main food for the Wai Wais accompanying Nara, and Jacome and Kamuka liked them too, though Biff found them rather tasteless. In contrast were some cayman eggs, which the boys dug up on a sandy shore while hunting turtles with Jacome. The Indians, Kamuka included, found them tasty indeed, but they were too strong in flavor to suit Biff.
Caymans were the great menace of the Orinoco, so the boys were duly warned against them. Closely resembling alligators, they were supposed to measure twenty-five feet or more in length. But when Kamuka called, “There’s a big one!” and Mr. Brewster promptly drilled it with a rifle shot, the cayman measured only twelve feet, when it was hauled on board the kitchenmonteria.
“When you see a creature in motion,” Mr. Brewster told the boys, “and particularly a bird, or its cousin, a reptile, you always gain an exaggerated idea of its length.”
“Eggs-aggerate?” Kamuka repeated the unfamiliar term. “You mean eggs look long too?”
“Not eggs-actly,” put in Biff, with a smile, “but if we’d looked much longer at those cayman eggs, they would have hatched.”
Mr. Brewster smiled at the jokes, then became serious.
“You must learn what it means to gauge speed in terms of distance,” he declared. “When we reach the rapids where the Ventuari flows into the Orinoco, you boys can take the boat down through.”
When they reached the rapids, Mr. Brewster gave the helm to Biff, then told Kamuka to mind the bow and watch for rocks. Mr. Brewster went into the thatched cabin, but from there, he kept a sharp lookout in case the boys ran into trouble.
Biff realized that his dad was standing by in case of emergency, but unless something of the sort developed, Biff knew he would be on his own. What a thrill it was!
Kamuka watched like a cat, to copy any move made by Jacome and the stolid natives who were warding off rocks from the bows of the other boats. Biff kept an eager eye on Whitman, Joe Nara, and the Wai Wai who was piloting the kitchen barge. When Biff saw that they were watching the man in the bow, he did the same.
Time and again, Kamuka would raise his paddle to jab at a threatening rock. Always, Biff handled the helm accordingly. Kamuka nodded his head admiringly. He was crediting Biff with being a wonderful pilot, never realizing that he was furnishing the tip-off that enabled his friend to demonstrate such skill.
Twice, though, it was Kamuka’s quick work with the paddle that staved off a crash on the rocks before Biff could bring the helm about. When at last they were drifting in the calm water below the rapids, Biff sprang forward over the thatched cabin and grabbed Kamuka’s hand, exclaiming:
“Great work, Kamuka! We make a perfect team!”
Kamuka smiled solemnly as he repeated:
“We make—perfect team.”
Mr. Brewster came from the cabin and clapped a hand on each boy’s shoulder.
“You do make a perfect team,” he complimented. “Just remember it.”
They remembered it, several nights later, when they sat around the campfire after acajarodinner.
“Tomorrow,” stated Mr. Brewster, “we come to the Maipures Rapids.”
“Can we take the boat down through them?” queried Biff. “I mean, Kamuka and I?”
“None of our boats will shoot the Maipures,” said Mr. Brewster. “They are impassable. So are the rapids of the Atures, forty miles below. A road has been built around both rapids, so that trucks can transport us with our boats.”
Joe Nara gave a high-pitched snort.
“That’s where Serbot will be waiting for us,” he declared. “That’s for sure.”
“I’m not so sure,” put in Hal Whitman. “After he sold us out to those Indians on the Casquiare, he probably headed back the other way, down the Rio Negro.”
“Not if he figured we’d be coming down the Orinoco.”
Whitman and Nara both turned to Mr. Brewster, to see if he could settle the argument. As he lighted his pipe, Mr. Brewster stated calmly:
“It’s about an even chance that Serbot came this way. If he did, he will probably be watching the road to see if we come through.”
“That’s right,” declared Nara. “We’d better keep a sharp lookout when we reach that portage.”
“Serbot may be watching for us,” agreed Mr. Brewster, “but he won’t be able to make trouble for us there.”
“After what he’s already done,” argued Nara, “he might give us trouble anywhere.”
When they reached Sanariapo, the tiny village at the head of the upper rapids, Biff and Kamuka noticed some natives watching Igo and Ubi carry sacks of ore up over the sloping rock between the river and the highway, where transport trucks were waiting to load the boats as well as the cargo.
The boys reported this to Biff’s father, who talked with the truck drivers and learned that the hangers-on were simply hoping to pick up a fewbolivarsin Venezuelan money by helping load the trucks. But that didn’t satisfy Joe Nara.
“If they can’t make abolivarone way,” he argued, “they may try another. Like telling people about our gold ore.”
“Here at Sanariapo,” stated Mr. Brewster, “there is no one for them to tell.”
“They might pass the word along to Puerto Ayacucho, below the lower rapids,” returned Nara. “I’ll go ahead on the first truck with Igo and Ubi, so I can check on any rumors.”
It took most of the day to make trucking arrangements, and to transport boats as well as cargo over the modern highway that spans the intervening streams on big steel bridges. Biff found the trip interesting, with stretches of open country and barren hills as well as wooded slopes and forested areas.
The highway followed the right bank of the Orinoco, which belongs to Venezuela, while the land on the other side of the river is part of the Republic of Colombia. At Puerto Ayacucho, they found Igo and Ubi waiting to load the ore sacks into Nara’smonteria, when it arrived. But there was no sign of Nara.
According to Igo and Ubi, Nara had gone somewhere immediately after arriving in Puerto Ayacucho. But Mr. Brewster, inquiring at stores, hotels, and elsewhere, was unable to find anyone who had even seen the old white-haired prospector.
“The only place left,” Mr. Brewster declared, chuckling, “is the governor’s office. Maybe Joe Nara is having lunch with His Excellency. Should we try there?”
“I don’t think so,” returned Hal Whitman dryly. “From the way Nara looks for trouble, we might do better if we asked at the local calaboose.”
Mr. Brewster smiled at that reference to the town jail.
“I’ve already asked there,” he said. Then, turning to the boys, he added, “Look around for Nara, and if you don’t have any luck, I guess we’ll have to call on the governor’s office to help us find him.”
Kamuka noticed some natives lounging near an old shack on the high bank of the river.
“Maybe they have seen Senhor Nara,” Kamuka said to Biff. “But you will have to ask them. They do not speak Portuguese as I do. They talk Spanish, which you understand.”
When they approached the group, Biff addressed the nearest native, who was huddled by the wall, his chin buried deep in his red bandanna neckerchief and his gaze turned toward the river.
“Oiga, amigo,” began Biff. “Soy buscando un viejo son pelo bianco—”
Biff was saying that he was looking for an old man with white hair, but he got no further. The slouchy native came to his feet and spun about with a snarl.
As Biff dropped back, he found himself staring into the vicious, hawkish face of Urubu!
“Look out, Biff! He may have a knife!”
The warning came from Kamuka as the Indian boy grabbed Biff’s arm, hauling him away from Urubu. But there was no way for them to dodge, except toward the wall, as Urubu was between them and the corner of the building.
Then, from around that very corner came a limber figure, a thin man clad in dungarees and a big sombrero, whose tight fists moved like pistons as they jabbed at Urubu’s face. Jolted backward, Urubu dropped the knife that he was pulling from beneath his shirt. Warding off a few blows, he turned and ran wildly for a landing below the riverbank.
The boys turned to thank their rescuer, who had lost his big sombrero and was stooping to pick up the wide-brimmed hat. They were amazed when they saw his smiling face and white hair. The man who had routed Urubu was Joe Nara.
“The way to spot snoopers,” advised Nara, “is to go snooping for them. Nobody would know old Joe Nara in this outfit, particularly with his white hair out of sight.”
Nara chuckled as he put on the sombrero, showing how quick and complete the change was. Then Nara pointed to the river where a small, squat motorboat was scudding downstream.
“There goes Urubu,” said Nara, “with another rat who was waiting for him, probably Pepito. They’re going to tell their boss Serbot that the gold rush is coming his way.”
The boys couldn’t see the boat closely, because they faced the glare of the late afternoon sun. When they told Mr. Brewster what had happened, he agreed with Nara.
“We’ll keep going downstream, though,” Mr. Brewster decided, “until we reach the rapids above Puerto Carreno, the only town on the Colombian side of the river.”
“Can we go through those rapids?” asked Biff.
“Yes, they are quite navigable,” his father replied, “but that is where Serbot and his crew will be waiting to attack us. If we get by the rapids, we’ll be all right, because Mr. Stannart should be at Puerto Carreno in his yacht, by this time.”
“Can he come that far up the Orinoco, Dad?”
“Yes, he can make it,” replied Mr. Brewster. “And in his letter he said he would, unless we met him farther downriver. Since we have taken longer than the time he allotted us, we should find him there. Then we’ll close the mining deal with you, Joe.”
“If we get there,” put in Nara glumly. “We can’t go around those rapids unless we take a back trail, and Serbot will be watching that, too.”
As the loaded flotilla continued down the river, Mr. Brewster continued to weigh the coming problem. He was hoping that a solution might crop up, and as the expedition approached the rapids, the answer came.
Back from the river on the Venezuelan side stood an old, abandoned blockhouse flanked by a few dilapidated mud huts.
“We’ll make camp there,” Mr. Brewster decided. “We can bring enough supplies into the blockhouse to hold Serbot off if he tries to attack us.”
“Do you think he has spies watching for us now?” asked Biff.
“Very probably,” his father rejoined. “And when he learns that we aren’t coming down the river, he will have to come up here to find us.”
Mr. Brewster signaled the other boats to shore, and when they landed, he explained full details of his plan.
“Tomorrow, Nara,” stated Mr. Brewster, “I want you to move your Wai Wai Indians down by a back trail to the rapids. They should be able to creep up on Serbot’s crew without his knowing it.”
Nara nodded agreement.
“As soon as Serbot becomes impatient and starts up here,” Mr. Brewster went on, “the Wai Wais can spring a surprise attack on any men that he leaves there. Then, before Serbot has time to attack us here, we’ll come down the river in the boats. We’ll pick your men up at the rapids, where they will have cleared the way for us.”
“But what about mymonteria?” asked Nara, tilting his head in canny style. “It has all the gold ore. Remember?”
“We’ll bring it with the other boats,” promised Mr. Brewster. “It means more to me than to you, Nara, because you have lots more back at El Dorado. But these are the samples that I need to show Mr. Stannart and close the deal for Ajax.”
“But suppose Serbot does attack here?”
“We’ll drive him off from the blockhouse. When he sees that we are well fortified, he is sure to withdraw until he can bring up more men. Your Wai Wais will have taken care of them. That’s when we’ll surprise him by dashing out to the boats and starting down the river.”
They spent the rest of the day bringing the supplies in from the boats and putting the blockhouse into shape. The small windows of the square, squatty building were equipped with screens, but most of them were in poor condition. Mr. Brewster insisted upon repairing them first.
“Let’s get fortified against mosquitoes and other insects for tonight,” he suggested. “During the evening, we can strengthen the shutters and fix loopholes so as to fight off Serbot and his pests tomorrow or whenever they come this way.”
While the others worked late into the evening, Joe Nara strode about wearing a gun belt with two revolvers poking from its holsters, ready for trouble. Later Nara and his Wai Wais slept under netting on theirmonterias, so as to get a good rest.
In the blockhouse, the other members of the party took turns at guard duty through the night. At dawn, Jacome awakened Biff, who was scheduled to take over at that time. From one of the screened windows, Biff saw the squatty figures of Igo and Ubi emerge from Nara’smonteria. They roused the other Indians, and soon were stealthily moving off among the trees, to seek a trail to the rapids.
The next few hours were the longest that Biff had ever experienced. The others woke up, had breakfast, and strolled about the camp. But the very air seemed charged with expectancy. It would probably be mid-afternoon, perhaps even later in the day, before a move came from the other camp—if a move came at all.
Mr. Brewster, Hal Whitman, and Jacome were all carrying their rifles, fully loaded, but that was purely a matter of precaution.
“Nara’s party can’t have reached the rapids yet,” Mr. Brewster told Biff and Kamuka. “Even so, they won’t make a move unless Serbot starts out with his main force. If he sends some men ahead, they may try some sniping so, naturally, we must be ready. But that will show their hand—”
A sudden interruption came from the surrounding trees, the blasts of a dozen guns or more. Mr. Brewster wheeled and fired back from the spot where he was standing, midway between the blockhouse and the boats. Mr. Whitman and Jacome were nearer the blockhouse. They turned and fired, too.
A bigger volley answered from a wider angle, accompanied by the whine of bullets that were high, but close. Whitman was shouting from near the blockhouse:
“This way! Quick, or you’ll be cut off! Serbot is here with his whole outfit!”
Amid new gunbursts, Mr. Brewster made a rapid decision. He pointed the boys to the shore and told them:
“Quick! Get to Nara’smonteria. Start it down the river, and don’t stop until you reach Stannart’s yacht!”
The boys were on their way, and Mr. Brewster was dashing back to the blockhouse, to join Whitman and Jacome. He made it safely, although he drew the fire of Serbot’s followers, who were now visible as they came clambering, shouting, from the surrounding brush.
But Biff and Kamuka were now beyond the range of immediate gunfire when they boarded themonteria. Then they had the big motor started, and the heavily loaded boat was plowing its way out to the middle of the Orinoco.
When Biff looked back, he saw tiny figures on the shore, but the boat was now half a mile away, too far for bullets to reach it.
“Serbot staged a surprise attack of his own,” Biff told Kamuka, who was with him in the stem. “And Dad had promised Nara that he would get thismonteriadown the river. So here we are!”
“Soon we reach rapids,” was Kamuka’s comment. “I better get ready so we can work like team.”
The space under the thatched cabin was stacked with packs as well as sacks of ore, so Kamuka didn’t try to crawl through it to reach the bow of the boat. Instead, he scrambled over the low roof, picked up a paddle from the forward cockpit, and waved back to Biff as he took his position.
Soon the white foam of the rapids showed ahead. Biff steered for what looked like the main channel, and themonteriawas swept into a series of whirlpools that licked the sides of jutting black rocks. The contrast in color helped Kamuka ward off those obstacles, while Biff did some fancy piloting to keep to the channel.
Then, as Biff veered from a new hazard in the shape of a sandbank, he saw what he had feared most. Human figures rose from the tall grass beyond the sandy shoal and aimed rifles directly at the swift-moving boat and the boys who manned it.
They were Serbot’s reserves, Biff realized, stationed here to block the flotilla if it came down the rapids, and Biff was sure he saw the gleaming face of Urubu in the midst of the group. Urubu was finding it an easy task with only a singlemonteriacoming his way. He waved his hand as a signal to fire.
As the rifles barked, Biff gunned the motor, adding enough speed to carry the boat from the path of fire. But Urubu’s crew was aiming again, this time at point-blank range. Fortunately their fire never came. The tall grass stirred behind them, and from it sprang Igo, Ubi, and the rest of Nara’s Indians.
The Wai Wais had been stalking Urubu’s riflemen to the edge of the sandbank. The first blast of gunfire had given away the position of Urubu’s men. Now, the Wai Wais were engulfing them like a human tidal wave, while Biff and Kamuka resumed their battle with the rapids, keeping the big, clumsy boat clear of the rocks and sand.
Finally, the water subsided, and they were chugging peacefully down the river past the little settlement of Puerto Carreno and a great jutting point of sand where the Meta River flowed in from the left to join the Orinoco.
Kamuka waved his paddle and pointed ahead. Moored well away from the channel was a sleek white craft that could only be Mr. Stannart’s yacht, theCoronet. Though small, it had a trim build that marked it seaworthy, capable of braving the Caribbean, yet also suited to river travel.
Smiling men in trim uniforms appeared on deck as Biff maneuvered themonteriaalongside the yacht. The boys made their boat fast and clambered up a rope ladder to find Mr. Stannart coming from his cabin to greet them. Biff introduced Kamuka, then started to pour out his story in one breath:
“Dad’s upriver in a lot of trouble. Old Joe Nara is somewhere along the rapids. But we’ve brought the gold ore from the mine, down there in the boat—”
Mr. Stannart smilingly interrupted with a wave toward the cabin as he suggested:
“Step in there and tell me all about it. I have a friend who would like to hear it too. You will agree when you meet him—”
The boys entered the compact cabin, then stopped short in amazement. Mr. Stannart’s friend was smiling, too, but in a way that was anything but pleasant. For both Biff and Kamuka had seen that fixed smile before.
The man who awaited them in the cabin was Nicholas Serbot!
Gripped by utter astonishment, Biff could only stare from Serbot to Stannart. When he found his voice, he blurted out accusingly:
“You two must have been working together from the very start!”
“Not quite,” declared Mr. Stannart dryly, “although I must say that Mr. Serbot and I have continually operated along similar lines. However, it wasn’t until after your father told the Ajax Corporation about Lew Kirby and his wonderful mine that I even heard of Nicholas Serbot.”
“And I,” rejoined Serbot, with his same fixed smile, “had never heard of the Ajax Mining Corporation.”
“Despite the fact that your father was impressed by Kirby’s story,” Stannart told Biff, “Ajax still had to investigate it. Kirby had samples of gold that might have come from many places, and his map could have meant nothing. It was necessary to obtain some reports from the upper region of the Rio Negro. I learned that certain European interests were checking on the same story.”
“And I,” added Serbot, “happened to represent some of those interests.”
“So while the directors of the Ajax Corporation dawdled,” continued Stannart, “I contacted the competition. I had much to offer that they needed, as Mr. Serbot will agree.”
“And I,” said Serbot, “advised them to meet the price, which included—this.”
By “this” Serbot referred to the stolen portion of Kirby’s map, which he spread on the desk in front of him. Biff started to say something, then caught himself. Gregg Stannart recognized what was in Biff’s mind and promptly expressed it.
“I needed a go-between,” Stannart asserted. “Some way to enable Serbot to use the information I could give him without bringing suspicion on myself.”
“So you gave me that letter!” exclaimed Biff. He turned accusingly toward Serbot. “And you tried to steal it from me on the plane! It was all arranged beforehand!”
“All very nicely arranged,” agreed Stannart, “because I wanted to keep my job with Ajax if the El Dorado story proved to be a hoax.”
“Since I might have seen the address on the envelope you carried,” Serbot told Biff, “you and your father guessed that I sent Pepito to steal your precious map, which was exactly what I wanted. What you didn’t guess was that Stannart was in on the game. The funniest part”—for once, Serbot’s smile seemed real—“was that I had a carbon copy of Stannart’s letter to your father, here in my pocket all the time!”
Biff swelled with indignation until he happened to glance toward Kamuka. All this talk had left Kamuka totally unimpressed. In Kamuka’s eyes, Biff saw only the same appeal that had been present that day when Biff had pulled the other boy from the quicksand. Biff suddenly realized that now they both were in something equally deep and probably just as deadly. Since he couldn’t say anything that would help, Biff said nothing.
Stannart turned to Serbot and put the question:
“What should we do with these boys?”
“I don’t know,” returned Serbot harshly. “Maybe they should have upset their boat and drowned, coming down through those rapids. If something like that had happened—”
“No, no,” Stannart interrupted. “Your men will have taken care of Brewster and his party by now. But we still need the boys to help us. Suppose we take them up the river, as far as the torn portion of your map—”
Stannart was leaning forward, pointing to the map with one hand, but he had his other hand in his pocket, as though gripping a gun.
“Of course!” exclaimed Serbot, who had one hand in a pocket, too. “Then they could take us back to where they came from, to this El Dorado that Nara talked about.”
Both Stannart and Serbot were glaring hard at Biff as though now it was his turn to speak. Biff’s throat was dry, for he realized that these two men, in their desire for gold, would think nothing about snuffing out his life and Kamuka’s. Somebody had to speak for Biff right then—and somebody did, from the door of the cabin.
“Nobody talks about El Dorado,” a crackly voice announced, “except Joe Nara, the man who owns it.”
There in the doorway stood old Joe, both his guns drawn from their holsters, one fixed on Stannart, the other on Serbot. At Nara’s nod, the two men brought their hands from their pockets empty. They knew the old man meant business.
“Pretty smart, both of you,” Nara said. “I never even guessed your game, Stannart, probably because I never met you before. But having seen you now, I think I would have known you for a rat from away back.
“But I figured you out, Serbot. I knew what you were after—that cargo of mine. So I stayed with them.” Nara gave his head a quick tilt, to smile at Biff and Kamuka. “Yes, boys, I sent my Wai Wais down to the rapids, while I stayed in the cabin of mymonteria.
“Next thing I knew”—Nara gave a chuckle—“you were bringing me downriver, and a right good job you were making of it, too. Finally, you hauled up beside this yacht and went on board. When you didn’t come back, I reckoned you might be needing old Joe, so I moseyed on board, and here I am.”
Still keeping Stannart and Serbot covered with his guns, Nara shifted his elbow toward his hip pocket to indicate a coil of rope that projected there.
“Take that rope,” Nara told the boys, “and tie them up tight. Gag them, too, with their handkerchiefs. If they don’t have any, use your own. Make a good job of it. I want them to be here when I send around for them.”
Biff and Kamuka followed Nara’s instructions eagerly. They did a good job with the gags, too, while Nara, brandishing his guns, kept talking to Stannart and Serbot in an accusing tone.
“I figured you out before I ever met you,” declared Nara, “because I knew I’d be meeting up with rats some time, and you just happened to be it. You figured you’d get rid of me if you could, and even if you couldn’t you’d jump my claim. After all, who was Joe Nara? Just some crazy guy who thought he’d found El Dorado.
“Crazy, yes, but like a fox. I came down the Orinoco more than once to make sure my claim was registered after each political shakeup in Venezuela. I didn’t even take any chances on this last trip.”
Nara paused, then chuckled as he turned to the boys who had finished tying Stannart and Serbot in their chairs.
“Remember how I dropped from sight in Puerto Ayacucho?” asked Nara. “Do you know where I was most of the day? Having lunch with His Excellency, the governor of the Amazonas Territory, that’s where. I told him some people were trying to steal my claim. He said he wouldn’t let them get away with it.
“After I left his office, I snooped around and happened to be handy when you ran into trouble with Urubu. I’d finished my business with the governor. He said if he didn’t hear from me, he’d send some soldiers downriver to look me up.”
Nara examined the knots that the boys had tied and gave an approving nod. He beckoned them out through the cabin door, which he closed behind him. The yacht’s crew suspected nothing, for they helped Nara and the boys over the rail and down into their waitingmonteria.
As they started up the broad Orinoco, Nara pointed to some boats that were coming toward them.
“Government boats,” he chuckled, “bringing those soldiers I spoke about.”
When they met the boats, they found the othermonteriaswith them, manned by Biffs father, Mr. Whitman, and Jacome. The Venezuelan troops had arrived at the blockhouse during the battle and had helped rout Serbot’s followers, who were commanded by Pepito.
In the rapids, they had contacted Nara’s Wai Wais, who had overpowered and captured Urubu and his crew. Igo and Ubi would be along later, Mr. Brewster stated, bringing their prisoners with them.
“But we saw no sign of Serbot,” declared Mr. Brewster. “I think we should offer a reward for his capture. I’ll talk to Mr. Stannart about it, when I see him on the yacht.”
“You better wait, Dad, till we tell you what happened,” Biff advised soberly.
Mr. Brewster was shocked when he heard Biff’s story. “I can hardly believe it!” he exclaimed. “Gregg Stannart, of all men! But now that I think of it,” he added thoughtfully, “there’s been a piece missing from the puzzle right along—and Stannart was it!” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe it.”
Now Mr. Brewster was more eager than anyone to take Stannart and Serbot into custody. As they approached theCoronet, they noticed excitement on the deck. Mr. Brewster studied the yacht through his binoculars and announced:
“I see Stannart and Serbot, both of them. The crew must have found them in the cabin and released them.”
A fast boat containing a squad of Venezuelan soldiers sped ahead to board the yacht. Sight of the military uniforms must have quenched any desire for fight in Stannart and Serbot, for suddenly a little motor launch scooted from the far side of the yacht and bounded through the choppy waves toward the left bank of the river.
Only Stannart and Serbot were in the tiny tender. The boat with the Venezuelan soldiers turned to pursue it, opening rifle fire, but the fugitives kept on. Then, just as it seemed sure they would be overtaken, the chase ended. The soldiers, about to fire at close range, suddenly lowered their rifles.
“It’s too late,” declared Mr. Brewster glumly. “They can’t be captured now. They have passed the middle of the river and are across the international line, in Colombian jurisdiction.”
The captain of the yacht was astonished when told the reason for Stannart’s flight. He and his crew had known nothing about Stannart’s double-dealing. They had supposed that Serbot was simply a friend who had come on board to meet the owner. They had been puzzled to find the pair bound and gagged after Nara and the boys had left.
Stannart had claimed that Nara and the boys had tried to rob him. The yacht captain had accepted that explanation until Stannart and Serbot saw the Venezuelan soldiers and suddenly took flight. Then it was plain that something was wrong.
Contact was made with Caracas, the capital of Venezuela, and from there, radiograms were relayed to and from New York. Word finally came from the directors of the Ajax Mining Corporation, stating that they had checked their accounts and found that Stannart had taken most of the available funds before starting on his Caribbean yacht trip.
The Ajax Corporation obtained an order enabling them to take over theCoronet, and the yacht was placed in Mr. Brewster’s charge. They also authorized Mr. Brewster to complete the transaction with Joe Nara on whatever terms might be mutually satisfactory.
That was done on board theCoronet, which was still anchored near the junction of the Meta and the Orinoco. Mr. Brewster set the date when the Ajax Corporation would take over the mine with a down payment of a quarter of a million dollars to Joe Nara and a block of El Dorado stock that would guarantee him a share of all future profits.
That same day, Joe Nara prepared to start back up the Orinoco with Igo, Ubi, and the other Wai Wais, who were eager to rejoin their fellow tribesmen as the guardians of El Dorado. Hal Whitman arranged to go along to represent the Ajax Company, taking Jacome with him. Kamuka packed his few belongings, expecting to accompany them. The Indian boy was saying a reluctant good-by to Biff on the deck of the yacht, when Mr. Brewster quietly commented:
“You don’t have to go, Kamuka, if you’d rather come with us.”
Kamuka’s eyes popped wide with eager surprise. Biff showed the same feeling, when he exclaimed, “You really mean it, Dad?”
“I do,” rejoined Mr. Brewster. “Hal Whitman told me he has made plans to send Kamuka to a new school that is opening in Brasilia, the capital of Brazil. But Hal can’t possibly get down there for the next few weeks, or more. So there’s no reason why Kamuka can’t come home with us. Then he can fly to Brasilia after Mr. Whitman arrives there.”
Biff turned and clapped Kamuka on the shoulder.
“Will we have fun, Kamuka! First, the yacht will take us out into the Atlantic Ocean—”
“I have heard of it,” put in Kamuka. “They say it is bigger than a thousand Amazons.”
“And you’ll see New York, which is more wonderful than any El Dorado!”
It was hard to tell which boy felt the greater thrill. Each was glad to continue a companionship in which they had shared so many adventures, forming the bonds of a friendship that would last always.
Mr. Brewster was the most pleased of all. He stood at the stem of the yacht with Biff and Kamuka, while they were churning their way down the broad Orinoco toward Ciudad Bolivar, the largest port on the river. It was then that Biff turned to his father and said, very seriously:
“Dad, I can’t see how Stannart and Serbot missed out. When they used me as a go-between, they had everything so easy.”
“So easy, Biff?”
“Yes. I must have been a big handicap to the safari. I’d never even seen a jungle, let alone run into the sort of dangers we found there.”
“But you learned to meet those dangers, and more.”
“Well, yes. I certainly did learn some things.”
“And so did the rest of us,” declared Mr. Brewster. “Our enemies put us in spots where we had to pull one another out. That was their big mistake. The situations that we overcame early sharpened us for the problems we met later. That’s why we won out.”
As Biff nodded slowly, his father added with a smile:
“Think back, Biff, and you’ll see how it adds up.”
Biff gazed back at the wide Orinoco, tapering to the dim, distant scenes of those final adventures, and he knew that his dad was right.
By ANDY ADAMS
“Guard this letter as you would your life!”
With these words ringing in his ears, Biff Brewster boards the Brazil-bound plane to join his father on a safari to the headwaters of the Amazon River—a safari that, to Biff’s amazement, becomes a deadly contest for fabulous riches.
From the beginning, Biff, his father, Biffs friend Kamuka, and the rest of the party find their path menaced by an enemy who never reveals himself. Is it Nicholas Serbot, the suave stranger whom Biff first meets on the plane? Or is it Joe Nara, the eccentric old prospector, the only white man alive who knows the route to the almost legendary El Dorado gold mine?
Biff and Kamuka find their days crowded with the hazards and thrills of jungle travel as they trek through a wilderness echoing with the threat of “Macu”—the dreaded head-hunters. And waiting for them at the end of the trail are a shock and a surprise beyond their wildest dreams.
Young readers will love this lively, adventure-filled story with its combination of realism and fantastic mystery. Here is the first exciting book in a brand-new series for boys. OtherBiff Brewsterstories are also available at your booksellers.
By ANDY ADAMS
Biff Brewster
Biff Brewster, sixteen, is a tall, strongly built blond youth who lives In Indianapolis, Indiana, with his parents and the eleven-year-old twins, Ted and Monica. Because his mother and father believe that travel is as important to education as formal schooling, Biff is encouraged to travel to various countries during the vacation months. His experiences in these lands, and the young people he meets there, form the basis of a new series for adventure-loving readers. In every journey there is a strong element of mystery, usually a direct result of conditions peculiar to the region in which he is traveling. Thus, in addition to adventure, these books impart carefully researched information about foreign countries.
Start reading one today—
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Inc. PublisherNew York 10, N. Y.
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