  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? Campanero or 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 real campanero,” 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 trail ahead of 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! |
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