  Biff flung his arms upward, as he tried to duck away. It was a hopeless effort, for nothing could have saved him from those fierce claws, once the jaguar reached him. What stopped the springing jungle cat was another figure, small but chunky, that came flying out of the darkness, feet first. It was Kamuka. The Indian boy had grabbed a long liana vine hanging like a rope from a tree beside his high hammock. All in one motion, he had swung himself across the jaguar’s path just in time to ram the creature’s shoulder in mid-air and veer the big cat toward the fire. That gave Biff time enough to roll the other way, and Kamuka, as he struck the ground, promptly squirmed about to dive off into the darkness. The scene was momentarily illuminated by a shower of sparks raised by the jaguar when it struck the fringe of the embers. With more of a yowl than a snarl, the big cat cleared the fire at a single bound and took off into the jungle. Mr. Brewster had his gun by then, but with so many figures bouncing in the vague firelight, he couldn’t risk a shot. By the time Biff and Kamuka were out of the way, Jacome had come on the scene, swinging a big club. Mr. Brewster had to wait until he was out of the path of aim, before firing into the jungle. By then, Mr. Brewster might as well have fired blank shots. The jaguar had vanished completely in darkness. Jacome threw some logs on the fire, and as the flames took hold, he commented: “The tapir tiger—that is what we call the jaguar. A good name for him. Look there and you see why!” Jacome indicated a chunk of cooked tapir meat, hanging from a tree branch near the fire. The smell of its favorite food had evidently drawn the “tapir tiger” in from the jungle. But that did not fully satisfy Mr. Brewster. “Jaguars frequently kill and eat tapirs,” Biff’s father declared, “but they also shy away from campfires. I gave orders that this fire should be tended all night. Who neglected his duty?” The final words were addressed to Luiz, who had just joined the group. The guide shrugged and gestured to some of the native bearers who were coming sleepily from their hammocks. They stared dumbly at Luiz, until Mr. Brewster queried them sharply in their dialect, getting headshakes from all. “I will give the orders direct from now on,” Mr. Brewster told Luiz bluntly, “and I intend to see that they are carried out.” He looked up, noted the faint glimmer of daybreak through the high leaves, and added, “It is after dawn. Let’s break camp and start on our way.” Biff expressed his thanks to Kamuka while the Indian boy was helping him prepare his pack. “If you hadn’t hopped to help me the way you did,” asserted Biff, “I would be just a chunk of tapir meat, or something a lot like it. I’ll remember what you did for me, Kamuka.” “That is good,” rejoined Kamuka solemnly. “I help you. You help me. That is the way in the jungle.” Biff felt that he was getting the knack of jungle ways during that day’s trek, but he was due for new surprises. As they hacked a path through a thick growth of brush, he heard a sound that was sharply distinct from the screeches of the vivid parrots and macaws that continually scolded from the trees. It was exactly like a hammer striking an anvil or some other chunk of solid metal. It came from well back in the jungle, and after it was repeated, Biff said to Kamuka: “Hear that! There must be a village back there in the jungle!” Kamuka laughed as the clanging sound came again. “El campanero,” he defined. “That is what some people call it. Others call it the bellbird.” “You mean it’s only a bird?” As if in answer, the sharp note was repeated with methodical precision, and Biff recognized that it had a quality that could be mistaken for a bell rather than the clank of hammer on anvil. Biff kept looking for the bird itself until Kamuka noticed it and told him: “Bellbird very hard to find. He may be far away when you think he is close by.” Other creatures were closer at hand. From up ahead, Jacome turned and pointed to the path. He called something in his native tongue, and Biff watched the bearers take quick sidesteps. Then Kamuka was nudging Biff with his elbow and pointing out the reason. A procession of ants was moving along the trail as though keeping pace with the safari. The insects were carrying thin green slivers that wobbled above their bodies. Biff saw that those were tiny fragments of leaves that the ants had gathered and evidently were going to store for food. “Umbrella ants,” defined Kamuka. “Be careful or they crawl up your leg instead of along path. Umbrella ants can bite—hard!” From the way the ants had chopped the leaves they carried, Biff took Kamuka at his word. He played hopscotch with the insects until they veered off the trail. The going became easy again, except that the atmosphere of the jungle was growing more humid. Even the chatter of the birds and monkeys was silenced in the sultry calm. Then came a sudden rain as torrential as the big downpour that they had encountered on the Rio Negro. With the jungle steam rising about them, it was a case of groping along the trail, which soon became ankle deep with water. As he sloshed through the muck, Biff told Kamuka: “Those ants are smarter than we are. They must have known this was coming and carried their own umbrellas.” Kamuka interpreted that to Jacome, who laughed and passed it along to the bearers. The rain stopped suddenly at last, but although the heat returned again, the path remained soggy underfoot. Luiz, it seemed, had lost the trail during the rain and was marching the safari into a jungle swamp. Mr. Brewster called a halt. It was not just a matter of getting back on the trail; he wanted the best trail. For the first time, Biff heard his father mention “Piedra Del Cucuy” to Luiz, who nodded that he understood. “We go to Piedra Del Cucuy,” assured Luiz. “That is easy, now I know. I show you the best way.” Biff’s clothes were dry by now except for his shoes and socks, which felt as if they were filled with lead weights as the march was resumed. Luiz soon took the safari out of the swampy land to a dry path, but at times, he showed hesitancy at places where the trail divided. Always, he came finally to a definite decision, but Jacome began to eye him suspiciously. “We all hear Senhor Brewster say we go to Piedra Del Cucuy,” Jacome confided to Biff and Kamuka. “Now we know we go there, Luiz is afraid to take us on wrong trail. Some of us go to Piedra Del Cucuy before this. We may remember way if Luiz ‘forget’ it.” A little later, Biff fell in stride alongside his dad and told him what Jacome had said. “I think there’s no question but that Luiz is trying to delay us,” declared Mr. Brewster. “The only puzzle is his purpose. He may simply be hoping to make more money by keeping us longer on the hike. Or he may have deliberately stalled us in order to learn our exact destination. That is why I told him. Now, I am forcing him to show his hand.” Mr. Brewster’s tactics paid off by mid-afternoon. The ringing cry of the bellbird had begun again in the deep jungle, and Biff was still hoping for a sight of the elusive campanero, when Luiz led the safari on a short side trail that terminated in a clearing. There Luiz announced, “We camp here tonight.” “We could still go on a few miles farther,” objected Mr. Brewster. “In fact, we might stop almost anywhere on the trail.” “Plenty of water here,” argued Luiz. “Maybe not in other places.” Jacome overheard that. The big man supplied a grim but knowing grin as he muttered his own opinion to the boys. “Maybe and maybe not,” said Jacome. “In wet season, we find water everywhere; in dry season, no. But we came through big rain today, like wet season.” After brief deliberation, Mr. Brewster gave Luiz the nod. “We need water,” he agreed, “and perhaps we are too tired to go on much farther today. We will make camp here.” Hardly had they unloaded their packs before Kamuka suggested to Biff, “Come with me. Maybe we find bellbird.” They started along a twisty jungle path in the general direction of the distant metallic sound. Kamuka was moving so hurriedly that they were out of sight of camp before Biff caught up with him and reminded him, “They may want to send us for water, back at camp—” “That can wait,” put in Kamuka. “We find bird first.” “But you told me before that there was no use looking for the bellbird, that the sound might be far away.” “I know. But this is not real bellbird. Listen.” Biff listened. The sharp note came clear again, from exactly the same direction. Biff could detect no difference between it and the anvil chorus of earlier in the day. But Kamuka could. “Somebody is hitting metal with hammer,” the Indian boy insisted. “We look for them. We find them—if we hurry.” Kamuka waved his arm for Biff to follow, as he started a quick jog along the jungle path, hoping to reach the source of the well-faked bird call before the sounds ceased. Straight ahead, low tree branches formed a thick green arch, darkening the path between two low banks that were vivid with colorful flowers. Mostly, they were magnificent orchids that thrived on dampness as well as heat, but Biff was unaware of that. Kamuka, though schooled in jungle knowledge, ignored the flowers in his haste. He had turned his head to see if Biff had responded to his call, when suddenly, the green carpeting of the path gave way beneath his weight. A moment later, Kamuka was waist deep in slimy ooze, squirming, twisting about to grab at bushes on the solid ground that he had left. The tufts of grass that he clutched simply pulled loose from the soft earth. With each quickly repeated snatch, he had still less chance of gaining a hold, for he was sinking to his armpits as he panted: “Look out, Biff! Don’t come close! Quicksand!” |
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