  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 Brazilian cruzeiro notes, 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 the Xanadu.” “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 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 than curare, 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. Some were holding bows, with arrows on drawn strings. Others were raising long blowguns to their lips. All were aimed toward a central target; the spot where Biff and Kamuka stood. Biff felt himself sink inwardly as he heard Kamuka gasp the word: “Macu!” |
|
