Part 3 (1/2)

Whitman came from the hut with a shotgun and gestured for the native, Urubu, to be on his way. Instead, Urubu grabbed for the gun and s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Whitman's grasp, tripping him at the same time. Mr. Brewster was starting forward on the run, but he was too far away to help Whitman.

Urubu raised the gun b.u.t.t to drive it down on Whitman's head. Biff could see the savage look on Urubu's face. Kamuka gripped Biff's arm. The native boy's voice was breathless: ”Somebody must help Mr. Whitman! Quick!”

CHAPTER V.

The Spotted Terror THAT jog from Kamuka's hand gave Biff a sudden idea. Biff was holding the mirror so it threw a big spot of sunlight on the hut wall. The spot wavered when Kamuka jogged Biff's arm, and Urubu was only a dozen feet from the corner of the hut.

Biff changed the mirror's angle just a slight degree, spotting the light square in Urubu's eyes. That reflected glint of the sun was enough. Urubu dropped back, flinging his arm upward to s.h.i.+eld his vision. Mr. Whitman came to his feet and grappled for the shotgun. A few seconds later, Mr. Brewster had pitched into the struggle.

They disarmed Urubu, who stood by glaring sullenly. Biff and Kamuka approached the group, and Jacome, who had pulled the canoe on sh.o.r.e, came up behind them.

”You know what the name Urubu means, Biff?” Kamuka asked.

Biff shook his head.

THE SPOTTED TERROR 41.

”It means vulture,” the Indian boy said.

A chuckle came from Jacome. ”A good name for Urubu. He is like one vulture!”

At close range, Urubu looked the part. He had a profile like a buzzard's. He stood by, a sullen look on his face, as Mr. Whitman told Mr. Brewster: ”I turned down Urubu as a guide because he lied to me. He said he had guided safaris for the past five years, when part of that time he was in jail. Then he told our porters that I lied to them-”

”You did,” put in Urubu. ”You said that Senhor Brewster would arrive three days ago. Instead he has arrived only now-as you can see.”

Urubu repeated those remarks to the native bearers in a mixture of Portuguese and Indian dialect. He was dumfounded when Mr. Brewster spoke to them in the same manner. Mr. Brewster's words brought a murmur of approval.

”They want to be paid for the days they waited,” Mr. Brewster told Mr. Whitman. ”I said we would pay them, and they are satisfied. Do you need Urubu as a guide?”

”I should say not!”

”Then we can send him away again.”

That was unnecessary. When Mr. Brewster turned to speak to Urubu, the troublemaker was gone. He had made a quick departure by the nearest jungle path. Mr. Whitman promptly called for Luiz, the new guide, to step forward, and a small, bowing native came from the group of bearers.

42 .

Since it was not yet noon, Mr. Brewster ordered Luiz to get everything ready for an immediate start. Soon the native bearers, more than a dozen in number, were hoisting their packs and other equipment. Meanwhile, Biff was present at a last-minute conference between his father and Hal Whitman.

”We'll follow our original plan,” stated Mr. Brewster. ”If we strike off to the northwest and follow the regular trails, we will appear to be looking for balata like any other rubber-hunting expedition.”

Biff knew that the term balata referred both to the rubber tree and its juice. He watched Hal Whitman mop perspiration from his forehead. Whitman's worry seemed to vanish with that process.

”We will be following the long side of a triangle,” Biff's father continued, ”while Joe Nara is going around by the Rio Negro, turning north after he pa.s.ses Sao Gabriel. But we now know exactly where to meet him. That will be at Piedra Del Cucuy.”

”That's better than floundering around the headwaters of the Rio Negro,” Whitman agreed. ”I was afraid we would be on a wild goose chase, trying to find him there. It's lucky that you met up with Nara.”

”Let's say that Nara met up with us,” Mr. Brewster chuckled. ”We'll meet again at Piedra Del Cucuy, provided Nara dodges those head-hunters. Since the rapids will delay him, we should reach the great rock as soon as Nara does.”

”I'll talk to Luiz and see if he knows the best route-”

THE SPOTTED TERROR 43.

”Not yet!” warned Mr. Brewster. ”Wait until we are deep in the jungle, with no chance of any spies being about, before we even mention Piedra Del Cucuy. Do you understand?”

The final query was meant for Biff as well as Mr. Whitman. Biff nodded, then went to join Kamuka, who was waiting to help him get his pack on his back. That done, they fell into the procession as it started out.

The first few miles gave Biff the false impression that a jungle trek was easy. The trail was smooth, well-trodden by mult.i.tudes of natives who had scoured the back country in search of balata. But as paths diverged, they became rougher.

Biff began stumbling over big roots that crossed the path, and when he kept his eyes turned down to watch for them, he lost sight of the bearers ahead of him and had trouble getting into line behind them. Once, Biff lost the trail entirely, and Kamuka overtook him just as he was blundering squarely into a fallen tree.

The obstacle was at shoulder level, and Kamuka, sighting the bearers taking a turn in the path beyond, suggested: ”We climb over. Take short way back to trail.”

Biff pressed aside some projecting branches as he clambered across the tree trunk, pack and all. His hands became sticky with some clinging substance.

”Spider web. Thick here,” Kamuka said. He helped Biff brush away the fine-spun threads, and pointed

THE SPOTTED TERROR 45.

into the sunlight that filtered through the jungle foliage.

Glistening between the tree branches were the largest, thickest spider webs that Biff had ever seen. There were mult.i.tudes of them, forming what at first glance seemed an impa.s.sible barrier.

Kamuka settled that problem by clearing away the obstructing branches with hard, expert slashes of his machete, taking the webs with them.

The trail had become so irregular that the bearers frequently had to hack their way through the thick growth. Kamuka did the same, and Biff tried to copy the Indian youth's smooth style. Kamuka handled his machete easily, despite the pack that he carried. But with Biff, the pack s.h.i.+fted at every swing, and its straps cut into his back and shoulders.

Big Jacome was doing most of the trail blazing, with Kamuka close behind him. Mr. Brewster and Mr. Whitman did their share, while urging the bearers to take their turns at the work. All responded willingly, with the exception of the guide, Luiz, who was lagging behind.

”What's holding you back, Luiz?” Whitman demanded. ”Why don't you get up ahead and take a hand at cutting the trail?”

”You pay others to cut trail, Senhor,” returned Luiz. ”You pay me to be guide. Nao?”

Biff's father overheard the argument and provided a prompt solution.

”Since you are the guide,” he told Luiz, ”suppose 46 .

you show us the trail. Possibly we have lost it. You lead; we will follow.”

Mr. Brewster spoke in the Brazilian dialect that the bearers understood. Their solemn faces broadened at the expense of Luiz. Angrily, the undersized guide shouldered his way to the head of the line and began hacking at the brush with Jacome. Biff caught up with k.u.maka, who had waited while Luiz went by.

”You see his face?” asked Kamuka. ”Luiz is very mad. He does not like hard work.”