<h2 id="c5"><span class="small">CHAPTER V</span> <br/>The Spotted Terror</h2>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 shield his vision. Mr.
Whitman came to his feet and grappled for the shotgun.
A few seconds later, Mr. Brewster had pitched
into the struggle.</p>
<p>They disarmed Urubu, who stood by glaring sullenly.
Biff and Kamuka approached the group, and
Jacome, who had pulled the canoe on shore, came up
behind them.</p>
<p>“You know what the name Urubu means, Biff?”
Kamuka asked.</p>
<p>Biff shook his head.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_41">41</div>
<p>“It means vulture,” the Indian boy said.</p>
<p>A chuckle came from Jacome. “A good name for
Urubu. He is like one vulture!”</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p>“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—”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“I should say not!”</p>
<p>“Then we can send him away again.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_42">42</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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
<i>balata</i> like any other rubber-hunting expedition.”</p>
<p>Biff knew that the term <i>balata</i> 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.</p>
<p>“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
passes Sao Gabriel. But we now know exactly where
to meet him. That will be at Piedra Del Cucuy.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“I’ll talk to Luiz and see if he knows the best
route—”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_43">43</div>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The first few miles gave Biff the false impression
that a jungle trek was easy. The trail was smooth,
well-trodden by multitudes of natives who had
scoured the back country in search of <i>balata</i>. But as
paths diverged, they became rougher.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>Biff pressed aside some projecting branches as he
clambered across the tree trunk, pack and all. His
hands became sticky with some clinging substance.</p>
<p>“Spider web. Thick here,” Kamuka said. He helped
Biff brush away the fine-spun threads, and pointed
into the sunlight that filtered through the jungle foliage.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_44">44</div>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p002.jpg" alt="" width-obs="500" height-obs="705" /> <p class="caption"><i>Kamuka cleared the branches with hard, expert slashes</i></p> </div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_45">45</div>
<p>Glistening between the tree branches were the
largest, thickest spider webs that Biff had ever seen.
There were multitudes of them, forming what at first
glance seemed an impassible barrier.</p>
<p>Kamuka settled that problem by clearing away the
obstructing branches with hard, expert slashes of his
machete, taking the webs with them.</p>
<p>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 shifted at every swing, and its
straps cut into his back and shoulders.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“What’s holding you back, Luiz?” Whitman demanded.
“Why don’t you get up ahead and take a
hand at cutting the trail?”</p>
<p>“You pay others to cut trail, Senhor,” returned
Luiz. “You pay me to be guide. <i>Nao?</i>”</p>
<p>Biff’s father overheard the argument and provided
a prompt solution.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_46">46</div>
<p>“Since you are the guide,” he told Luiz, “suppose
you show us the trail. Possibly we have lost it. You
lead; we will follow.”</p>
<p>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 Kamuka, who had waited while Luiz went by.</p>
<p>“You see his face?” asked Kamuka. “Luiz is very
mad. He does not like hard work.”</p>
<p>The glower that Luiz gave over his shoulder
proved that Kamuka’s opinion was correct. The keen-eyed
Indian boy was quick to note that Biff’s face also
wore a pained expression, but for a different reason.
Understandingly, Kamuka said:</p>
<p>“You have trouble with pack. I fix it.”</p>
<p>Expertly, he adjusted the straps to the fraction of
an inch. From then on, the pack seemed to fit to Biff’s
back, giving him no more aches. What amazed Biff,
though, was the fact that Kamuka’s pack had no
straps, but was laced to his back by crude ropes made
from jungle vines. Yet it seemed to adjust itself to
every move that Kamuka made.</p>
<p>Soon, the going became easier underfoot, and the
path was free of obstacles. It was no longer necessary
to hack through the jungle growth.</p>
<p>“Luiz bring us back to better trail,” Kamuka confided
to Biff. “Less work for Luiz.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_47">47</div>
<p>It was less work for Biff, too, though he didn’t say
so. He was pleased because his father had handled the
situation so neatly. Biff noted the happy grins on the
faces of the bearers every time Mr. Brewster moved
back and forth among them. Biff grinned, too, when
his dad came by and gave him an encouraging whack
on the pack which now seemed molded to Biff’s
body.</p>
<p>“It takes a few days to get into the swing of a
safari,” Mr. Brewster stated, “so don’t be discouraged.
Even the native bearers are struggling a bit, though
they won’t admit it. We’ll call it a day as soon as we
reach a suitable campsite.”</p>
<p>About an hour later, the safari halted. Gratefully,
the bearers eased their packs to the ground and began
to set up camp at Whitman’s direction, on a high
bank above a jungle stream. The insects were bothersome,
as they had been at intervals along the route,
but the expedition was equipped to meet that problem.
The packs contained netting for the sleeping hammocks,
as well as insect repellent.</p>
<p>The chief feature of the campsite was its closeness
to a water hole. Luiz approved this, making a great
show of his official title of guide. Biff, glad to be free
of his pack, eagerly volunteered to help Kamuka
bring up pails of water from the stream below. Halfway
down, Kamuka hissed for a quick halt.</p>
<p>“We go back up quick,” he said to Biff. “We tell
Senhor Brewster we see tapir at water hole.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_48">48</div>
<p>Kamuka pointed out a pair of curious dark brown
animals, with clumsy, bulky bodies, stocky legs, and
long-snouted heads. The creatures were feeding on
the leaves of young trees and appeared somewhat
tame. Kamuka took no chance on frightening them
away, however, as he beckoned Biff up the path.</p>
<p>Mr. Brewster promptly picked up a loaded rifle and
accompanied the boys down the path. The tapirs were
already lumbering into the brush when Biff’s father
took quick but accurate aim on one of the animals and
fired.</p>
<p>One tapir dropped in its tracks, while its companion
crashed madly into the jungle. The boys rushed
down to the bank and found that the tapir was shot
squarely through the head. When Mr. Brewster joined
them, he smiled.</p>
<p>“That’s the only way to shoot a tapir,” he declared.
“Otherwise, they blunder into the jungle wounded,
and you can never find them. They have thick hides
like a hippopotamus. In fact, they belong to the same
family.”</p>
<p>That night, the members of the safari feasted on
tapir steaks, which they broiled on the prongs of
long, forked sticks. Later, they went to sleep around
the same campfire. All day, Biff had listened to the
chatter of monkeys and the screech of birds. Now,
howls of jungle animals seemed tuned to the heavy
basso chorus of frogs from the stream below.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_49">49</div>
<p>But despite that, Biff was soon sound asleep, the
crackle of the campfire blending with his last waking
moments. Some hours later, he woke up suddenly.
The jungle concert had ended, and the flames had settled
to a low, subdued flicker. Somebody should have
tended the fire, Biff thought. He recalled his father
discussing that point with Luiz shortly after they had
finished dinner. Biff rolled from his hammock and
groped toward some logs that lay beside the fire.
There, he halted at sight of what appeared to be two
live coals, glinting from a big log.</p>
<p>Biff pulled back his hand just in time, as the log
came alive with a snarl. Biff realized that he had encountered
some prowling beast of prey. He raised
the alarm with a loud shout:</p>
<p>“Dad! There’s something here by the fire—”</p>
<p>Before Biff could complete the sentence, he saw
that the creature was a huge jungle cat, its tawny yellow
coat spotted black. Already, it was poising for a
spring. Biff, caught unarmed, was confronted by an
attacking jaguar, one of the jungle’s most ferocious
killers.</p>
<p>Biff heard an answering call from his father. Then,
before Mr. Brewster could have possibly found time
to grab his gun, the jaguar sprang!</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_50">50</div>
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