Instantly, the Indians stopped paddling, jabbered excitedly together and then one of their number spoke vehemently to the Boviander in the Akawoia tongue.
“He say they not goin’ make camp ashore, Chief,” announced Colcord. “They boun’ for to make stop at a islan’.”
Mr. Thorne raised his eyebrows, “Oh, very well,” he replied. “It’s just the same as far as I’m concerned.”
“Not taking any chances, I see,” laughed Mr. Henderson as the mollified Indians again took up their paddles and headed for a small barren island in midstream.
While Sam was cooking lunch, the two boys and Rawlins strolled about the island, hunting for turtle eggs in the sand and amusing themselves by chasing the big lizards that ran scuttling across the pebbles.
As they reached the upper end of the island, the river beyond a sharp turn came in view and the boys called the diver’s attention to hundreds of great black birds, wheeling and circling above the trees half a mile distant.
Rawlins looked at them a moment. “They’re buzzards,” he announced. “Vultures--wonder what they’ve found up there.”
“Gee, but there’s a bunch of them!” exclaimed Tom.
Then, at Sam’s shout, they hurried back to the boat and busied themselves with their meal.
As the boat once more moved upstream and passed the island, the great flock of buzzards still soared in the clear blue sky above the forest.