“Serbot, Pepito, and Urubu,” Mr. Brewster decided grimly. “It must have been Pepito who stole the map in Manaus. They were unable to locate the mine on their portion of it, but they cut across our route and stirred up this tribe against us.”
“What do we do now?” put in Whitman. “Give them presents and send them away happy?”
“They won’t be happy unless they take us, too,” declared Nara. “They want us to accompany them to their village, so that their king can hear our story. He will decide whether we are guilty or innocent.”
“That means he will either find us guilty,” observed Mr. Brewster, “or he’ll put us through some ordeal where we will come out more dead than alive. Should we make a stand for it here?”
“Not a chance,” returned Nara. “Those spear tips are already poisoned. That’s why they’re boiling water, to cook up a new brew after they’ve used their spears. One false move now, and we’re goners.”
From the bristling appearance of the spears and the glares of the two dozen spearmen who now surrounded the party, it looked as though Nara was right. Impatient mutters were coming from the tribesmen while the feathered chief awaited a reply.
“We can’t fight them,” declared Mr. Brewster, “and we can’t go with them. What choice does that leave us?”
“Only one,” replied Nara calmly. “We must convince them that we have a right to be here, more right, in fact, than they have.” He turned to Ubi and Igo and announced importantly: “Tell them who I am.”
Igo and Ubi babbled in dialect with the title “El Dorado” sprinkled through it, bringing echoing exclamations of “El Dorado” from the Maco tribesmen. At the finish, Igo spoke simply to Nara:
“They say they like to see you show them.”