They raced for the boats and were clambering on board, with Nara only a few yards behind them, when the milling tribesmen noticed their flight. Still, the natives were too busy to be bothered until they found that the stones refused to turn to gold. Then they threw them down and grabbed up their spears instead, but by that time the motors were spinning and the boats were under way, with Igo hauling Nara over the side of their monteria while Ubi handled the helm.
Some of the natives started a pursuit in their canoes, but the outboards soon outdistanced them. All seemed safe and serene during the next half hour, while they followed deep though sometimes narrow channels. Then, from far in the jungle behind them, came the bom-bom-bom of a savage drum.
Nara signaled for the boats to draw together for a conference. In a worried tone, old Joe announced:
“Maco drums. You can hear them for thirty or forty miles. They are telling other tribes to be on the watch for us. So be ready for trouble.” He paused, then asked Mr. Brewster in a low, confidential tone, “How did you like the golden arm trick?”
“Very good,” replied Mr. Brewster. “But these natives use paints themselves to color their faces and bodies, so I can’t understand how you fooled them with a dye.”
Biff was close enough to hear Nara’s chuckle.
“I didn’t use dye,” Nara stated. “I used a fine powder made from dried plants, sprinkled with tiny flakes of gilt, that spreads on the water like a dust. Dip your hand in and bring it out, the stuff gathers and clings like a snug rubber glove. After it dries, you wipe it off.”
Nara showed his hands, now perfectly clean; then added, “I sprinkled just about enough for myself, so those Indians didn’t get any on their own hands. They still think that I alone have the golden touch, but even my being El Dorado won’t help us now that they feel I robbed them.”
