Biff’s father overheard the argument and provided a prompt solution.
“Since you are the guide,” he told Luiz, “suppose 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 Kamuka, who had waited while Luiz went by.
“You see his face?” asked Kamuka. “Luiz is very mad. He does not like hard work.”
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:
“You have trouble with pack. I fix it.”
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.
Soon, the going became easier underfoot, and the path was free of obstacles. It was no longer necessary to hack through the jungle growth.
“Luiz bring us back to better trail,” Kamuka confided to Biff. “Less work for Luiz.”
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.