“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.”
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.
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.
“We go back up quick,” he said to Biff. “We tell Senhor Brewster we see tapir at water hole.”
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.
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.
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.
“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.”
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.
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.