“The tapir tiger—that is what we call the jaguar. A good name for him. Look there and you see why!”
Jacome indicated a chunk of cooked tapir meat, hanging from a tree branch near the fire. The smell of its favorite food had evidently drawn the “tapir tiger” in from the jungle. But that did not fully satisfy Mr. Brewster.
“Jaguars frequently kill and eat tapirs,” Biff’s father declared, “but they also shy away from campfires. I gave orders that this fire should be tended all night. Who neglected his duty?”
The final words were addressed to Luiz, who had just joined the group. The guide shrugged and gestured to some of the native bearers who were coming sleepily from their hammocks. They stared dumbly at Luiz, until Mr. Brewster queried them sharply in their dialect, getting headshakes from all.
“I will give the orders direct from now on,” Mr. Brewster told Luiz bluntly, “and I intend to see that they are carried out.” He looked up, noted the faint glimmer of daybreak through the high leaves, and added, “It is after dawn. Let’s break camp and start on our way.”
Biff expressed his thanks to Kamuka while the Indian boy was helping him prepare his pack.
“If you hadn’t hopped to help me the way you did,” asserted Biff, “I would be just a chunk of tapir meat, or something a lot like it. I’ll remember what you did for me, Kamuka.”
“That is good,” rejoined Kamuka solemnly. “I help you. You help me. That is the way in the jungle.”
Biff felt that he was getting the knack of jungle ways during that day’s trek, but he was due for new surprises. As they hacked a path through a thick growth of brush, he heard a sound that was sharply distinct from the screeches of the vivid parrots and macaws that continually scolded from the trees.
It was exactly like a hammer striking an anvil or some other chunk of solid metal. It came from well back in the jungle, and after it was repeated, Biff said to Kamuka: