Mr. Brewster, however, had inflated a rubber mattress and had placed it near the fire, stating that he would use a poncho to keep off the moisture. From his hammock, Biff watched his dad arrange small logs and palm stalks as spare fuel. As he closed his eyes, Biff could hear his father talking to Luiz, who was standing close by.
“I will watch the fire tonight,” announced Mr. Brewster. “You have been hurt. You need rest more than I do.”
“But, Senhor,” objected Luiz. “Suppose you fall asleep—”
“I am sure to wake up at intervals. I always do. But you must get some sleep, Luiz. We need you to guide us to Piedra Del Cucuy. You are sure you know the way?”
“Most certainly, Senhor. But it may take longer than you expect.”
A pause—then Mr. Brewster asked bluntly, “Why?”
“Because the shortest way is not the best way,” returned Luiz. “We might meet floods, or streams where the piranha may attack us. They are very dangerous fish, the piranha—”
“I know,” interrupted Mr. Brewster impatiently, “but we have no time to waste.”
“You are meeting someone at Piedra Del Cucuy?”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Brewster. “A man named—” He caught himself, then said in a blunt tone: