“I won’t know our plans until we get there. We will continue on up the river. That is all that I can tell you.”
“Don’t you have a map, Senhor?”
Biff opened his eyes at Luiz’s question. He saw his father start to reach into his inside pocket, then bring his hand out empty. Shaking his head, Mr. Brewster said:
“No, I have no map. Go get some sleep, Luiz. You will need it.”
Biff glimpsed Luiz’s face as the sneaky guide turned from the firelight. Beneath the hatbrim, Luiz wore that same ugly smile that showed his satisfaction. Obviously, Luiz was planning his next move, probably for tomorrow.
When it came, his father would be ready for it, Biff felt sure. Soon Biff drifted into a fitful sleep from which he awoke at intervals. Sometimes he heard the crackle of the fire and decided that his father must have thrown on a log and then gone back to sleep. For, each time, Biff saw the figure of Mr. Brewster covered by the rubber poncho, near the pile of logs that had become much smaller during the night. It must have been the fourth or fifth awakening, when Biff saw someone move into the firelight’s flicker.
It was Luiz. He crept forward. Crouched above the quiet form, Luiz thrust his hand downward as if to reach into the sleeper’s pocket.
The figure under the poncho seemed to stir. Luiz recoiled quickly and sped his hand to his hip. Before Biff could shout a warning, Luiz had whipped out his long knife into sight and driven it straight down at the helpless shape beneath him.
CHAPTER IX
The Shrunken Heads
Wildly, Biff tumbled from his hammock to the soggy ground. Coming to his hands and knees, he started forward just as another figure sprang into the firelight, too late to halt Luiz’s knife. The newcomer grabbed Luiz’s shoulders and spun the little man full about. For a moment, Luiz poised his blade as though planning to counter the attack.