Instead, he uttered an unearthly shriek, as though he had seen a ghost. Biff was startled, too, but his cry was a glad one. Etched against the firelight, Biff saw his dad’s face looking down at Luiz.
Tom Brewster himself was the man who had interrupted Luiz’s deadly work. The figure under the poncho, Biff realized, must be a dummy.
As the two men struggled for possession of the knife, they kicked the dummy apart with their feet. Suddenly Luiz managed to wrench free and dashed off into the jungle.
Mr. Brewster didn’t bother to start after the terrified guide. But Hal Whitman came rushing from the shelter waving a revolver. Mr. Whitman fired a few wild shots in the direction that Luiz had taken. The crackling of jungle plants came back like echoes, indicating that the gunfire had spurred Luiz’s mad flight.
“That’s enough, Hal,” laughed Mr. Brewster. “The fellow is so badly scared he won’t stop running until he reaches Serbot’s camp.”
“And the more he runs,” returned Mr. Whitman, “the more difficulty he will have finding it in the dark. Well, if Luiz gets lost in the jungle, he won’t talk to Serbot.”
“I don’t think it matters much, Hal. Luiz has already told Serbot all he knows.”
“Except that we found out his game. Now he will tell that to Serbot, too—if he finds him.”
By the flickering firelight, Biff saw his father’s face take on a troubled expression.
“You’re right, Hal,” decided Mr. Brewster grimly. “I hadn’t thought of that. It would be better to catch Luiz and take him along with us. It’s probably too late now, but it may be worth a try.” Mr. Brewster turned to Jacome. “Call Luiz, and see if he answers.”