In the light of dawn, the big rock seemed much closer, and within a few hours’ trek, even its cracks and furrows showed sharply. Trails began to join, and suddenly the trees spread as the safari emerged upon a sandy beach lapped by the black water of the Rio Negro.
There wasn’t a sign of a boat nor of any habitation until Kamuka pointed to a movement in the brush, a few hundred feet downstream. Mr. Brewster stepped forward, spreading his arms with a wide sweep.
“If it’s Joe Nara,” Mr. Brewster told Biff, “he will recognize us. If not, be ready to get back to shelter!”
Two figures bobbed into sight, and Biff recognized the squatty forms of Igo and Ubi. They turned and gestured. A few moments later they were joined by Joe Nara. All three came forward to meet the safari. Nara was carrying a small package under his arm.
The bearers were laying down their packs and other equipment when Nara cried excitedly:
“We hoped it would be you, Brewster, but we weren’t sure. The Macus have been attacking villages up and down the river. Everywhere, we have heard the cry: ‘Macu! Macu!’ until we—”
“Hold it, Nara,” broke in Mr. Brewster. “We have more important things to talk about first.”
The native bearers were coming forward silently, and Biff realized that they were drawn by that dreaded word, Macu. But Mr. Brewster wasn’t able to hush Joe Nara.
“What’s more important than Macu head-hunters?” the old man demanded. “If you don’t believe me, Brewster, look at what I picked up downriver!”
Before Mr. Brewster could stop him, Joe Nara ripped open the package that he carried. Under the eyes of the native bearers who now were crowding close about him, Nara brought out a pair of shrunken human heads, triumphantly displaying one in each hand!