Nara paused and gestured down the riverbank.
“We hid it there,” he added, “so we could wait for you.”
“We have rubber boats in our equipment,” stated Mr. Brewster. “We can inflate them for the trip upriver.”
“But there are many more rapids,” objected Nara, “with no natives to help you carry the boats past them. You will have to go overland by a back trail.”
“Where will we find new bearers?”
“From a native village a mile or so in there.” Nara gestured to another jungle path. “I’ll send Igo and Ubi along to introduce you.”
Mr. Brewster delegated the task of hiring the bearers to Hal Whitman, who left, accompanied by Jacome and Nara’s two Wai Wai Indians. Biff and Kamuka took a swim in the safe water of the river. As they sat drying themselves in the sun, the boys watched Nara describe the route to Mr. Brewster. With a stick, old Joe drew a wiggly line in the sand and said:
“This here is the Rio Negro. I keep going up it until I turn east on another river.” Nara made a line that wiggled to the right. “I don’t know its right name—if it has any—but the natives call it—”
“Rio Del Muerte,” interposed Mr. Brewster. “The River of Death.”
“Lew Kirby told you that, did he?”