“But how will they know what is happening?”
“You will see why. Soon.”
Leaping monkeys formed dark red streaks against the deep green of the jungle foliage. A few Macus were guarding Biff and Kamuka. The rest spread out through the brush, where they squatted as they had originally. Gradually, the commotion lessened up in the treetops. Then, as the monkeys returned to normal, the Macus bobbed up again.
Now, their bows and blowguns were pointed upward. The air was suddenly filled with arrows and darts that found their marks high above. Monkeys began tumbling from the trees, while the rest scattered, howling louder than before. From the distance came answering chatter, like an alarm spreading through the jungle.
“The Macu come across river to hunt monkeys,” Kamuka told Biff. “We heard monkeys talk. I should have known Macu were here.”
The Macus gathered up the dead monkeys and marched Biff and Kamuka back along the trail. New howls were coming from far off.
“You see?” undertoned Kamuka. “Maybe safari will hear and come fast.”
“Or go the other way faster,” put in Biff. “Those villagers are scared by the very thought of meeting up with Macus.”
“But your father will come, with Mr. Whitman—”
“I only hope they won’t fall into the same trap.”