Mr. Brewster gestured significantly to the mound of earth and rock that had piled many feet above their heads. Carefully, they worked their way up over it and down a long slant to the main ravine, which they followed back to the river.
On the way, they looked up to the brow of the great cliff, but saw no human figures there. They noted though, that the landslide had turned the ravine into a dead-end, with no trace of the narrow passage that angled off to the right, the route that they would have taken.
Back at the river, Biff’s father sat on a pack and commented rather ruefully:
“I guess this about ends our quest for El Dorado.”
“I’m afraid so,” Whitman agreed. “I’ve told you all along that Joe Nara was a phony.”
“You mentioned a few reasons why you thought so,” reminded Mr. Brewster. “But they were hardly sufficient, Hal.”
“All right,” retorted Whitman, “I’ll add a few clinchers. Nara said his men were Wai Wai Indians, didn’t he?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, the Wai Wais come from clear over in British Guiana, not from around here. And you remember those shrunken heads he showed us? To prove that Macus were around?”
Mr. Brewster nodded.