“Right. Then I’ll yell like a Comanche. That ought to distract the guard. They’ll try to find who’s making the noise. If they leave the clearing, you can slip across the river.”
“Good idea, Biff. But how about you? How you going to get across?”
“Same way. Only this time you do the distracting. You yell like a Comanche.”
Chuba grinned. “Could work. But how does Comanche bird yell?”
Biff decided to postpone his lecture on TV westerns until another time. “Don’t worry about it. Just yell like I do. We’ve got to try it. It’s our only chance. Now, if you get across all right, wait. Wait a good long time. By then, the guards will probably give up the search and return to their post in the clearing. I don’t imagine they like prowling around the jungle too much.”
“No, too many wild animals.”
“Okay. So, you’d better make your way a good distance from the clearing. Say you go to a place about a hundred yards opposite the river—downriver—so I’ll know where to listen for you. You’re going to be on the same side as the guards, so be sure you’re in a safe place and can make a fast getaway if they should come anywhere near you.”
“Don’t worry about that. Chuba can hide good in jungle.”
“All right, let’s get moving.” But neither moved for a few minutes. Both boys were reluctant to part company. They knew the danger lying before them. They might never see one another again, if Biff’s plan failed.
“Now, where will we meet?” Biff asked.