“You just keep running down path after you cross river. Get as far as you can. Then find good hiding place. When I know guard has gone back to clearing, I’ll move along trail making sound like a crow. Like this.”
Chuba let out a soft “caw, caw.” It was an exact imitation. Chuba wouldn’t have any trouble being a “Comanche bird,” either, Biff thought.
“Good. I’m off.” Biff pushed his way into the underbrush. It was tough going. The low, dense vegetation tore at him. Vines dropped like heavy curtains from the tall trees hiding whatever lay ahead. It was steaming hot. Biff wrestled the jungle growth, sweat streaming down his face and body. It must have taken him nearly half an hour to penetrate a distance of about 75 or 100 feet.
Chuba could hear Biff making his way through the brush. At first, he didn’t move. He knew he had to go back to the clearing, but the thought was frightening. It took all his courage to force himself back up the path. But he knew that if he didn’t, he would let his friend down. Biff’s plan depended on Chuba’s being at the clearing at the right moment. Yet, if the plan misfired—Chuba shuddered.
Back at the edge of the clearing, Chuba crawled on his stomach to where the low growth stopped. Carefully he parted the bush he lay behind. The peephole allowed him a full view of the clearing.
They were still there. The two guards squatted on their haunches. One was munching some food. The other braced himself by holding onto the barrel of his sub-machine gun, the gun’s butt resting on the ground.
Chuba inched backward. He took up his position behind the tree. Biff’s yelling could come any moment now. What would the guards do? Would they come charging across the stream to do their searching? Chuba didn’t think so. If they did, then they would be crossing the border illegally, although Chuba knew that often the guards paid scant attention to this regulation.
What if only one guard took up the search, the other remaining behind to guard the clearing? One good thing, Chuba knew, was that from the direction Biff had taken, it might appear that the yelling came from the same side of the river that the guards were on. There was a sharp turn in the stream about thirty feet to the west of the clearing. If Biff made his way toward the riverbank, he might actually be behind the guards, but still on the side opposite from them.
“Eeeeee-owieeeee!”
The sharp, piercing scream rose above the constant chattering of the monkeys, the shrill calls of jungle birds. For a moment, the jungle became silent. The monkeys and birds were as startled as the two guards. So that was American bird yell! “Much wow!” Chuba was impressed.