Chuba moved along the path back toward the river. He moved cautiously, silently, making no more noise than a big cat stalking its prey. When he neared the clearing, Chuba went down to his hands and knees. Taking advantage of the cover offered by the low bushes, he crept forward. Again carefully parting a heavy bush, he looked into the clearing.
The guards had returned. They were talking rapidly to one another. Chuba couldn’t make out their words, but he felt sure they were talking about the strange cry they had heard. They were probably frightened by it, and at this thought, Chuba smiled. He felt a lot better now. He had made it over the border. But even as he had this thought, he remembered Biff. Biff had to get across. Only half the job was done.
Biff would surely be back at the tree by now. Time for more action. A frown of doubt crossed Chuba’s face. Would the guard be fooled a second time?
Chuba went ahead with the plan. He walked back up the trail for one hundred paces. Then he slithered into the underbrush, crawling, forcing his way through the wall of thick, spiny growth.
If he, Chuba, made the same kind of noise Biff had made, wouldn’t the guards’ suspicions be aroused? Already they would be tense, nervous. They hadn’t found anything the first time. Wouldn’t they just ignore a second set of strange “Yows” and “Eeeee-owieeees?” Chuba felt sure they would. So what could he do? He just had to help Biff cross. Okay, he knew what he would do. He could outsmart the guard in the denseness of the jungle. They would never be able to catch him.
Chuba reached a position he thought would do. It was near the spot he and Biff had discussed, as far as he could figure. He took a deep breath, then, shouting in Chinese, he called out, “Help! Help! Strange man here! Strange man! Help! Help!”
He waited. Moments passed. He repeated his call for help. Seconds later, he heard the crashing of the guards as they fought through the underbrush.
Chuba waited no longer. He got himself away from the spot where he had called out as fast as he could wriggle his body along. He knew he had made a safe getaway when he could no longer hear the guards struggling against the brush. Chuba smiled to himself. He knew he was only about fifty feet from the trail. He sat down. He would wait, a long wait this time, to make sure the guard had gotten back to the clearing, and that Biff had had plenty of time to put a good distance between himself and the river.
Chuba leaned back against the base of a tree. He felt good about the way things had gone.
Suddenly, the noises of the jungle were drowned out by the most horrible noise of all—the angry, “bup, bup, bup” of a sub-machine gun’s fire. First there was a short burst. Another short burst. This was followed by a longer burst as several rounds were fired. Then, silence.