Chuba hurried about searching for dried, dead wood. He heaped up a large pile.
“Think it’s safe to build a fire?” Biff asked.
“Sure. Much safe. Better to have fire and be warm. Better also to have fire to keep mountain bears and wild pigs away. Anyway, who want to catch two boys?”
“I don’t know, Chuba. I don’t know,” Biff replied.
The fire was soon blazing, sending out its friendly warmth and brightening the wild spot where the boys had decided to pitch their camp. Chuba had water boiling in a small can, ready for the rice which had become their nightly meal—rice, with some of the strange foods Chuba had purchased stirred in it.
“Chow, Biff. We eat. I way out hungry, man.”
Chuba started ladling out the steaming dish.
“Hold it a minute, Chuba. Hear anything?”
Chuba raised his head. Both boys tensed. From far away, to the south, there came a low hum, not much louder than the buzz of a bee. As the boys listened, the hum grew louder and more distinct. A minute passed. There was no mistaking the sound now.
“It’s a plane, Chuba! A plane!”