Calmly he donned his shirt again. Tim, staring at him, twitched his shoulders as if a chill had gone down his back.
"Ugh!" muttered Knowlton.
"So now," Lourenço resumed, "if I can find that chief again—he may have been killed in some tribal fight before now—he may be friendly to all of us. Or he may not. Savages cannot be relied on with much certainty. But if any of the Mayorunas will help us, he will. It is worth trying."
"And if he is not friendly—" Knowlton paused.
"We do not come back," Pedro finished. "Have you a better plan?"
All shook their heads.
"Laurenco's idea is excellent," said McKay. "I was thinking along the same line, though I did not know he had any such friendly relations with a chief. That makes it all the more advisable to try it, unless we find the Raposa first. We, of course, will not land at the place where Schwandorf told us to go ashore, seven days from here."
"By no means," Lourenço concurred. "In five days we leave the river and travel along the ygarapé. If we go to the maloca it will be from another direction than the river."
He began preparing to travel. The others also went about the work of breaking camp. By the time the canoes were loaded the mists had lifted and the river lay open and empty before them. In the bush around and beyond, gloom still lay thick and the forest life yelped, howled, clattered, and wailed. But out on the water it was broad day, and far overhead sounded the harsh cries of unseen parrots flying two by two in the sunlight above the matted branches. The world of the pathless tropic wilderness, ever dying, ever living, was about its daily business. The five invaders were about theirs.
As the paddlers dipped, however, Knowlton held back.