“I know. That’s the way I feel, sometimes. What’s the use of being afraid of—of anything?
“But we’d have to find the right trail,” she added. “Those hills are terrible. They’re all cut up with ravines. There are animal trails and native trails running everywhere. It—it’s almost impossible to keep them straight.”
After that, for a time, they were silent. The sound of singing, coming ever closer, increased in volume. The tunes changed, but not once could they understand the words. It was strange.
Somewhere in the jungle a jaguar screamed Nearer at hand some night-bird sang: “Oh—poor—me! Oh—poor—me!”
“It’s dark,” Johnny whispered. “Seems like the folks should be back?”
“They were going quite a distance, and anyhow they took flashlights.”
To Johnny, the place suddenly seemed deserted and silent. Seeing a high-power rifle in the corner, he picked it up and threw back the catch. It was loaded. He set it back without a sound.
“There!” The girl’s sudden exclamation startled him. “They’ve stopped singing! I expected that!”
“Why?”
“I don’t believe they knew anyone lived here. I could tell all the time just how far they were, on the trail. I’ve heard natives singing over that trail a hundred times. The sound changes when they reach the clearing.”