“I’d think he was a pig of a dog. But how much better can we do? What’ll we feed him on? Bananas?”
“Easy. There’s a tree up here that raises grass on its branches instead of leaves—bread-nut tree, they call it. I saw one up the river two days ago. Burros and cattle get fat on it. We’ll get a native to climb a few trees and gather a ton of this hay.”
“Natives?” said Johnny slowly. “That reminds me—there aren’t any.”
“What!” exclaimed Pant, setting down his bananas so suddenly that many of them broke from the stem.
“Skipped. Vamoosed. All gone.” Johnny threw out his arms in a wide gesture.
“No!”
“Yes, I tell you.”
“Why?”
Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “You tell me. All I know is they’re gone. They told us in New Orleans that this red lure was a hoodoo. They told us the same thing in Belize. Maybe it is. Who knows?”
“It isn’t!” Pant sprang to his feet. “We’ll go to Belize and get another crew!”