pungent odor that completely overpowered him. His head seemed to burst with stabs of flashing light that turned to utter blackness as his senses left him.

CHAPTER IV The Safari Starts

CHAPTER IV

Thrumm—thrumm—thrumm—thrumm—

As Biff awakened, the steady sound made him think that he was back on the plane above the Amazon. He opened his eyes expecting to see the yellow sea far below.

Instead, he saw black water streaming past the side of a boat, churning white as it scudded back into the distance. When he turned his head, he saw his father beside him.

They were propped against some boxes near the front of a long cabin cruiser, which had a permanent top stretched like a canopy over its large, open cockpit, making it ideal for tropical travel. But there was nothing ideal about Biff’s present plight.

Biff’s hands were bound in back of him by a rough cord that chafed his wrists. His ankles, too, were tightly tied. At a glance, Biff saw that his father was in a similar situation. The thin, tough rope around Mr. Brewster’s ankles looked like a tropical vine.

Biff tried to speak, but he found his lips too dry, his throat too parched. He caught a warning headshake from his father, and following the direction of Mr. Brewster’s gaze, Biff saw two chunky men, clad in baggy, sleeveless shirts and old khaki trousers cut off at the knees.

The pair were standing guard like patient watchdogs, looking for any move from the captives. They had black, straight hair and coppery skin; those features, plus their stony, immobile expressions marked them as Indians from the headwaters of the river, which, from its blackish color, could only be the Rio Negro.

One Indian spoke in a guttural dialect, and a shrill voice responded from up ahead:

“So they’re awake now? Good! Igo, you take the wheel.”

One Indian moved forward. Moments later, a scrawny man with a crafty, wizened face beneath a shock of whitish hair, stepped into sight. To the other Indian, he piped:

“Ubi, you stay here. You help me watch.”

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