shook his head.

“It means vulture,” the Indian boy said.

A chuckle came from Jacome. “A good name for Urubu. He is like one vulture!”

At close range, Urubu looked the part. He had a profile like a buzzard’s. He stood by, a sullen look on his face, as Mr. Whitman told Mr. Brewster:

“I turned down Urubu as a guide because he lied to me. He said he had guided safaris for the past five years, when part of that time he was in jail. Then he told our porters that I lied to them—”

“You did,” put in Urubu. “You said that Senhor Brewster would arrive three days ago. Instead he has arrived only now—as you can see.”

Urubu repeated those remarks to the native bearers in a mixture of Portuguese and Indian dialect. He was dumfounded when Mr. Brewster spoke to them in the same manner. Mr. Brewster’s words brought a murmur of approval.

“They want to be paid for the days they waited,” Mr. Brewster told Mr. Whitman. “I said we would pay them, and they are satisfied. Do you need Urubu as a guide?”

“I should say not!”

“Then we can send him away again.”

That was unnecessary. When Mr. Brewster turned to speak to Urubu, the troublemaker was gone. He had made a quick departure by the nearest jungle path. Mr. Whitman promptly called for Luiz, the new guide, to step forward, and a small, bowing native came from the group of bearers.

Since it was not yet noon, Mr. Brewster ordered Luiz to get everything ready for an immediate start. Soon the native bearers, more than a dozen in number, were hoisting their packs and other equipment. Meanwhile, Biff was present at a last-minute conference between his father and Hal Whitman.

“We’ll follow our original plan,” stated Mr. Brewster. “If we strike off to the northwest and follow the regular trails, we will appear to be looking for balata like any other rubber-hunting expedition.”

Biff knew that the term balata referred both to the rubber tree and its juice. He watched Hal Whitman mop perspiration from his forehead. Whitman’s worry seemed to vanish with that process.

“We will be following the long side of a triangle,” Biff’s father continued, “while Joe Nara is going around by the Rio Negro, turning north after he 

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