added, “If you go farther up the Amazon or any of its tributaries, you will need to know the dialects of Indian tribes as well.”

The stranger’s easy, persuasive tone almost caused Biff to remark that he was going on beyond Manaus. But he caught himself in time and said nothing.

“You may have to talk fast, too,” Biff’s fellow passenger continued. “Those tribes are often dangerous. You are sure to find head-hunters among them.”

This time, Biff asked a question.

“Have you been among the head-hunters, sir?”

The stranger’s smile widened. “My name is Serbot, Nicholas Serbot. And yours?”

“Bruce Brewster. My friends call me Biff.”

Nicholas Serbot inclined his head politely. “No, I have never been among the head-hunters, Biff. I come to Manaus occasionally to do business for some European concerns that I represent. Mostly in rubber.”

“My dad is in Manaus,” Biff volunteered. “I’m meeting him there.”

“Perhaps he will take you on a jungle safari. They organize such trips in Manaus.”

“That sounds great!” exclaimed Biff. “I’ll mention it to Dad!”

“Tell him to inquire at the Hotel Amazonas,” suggested Serbot. “Meanwhile”—he leaned toward Biff as he spoke—“you may find the scene below quite interesting.”

They had reached the head of the Para River, the principal mouth of the Amazon, sixty miles above Belem. The plane was thrumming over a gigantic carpet of thickly tufted green, furrowed by a maze of irregular streams.

“The region of the Thousand Islands,” Serbot explained. “Those channels that twist through the solid jungle are called the Narrows. They come from the main course of the Amazon, and most of them are deep enough to be navigable.”

Below, Biff saw an ocean-going freighter working up through a watery passage. It looked like a toy boat from this altitude, and occasionally it was swallowed by the thick foliage that jutted over the channel, only to emerge from the green arcade.

Soon the boat was far behind, and Biff watched the narrow channels widen and merge into a limitless, white-capped sea—the great Amazon itself. Serbot’s purring voice, and the steady drone of the plane’s motors had a lulling effect. Biff’s 

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