“From a native village a mile or so in there.” Nara gestured to another jungle path. “I’ll send Igo and Ubi along to introduce you.”

Mr. Brewster delegated the task of hiring the bearers to Hal Whitman, who left, accompanied by Jacome and Nara’s two Wai Wai Indians. Biff and Kamuka took a swim in the safe water of the river. As they sat drying themselves in the sun, the boys watched Nara describe the route to Mr. Brewster. With a stick, old Joe drew a wiggly line in the sand and said:

“This here is the Rio Negro. I keep going up it until I turn east on another river.” Nara made a line that wiggled to the right. “I don’t know its right name—if it has any—but the natives call it—”

“Rio Del Muerte,” interposed Mr. Brewster. “The River of Death.”

“Lew Kirby told you that, did he?”

“Yes. That’s where he said I’d find you. Somewhere up the Rio Del Muerte.”

Nara showed a pleased smile at this new token of a bond between his former partner, Lew Kirby, and Mr. Brewster.

“Your trail will bring you to the Rio Del Muerte,” resumed Nara, “but you will strike it many miles above the mine.”

“How many miles above?”

“I wouldn’t know. I have never gone by that route. But the native bearers will know when they reach the Rio Del Muerte.”

“And then?”

“Then you follow it downstream until you meet me.”

“Where will that be?”

Nara eyed Mr. Brewster in quick, birdlike fashion, then decided to answer the question.

“At a split rock on the north bank,” stated Nara, “They call it La Porta Del Diablo, or the Devil’s Gate. Come through the gateway and continue up the ravine. It leads to El Dorado. I will meet you on the way.”

Mr. Whitman and Jacome were coming from the jungle with a crew of natives. Mr. Brewster spoke quickly to Nara. “Don’t show those shrunken heads to these chaps!”

This time old Joe kept his 

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