By the time they finished, darkness had fallen. The sky over the jungle was brilliant with stars. “Sure is purty up there,” Chow remarked, staring heavenward.
“But it’s even better back home in Texas,” he added quickly.
Quetzal returned to make arrangements for the night. “You will sleep in my own house-the house of the ahau,” he told them proudly.
Like the other dwellings in the village, the hut was made of saplings covered with mud. It was rectangular in shape, about twenty-five feet long, with walls ten feet high and a steep, palm-thatched roof. Although it had no windows, there was a doorway in the middle of each long side.
Hammocks woven of henequen fiber were slung in a row between the two doors. This, the chief explained, was to enable sleepers to catch the trade winds which occasionally wafted over the jungle. He also provided mosquito-netting covers for each hammock.
“I think I’d prefer sleeping out in the fresh air,” Hutchcraft announced, sniffing the atmosphere of the hut disdainfully. He proceeded to unsling one of the hammocks.
“Reckon I’ll do the same,” Chow said.
THE SACRED STONE 19
But Hutchcraft’s next remarks made Chow change his mind. “After all, I have a rifle and you don’t,” the Bostonian reminded him. “That jaguar might still be prowling around.”
Soon the village was wrapped in silence. The three Americans in the hut quickly fell asleep. But suddenly Tom was awakened by a loud crash.
“Huh? Wh-what’s going on?” Bud muttered thickly, trying to sit up in his hammock.