Kellner went into reverse and applied maximum power. Nothing happened. Kellner eased off the fans but kept the engine running to maintain the cushion. He straightened up, muttering to himself, ‘Now with an ocean-going tug…’
Ten minutes later there was a pile of rucksacks, canvas bags and other improvised luggage containers on deck and Hamilton was securing a rope around his waist. He said: ‘It’s only twenty feet to that bank but the water’s mighty fast so kindly don’t let go of the end of that rope.’
It was a danger, but not the only one. Even as he finished speaking there came a sudden grunt and Kellner collapsed to the deck. A dart protruded from the back of his neck. Hamilton swung round.
On the far right bank, less than fifty yards away, stood a group of Indians, ten or twelve in all. Every man had a blowpipe to his mouth.
‘Horena!’ Hamilton shouted. ‘Down! Take cover behind the cabin, inside the cabin. Ramon! Navarro!’
Almost immediately, Ramon and Navarro, all humanitarian principles forgotten at the sight of Kellner, were on the cabin roof, stretched out on their elbows, rifles in hand. More darts struck the metal sheathing but none found a target. In three seconds the twins fired six shots. At five hundred yards either man was accurate. At fifty yards they were deadly. One after another, in those few seconds, three Horena toppled into the river, three others crumpled and died where they stood, and the others melted away.
Hamilton gazed down in bitterness at the lifeless Kellner. Not for the Horena the use of timbo, the poisonous bark of a forest vine which merely stunned: the dart which took Kellner had been tipped with curare.
Hamilton said: ‘If it weren’t for Kellner we’d all be dead. And now Kellner is dead.’ Without another word he jumped into the river. The only danger here was the speed of the water: neither alligators nor piranha ever inhabit rapids.
At first he was swept downstream and had to be hauled back. On the second attempt he succeeded in reaching the bank. He stood there some time, regaining his breath—the buffeting had been severe—then undid the rope around his waist and secured it to the bole of a tree. Another rope was thrown across to him. This he passed round a branch and threw back to the hovercraft where, in turn, it was passed round a fan bracket and thrown back to Hamilton, forming, in effect, an endless pulley.
The first item of equipment—Hamilton’s own rucksack—was ferried across, well clear of the water, as was all the rest of the equipment. The members of the party had to make it the wet way.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sweat-soaked and stumbling, mostly from near exhaustion, the heavily laden party of nine made their painfully slow way through the afternoon gloom of the rainforest. Even at high noon there was never more than half-light in its depths. The crowns of the great liana-festooned trees stretched out and intertwined a hundred feet or more above the ground, effectively blocking out the sunlight. Progress was not slow because they had to hack their way with machetes through the dense undergrowth, because of dense undergrowth there was none. For plants to grow at ground-level, sunshine is essential. Jungle, in the true African sense of the term, did not exist. The progress was slow primarily because there was as much swampland as there was firm ground and quicksands were an ever-present peril. A man could step confidently on to what appeared to be an inviting stretch of greensward and on his second step find himself shoulder deep in a swamp. For safe locomotion in .the forest, a probe, in the form of a hacked-off and trimmed branch, was essential. For every mile covered as the crow flew, it was not uncommon to have to traverse five miles. That, and the time it took to locate patches of firm ground, made for time-consuming, frustrating and exhausting travel.
Smith, in particular, was making heavy weather of it. His clothes were so saturated with sweat that he might well have just been dragged from the river. His legs had gone rubbery and he was gasping for breath.
Smith said: ‘What the hell are you trying to prove, Hamilton? How tough you are and how out of condition we city dwellers are? God’s sake, man, a break. An hour wouldn’t kill us, would it?’
‘No. But the Horena might.’
‘But you said their territory was on the right bank.’
‘That’s what I believe. But don’t forget: we killed six of their men. Great lads for revenge, the Horena. I wouldn’t put it past them to have crossed the river and be following us. There could be a hundred of them within a hundred yards of here, just waiting to get within blowpipe range, and we wouldn’t know a thing about it until too late.’
Smith, it appeared, was possessed of reserves of strength and endurance of which he had been unaware. He hurried on. Towards evening, they reached a small and largely swampy clearing. Most of the party were now shambling, not walking.
‘Enough,’ Hamilton said. ‘We’ll make camp.’
With the approach of dusk the forest appeared to come alive. All around them was sound. Mainly, it carme from birds—parrots, macaws, parakeets. But there was animal life too. Monkeys screeched, bull-frogs barked and now and again the deeply muffled roar of a jaguar came at them from the depths of the forest.
Everywhere there were creepers, vines, parasitic orchids and there, in the clearing, exotic flowers of almost every conceivable colour. The air was damp and fetid, a miasmic smell all-prevalent, the heat overpowering and leaden and enervating, the floor underfoot almost an unbroken expanse of thick, clinging, evil-smelling mud.
Everyone, even Hamilton, sank gratefully to what few patches of dry ground they could find. Over the river, not much higher than the tree-tops, several birds, with huge wing-spreads, seemed suspended against the sky, for their wings were motionless. They looked evil, sinister.
Maria said: ‘What are those horrible-looking creatures?’
‘Urubus,’ Hamilton said. ‘Amazonian vultures. They seem to be looking for something.’
Maria shuddered. Everybody gazed unhappily at the vultures.
‘A poor choice, I suppose,’ Hamilton said. ‘The cooking-pots, head-hunters or-the vultures. And speaking of cooking-pots, some fresh meat might help. Curassow—a kind of wild turkey – armadillo, wild boar, all very tasty. Navarro?’
Ramon said: ‘I’il come too.’
‘You stay, Ramon. A little more thoughtfumess, please. Someone has to look after these poor souls.’
Tracy said: ‘To keep an eye on us, you mean.’
‘I don’t see what mischief you can get up to here.’
‘Your haversack.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Tracy said deliberately: ‘Heffner appeared to find something there just before you murdered him.’
Ramon said: ‘Before Mr Heffner met his .unfortunate end is what Mr Tracy means.’
Hamilton eyed Tracy thoughtfully then turned away into the forest, Navarro following. Less than two hundred yards from the camp Hamilton put a restraining hand on Navarro’s arm and pointed ahead. Not forty yards away was a quiexada., that most savage of all the world’s wild boars. They are so devoid of fear that they have been known to invade towns in herds, driving the citizens into their houses.
‘Supper,’ Hamilton said.
Navarro nodded arid raised his rifle. One single shot was all that Navarro would ever need. They began to make their way towards the dead animal then halted abruptly. A herd of perhaps three dozen quiexada had suddenly appeared from the forest. They halted, pawed the ground, then came on again. There was no mistaking their intention.
Only on the riversides do Amazonian trees have breaches, for only there can they get sunlight. Hamilton and Navarro reached the lowermost branches of the nearest tree a short distance ahead of the boars, which proceeded to encircle the tree and then, as if in response to some unseen signal, began to use their vicious tusks to savage the roots of the tree. The roots of the Amazonian trees, like those of the giant sequoia of California, are extremely long—and extremely shallow.
‘I would say they have done this sort of thing before,’ Navarro said. ‘How long is this going to take, do you think?’
‘Not long at all.’
Hamilton sighted his pistol and shot a quiexada that seemed to be more industrious than its companions. The dead animal toppled into the river. Within seconds, the smooth surface of the river was disturbed by a myriad ripples and there came the high-pitched, spine-chilling buzzing whine as the needle teeth of the voracious piranha proceeded to strip the quiexada to the bone.
Navarro cleared his throat and said: ‘Perhaps you should have shot one not quite so close to the river.’
Hamilton said: ‘Quiexada to one side, piranha to the other. You don’t by any chance see a constrictor lurking in the branches above?’
Involuntarily, Navarro glanced upwards, then down at the boars which had redoubled their efforts. Both men started firing and within seconds a dozen quiexada lay dead.