River of Death

CHAPTER SIX

Just after dawn, the helicopter pilot, John Silver — generally known as Long John — was at the controls. The party of nine embarked and stowed their overnight luggage with the food and equipment that had been transferred from the DC}. Hamilton took the co-pilot's seat. So cavernous was the interior of the giant helicopter that it seemed virtually empty. It rose effortlessly and flew more or less east, paralleling the course of the Rio da Morte. All the passengers had their heads craned, peering through what few windows there were: they were seeing for the first time the true Amazonian rain-forest.

Hamilton turned in his seat and pointed forward. 'That's an interesting sight.' His voice was a shout.

On a wide mud flat, perhaps almost a mile long, and on the left bank, scores of alligators lay motionless as if asleep.

'Good God!' It was Smith. 'Good God! Are there so many 'gators in the world?' He shouted to Silver: 'Take her down, man, take her down!' Then to Heffner: 'Your camera! Quick!' He paused, as if in sudden thought, then turned to Hamilton. 'Or should I have asked the expedition commander's permission?'

Hamilton shrugged. 'What's five minutes?'

The helicopter came down over the river in great sweeping, controlled circles. Long John was clearly a first-rate pilot.

The alligators, hemmed in the narrow strip between forest and river, seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. It was, depending upon one's point of view, a fascinating, horrifying or terrifying spectacle.

Tracy said, almost in awe: 'My word, I wouldn't care to crash-land amongst that lot.'

Hamilton looked at him. 'Believe me, that's the least of the dangers down there.'

'The least?'

'This is the heart of the Chapate territory.'

'That meant to mean something to me?'

'You have a short memory. I've mentioned them before. It would mean something to you if you ended up in one of their cooking-pots.'

Smith looked at him doubtfully, clearly not knowing whether to believe him or not, then turned to the pilot.

'That's low enough, Silver.' He twisted in his seat and shouted at the top of his voice: 'God's sake, man, hurry!'

'Moment, moment,' Heffner bawled back. 'There's such a damned jumble of equipment here.'

There was, in fact, no jumble whatsoever. Heffner had already found his own camera, which lay at his feet. In Hamilton's rucksack he had found something that he had missed the previous night for the good enough reason that he hadn't been looking for it. He held a leather-bound case in his hand, the one Colonel Diaz had given to Hamilton. He extracted the camera from the case, looked at it in some puzzlement, then pressed a switch in the side. A flap fell down, noiselessly, on oiled hinges. His face registered at first bafflement, then understanding. The interior of the camera consisted of a beautifully made transistorised radio transceiver. Even more importantly it bore some embossed words in Portuguese. Heffner could read Portuguese. He read the words and his understanding deepened. The radio was the property of the Brazilian Defence Ministry which made Hamilton a government agent. He clicked the flap in position.

'Heffner!' Smith had twisted again in his seat. 'Heffner, if you — Heffner!'

Heffner, radio case in one hand and his pearl-handled pistol in the other, approached. His face was a smiling mask of vindictive triumph. He called out: 'Hamilton!'

Hamilton swung around, saw the wickedly smiling face, his own camera held high and the pearl-handled pistol and at once threw himself to the floor of the aisle, his gun coming clear of his bush jacket. Even so, despite the swiftness of Hamilton's movement, Heffner should have had no trouble in disposing of Hamilton, for he had the clear drop on him and his temporarily defenceless target was feet away. But Heffner had spent a long night of agony in the Hotel de Paris. As a consequence, his hand was less than steady, his reactions were impaired, his co-ordination considerably worse.

Hefftier, his face contorted, fired twice. With the first came a cry of pain from the flight-deck. With the second the helicopter gave a sudden lurch. Then Hamilton fired, just once, and a red rose bloomed in the centre of Heffner's forehead.

Hamilton took three quick steps up the aisle and had reached Heffner before anyone else had begun to move. He stooped over the-dead man, retrieved the camera-radio case, checked that it was closed, then straightened. Smith appeared beside him, a badly shaken man, and stared down in horror at Heffner.

'Between the eyes, between the eyes.' Smith shook his head in total disbelief. 'Between the eyes. Christ, man, did you have to do that?'

'Three things,' Hamilton said. If he was upset, he had his distress well under control. 'I tried to wing him, and I'm a good shot, especially at four paces, but the helicopter lurched. He twice tried to kill me before I pulled the trigger. Third place. I gave orders that no-one was to carry guns. As far as I'm concerned, he's dead by his own hand. God's sake, why did he pull a gun on me? Was he mad?'

Smith, perhaps fortunately, was given no time to lend consideration to either of those things, even had he then been of a mind to, which he almost certainly was not. The helicopter had given another and even more violent lurch, and although it still carried a good deal of forward momentum, seemed to be fluttering and falling from the sky like a wounded bird. It was a singularly unpleasant sensation.

Hamilton ran forward, clutching at whatever he could to maintain his balance. Silver, blood streaming from a cheek wound, was fighting to regain control of the uncontrollable helicopter.

Hamilton said: 'Quick! Can I help?'

'Help? No. I can't even help myself.'

'What's happened?'

'First shot burnt my face. Nothing. Superficial. Second shot must have gone through one or more hydraulic lines. Can't see exactly but it can't have been anything else. What happened back there?'

'Heffner. Had to shoot him. He tried to shoot me, but he got you and your controls instead.'

'No loss.' Considering the circumstances, Silver was remarkably phlegmatic. 'Heffner, I mean. This¹ machine is a different matter altogether.'

Hamilton took a quick look backwards. The scene, understandably, was one of confusion and consternation although there were no signs of panic. Maria, Serrano and Tracy, all three with almost comically dazed expressions, were sitting or sprawling in the central aisle. The others clung desperately to their seats as the helicopter gyrated through the sky. Luggage, provisions and equipment were strewn everywhere.

Hamilton turned again and pressed his face close to the windscreen. The now pendulum-like motion of the craft was making the land below swing to and fro in a crazy fashion. The river was still directly beneath: the one plus factor appeared to be that they had now left behind them the mudflats where the alligators had lain in so lifeless a manner. Hamilton became suddenly aware that an island, perhaps two hundred yards long by half as wide, lay ahead of them in the precise middle of the river, at a distance of about half a mile: it was wooded but not heavily so. Hamilton turned to Silver.

'This thing float?'

'Like a stone.'

'See that island ahead?'

They were now less than two hundred feet above the broad brown waters of the river: the island was about a quarter of a mile ahead.

'I can see it,' Silver said. 'I can also see all those trees. Look, Hamilton, control is close to zero. I'll never get it down in one piece.'

Hamilton looked at him coldly. 'Never mind the damned chopper. Can you get us down in one piece?'

Silver glanced briefly at Hamilton, shrugged and said nothing.

The island was now two hundred yards distant. As a landing ground it looked increasingly discouraging. Apart from scattered trees it was, but for one tiny clearing, thickly covered with dense undergrowth. Even for a helicopter in perfect health it would have made an almost impossible landing site.

Even in that moment of emergency some instinct made Hamilton glance to the left. Directly opposite the island, at about fifty yards' distance and on the bank of the river, was a large native village. From the expression — or lack of it — on Hamilton's face it was clear that he didn't care for large native villages, or, at least, this particular one.

Silver's face, streaked with rivulets of sweat and blood, reflected a mixture of determination and desperation, with the former predominating. The passengers, tense, immobile, gripped fiercely at any available support and stared mutely ahead. They, too, could see what was about to happen.

The helicopter, swinging and side-slipping, weaved its unpredictable way towards the island. Silver was unable to bring the helicopter to the hover. As they approached this one much too small clearing, the helicopter was still going far too fast. Its ground-level clearance was by then no more than ten feet. The trees and undergrowth rushed at them with accelerating speed.

Silver said: 'No fire?'

'No fire.'

'No ignition.' Silver switched off.

One second later the helicopter dipped sharply, crashed into the undergrowth, slid about twenty feet and came to a jarring stop against the bole of a large tree.

For a few moments the silence was complete. The engine roar had vanished. It was a silence compounded of the dazed shock caused by the violence of their landing and the relief of finding themselves still alive. No-one appeared to have sustained any injury.

Hamilton reached out and touched Silver's arm. 'I'll bet you couldn't do that again.'

Silver dabbed at his wounded cheek. 'I wouldn't ever care to try.' If he was in any way proud of his magnificent airmanship it didn't show.

'Out! All out!' Smith's voice was a stentorian shout, he seemed unaware that normal conversational tones were again in order. 'We can go up any moment.'

'Don't be so silly.' Hamilton sounded weary. 'Ignition's off. Stay put.'

'If I want to go out — '

'Then that's your business. Nobody's going to stop you. Later on, we'll bury your boots.'

'What the hell is that meant to mean?'

'A civilised interment of the remains. Maybe even those won't be left.'

'If you'd be-'

'Look out your window.'

Smith looked at Hamilton then turned to the window, standing so as to achieve a ground view. His eyes widened, his lips parted and his complexion changed for the worse. Two very large alligators were only feet from the helicopter, fearsome jaws agape, their huge tails swinging ominously from side to side. Wordlessly, Smith sat down.

Hamilton said: 'I warned you before you left, the Mato Grosso is no place for mindless little children. Our two friends out there are just waiting for such children. And not only those two. There'll be more around, lots of them. Also snakes, tarantulas and suchlike. Not to mention —' He broke off and pointed to the port windscreen. 'I'd rather you didn't have to but take a look anyway.'

They did as he asked. Among the trees on the left bank could be seen a number of huts, perhaps twenty in all with an especially large circular one in the centre. Several columns of smoke shimmered up into the morning air. Canoes, and what looked like a pinnace, fronted the village. A large number of natives, nearly naked, stood on the bank, talking and gesticulating.

'But this is luck,' Smith said.

'You should have stayed in Brasilia.' Hamilton sounded unwontedly sour. 'Sure it's luck — the most fiendishly bad luck. I see the chiefs are getting ready.'

There was a fairly long silence then Maria said almost in a whisper: 'The Chapate?'

'None else. Complete, as you can now see, with olive branches and calling cards.'

Every native ashore was now armed or was in the process of getting armed. They carried spears, bows and arrows, blowpipes and machetes. The angry expressions on their faces went well with the menacing gesticulations in the direction of the island.

'They'll be calling soon,' Hamilton said, 'and not for tea. Maria, would you give Mr Silver a hand to fix up his face?'

Tracy said: 'But we're safe here, surely? We have guns, plenty. They're carrying nothing that could penetrate our screens, far less the fuselage.'

'True. Ramon, Navarro, get your rifles and come with me.'

Smith said: 'What are you going to do?'

'Discourage them. From crossing. Shame, really. They may not even know what a gun is.'

'Tracy made sense,' Smith said. 'We're safe here. You have to be a hero?'

Hamilton stared at him until Smith looked uncomfortable. Hamilton said: 'Heroism doesn't enter into it, just survival. I wonder whether you would be half-way brave enough to fight for your own survival. I suggest you leave this to someone who knows how the Chapate wage war. Or do you want to be ready for immediate consumption when they get you?'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Smith tried to sound blustery but his heart wasn't in it, his ego had been too severely dented.

'Just this. If they get as much as a foothold on this island the first thing they'll do is to set fire to the undergrowth and roast you alive in this metal coffin.'

There was a silence that lasted until Hamilton, Ramon and Navarro had left the helicopter.

Ramon, the first to touch the ground, had his rifle on the nearest alligator immediately but the precaution proved needless: both alligators immediately turned and scuttled away into the undergrowth.

Hamilton said: 'Just keep an eye on our backs, Ramon.' Ramon nodded. Hamilton and Navarro moved towards the rear, took shelter behind the tail of the helicopter and looked cautiously ashore.

A squat, powerfully built Indian dressed in a pink feather head-dress, teeth necklace, a series of arm bracelets and little else — definitely the chief — was ordering warriors into half-a-dozen canoes. He himself was standing on the bank.

Navarro looked at Hamilton, his reluctance plain. He said: 'No choice?'

With equal regret Hamilton agreed, shaking his head. Navarro lifted his rifle, aimed and fired in one swift motion. The report of the rifle momentarily paralysed all activity on the bank. Only the chief moved: he cried out in pain and clutched his upper right arm. A second later, while the warriors were still immobilised in shock, another report was heard and another warrior struck in precisely the same place. Navarro was clearly a marksman of the most extraordinary accuracy.

Navarro said: 'Not nice, Senor Hamilton.'

'Not nice. As the old saying goes, it's people like us who have made people like them what they are. But this is hardly the time and place to explain that to them.'

Ashore the warriors rapidly abandoned their canoes and ran for the shelter of their huts and the forest, taking the two wounded men with them. From those shelters they could be seen almost immediately drawing bows and lifting blowpipes to their mouths. Hamilton and Navarro prudently dropped behind cover as arrows and darts rattled and rebounded harmlessly off the fuselage. Navarro shook his head in sorrow and wonderment. 'I’il bet they've never even heard a rifle report before. It is something less than a fair contest, Senor Hamilton.'

Hamilton nodded, but made no comment for comment would have been superfluous. He said: 'That's all for now. I don't think they'll try anything again before dark. But I'll keep watch — or arrange for others to do it. Meantime, you and

Ramon get rid of our four-legged friends and the creepy-crawlies. Try to chase them away, shoo them away. If you have to shoot, for goodness sake don't do it by the water's edge or in the water. Bath-time tonight and I don't want to attract every piranha for miles around.'

Hamilton reboarded the helicopter. Tracy said: 'That was quite a hailstorm out there. Arrows and darts, I assume?'

'Didn't you see?'

'I wasn't too keen on looking. I'm sure those windows are made of toughened glass but I wasn't going to be the one to put them to the test. Poisoned?'

'Certainly. But, almost equally certainly, no curare, nothing lethal. They have a less final but equally effective poison that merely stuns. Too much curare affects the flavour of the stew.'

Smith said sourly: 'You certainly have a' summary way of dealing with the opposition.'

'I should have parleyed with them? The brightly coloured beads approach? Why don't you go and try it?' Smith said nothing. 'If you have any futile suggestions to offer, I suggest you either translate them into action or shut up. There's a limit to the number of niggling remarks a man can take.'

Silver, his face bandaged, intervened pacifically. 'And now?'

'A lovely long siesta until dusk. For me, that is. I shall have to ask you to take turns in keeping watch. Not only the village, but as far upstream and downstream as you can see — the Chapate might contemplate launching a canoe attack at some distance from their village although I consider it highly unlikely. If anything happens, let me know. Ramon and Navarro should be back in twenty minutes; don't bother letting me know.'

Tracy said: 'You place a great deal of faith in your lieutenants.'

'Total.'

Smith said: 'So we keep awake while you sleep. Why?'

'Recharging my batteries for the night ahead.'

'And then?'

Hamilton sighed. 'This helicopter, obviously, will never be airborne again so we have to find some other means of rejoining the hovercraft, which I reckon must be about thirty miles downstream. We can't go by land. It would take us days to hack our way down there and, anyway, the Chapate would get us before we covered a mile. We need a boat. So we'll borrow one from the Chapate. There's a nice, big and very ancient motor launch moored to the bank there. Not their property for a certainty: the original owners were probably eaten long ago. And the engine will be a solid block of rust and quite useless. But we don't need power to go downstream.'

Tracy said: 'And how do you propose we — ah — obtain this boat, Mr Hamilton?'

'I’il get it. After sunset.' He smiled faintly. 'That's why I intend recharging my batteries in advance.'

Smith said: 'You really do have to be a hero, Hamilton, don't you?'

'And you'll really never learn, will you? No, I don't have to be a hero. I don't want to be a hero. You can go instead. You be the hero. Go on. Volunteer. Impress your girl-friend.'

Smith slowly unclenched his fists and turned away. Hamilton sat and appeared to compose himself for slumber, oblivious of the dead Heffner laid now across the aisle from him. The others looked at one another in silence.

It was many hours later, at dusk, when Hamilton said: 'Everything packed? Guns, ammunition, last night's overnight bags, food, water, medicines. And Silver, the chopper's two compasses might come in handy.'

Silver indicated a box by his feet. 'They're already in there.'

'Excellent.' Hamilton looked around him. 'Well, that seems to be all. Heigh-ho, I think.'

'What do you mean, that seems to be all?' Smith said. He nodded towards the dead Heffner. 'How about him?'

'Well, how about him?'

'You going to leave him here?'

'That's up to you.' Hamilton spoke with an almost massive indifference. He did not have to spell out his meaning. Smith turned and stumbled, down the helicopter steps.

At the downstream end of the island, only Navarro, of all the party, was absent. In the gathering darkness Hamilton again checked all the various packs. He seemed satisfied.

'There will be a moon,' he said, 'but it will be too late to save us. Moonrise is in about two and a half hours. When they attack — there's no "if" about it — it must be inside those two and a half hours, which means it could be any time now although I should guess that they'll wait a bit until it is as dark as possible. Ramon, join Navarro now. If they attack before you get my signal, hold them off as best you can for as long as you can. If my signal comes first, get back here at once. Tracy?'

Tracy said: 'I can tell you, I haven't been too happy here for the past hour. No, no alligators. No sign. Not a ripple. No gun?'

'Guns make noises. Guns get wet.'

Maria shivered and pointed to his big sheath knife. 'And that does neither?'

'Sometimes the first blow doesn't kill. Then there can be a lot of noise. But no heroics. I don't expect to have to use it. If I do, it means I've botched my job.'

Hamilton looked out across the river. The darkness had now so deepened that the shoreline was no more than a dimly seen blur. He checked that the coil of rope, the waterproof torch and the sheath knife were securely attached to his waist, walked noiselessly into the river and then slowly, silently, began to swim.

The water was warm, the current was gentle and around him he could see nothing but the calm dark water. Suddenly, he stopped swimming, trod water and stared ahead. He could see what he imagined to be a tiny ripple in the black smoothness without being able to see what caused it. His right hand came clear of the water, clenched round the haft of his sheath knife. The tiny ripple was still there but even as he strained to watch it, it disappeared. Hamilton replaced the knife in its sheath. He wasn't the first person to have mistaken a drifting log for a crocodile, a considerably healthier position than the other way round. He resumed his silent swimming.

A minute later he drifted in towards the bank and caught hold of a convenient tree root. He straightened, paused, looked carefully around, listened intently then emerged swiftly and silently from the river and disappeared into the forest.

A hundred yards brought him to the perimeter of the village. There were at least a score of native huts, haphazardly arranged, none of them showing any sign of life. In their approximate centre was the much larger circular hut: light could be seen through the numerous chinks in its walls. Ghostlike, Hamilton moved off to his right and moved round the perimeter of the village until he was directly to the rear of the large hut. Here he waited until he was sure — or as sure as he could possibly be — that he was alone then moved forward to the rear of the hut. He selected a small, lighted chink in the wall and peered through it.

The communal hut was illuminated by some scores of tallow tapers. It was completely unfurnished. Dozens of natives were standing several deep round a cleared space in the middle where an elderly man was using a stick to make a diagram on the sand-covered floor while at the same time explaining something in an unintelligible tongue. The diagram was the outline of the island. Also shown was the left bank of the river on which the village stood. The speaker had drawn lines from the village, from above the village and from below the village, all towards the island. A multi-pronged attack was to be launched on the helicopter and its passengers. The lecturer lifted his stick from time to time and pointed it at various natives: it was apparent that he was allocating canoe crews for their lines of attack.

Hamilton moved away in the direction of the upper river bank, still circling the village perimeter. As he passed the last hut, he stopped. At least twenty canoes, some quite large, were tethered to the bank. Almost at the end of the row, up-river, was the dilapidated, paintflaked motor launch, a little over twenty feet in length. It was deep in the water but floating so to that extent might be deemed riverworthy.

Two Indian warriors, talking quietly, stood guard at the downstream end of the row of canoes. As Hamilton watched, one of them gestured towards the village and walked away. Hamilton moved around to one side of the hut and crouched there: the Indian walked by on the other side.

Another problem had arisen, one that Hamilton could well have done without. Even fifteen minutes ago he could have remained where he had been and the remaining Indian could have come within a few feet without seeing him. Not any more. The sun was gone, moonrise was still some time away, but, unfortunately, the evening clouds which, earlier, had so obligingly offered concealment, had passed away and the southern skies were alive with stars — and in the tropics stars always seem so much bigger and brighter than they do in temperate climes. Visibility had become disconcertingly good.

Hamilton knew that the last thing he could afford to do was to wait. He straightened and advanced soundlessly, knife held in the throwing position. The Indian was gazing out towards the island, now quite visible. A shadow appeared behind him and there came the sound of a sharp but solid blow as the haft of Hamilton's knife caught him on the base of the neck. Hamilton caught him as he was about to topple into the water and lowered him none too gently to the bank.

Hamilton ran upstream. He came to the motor launch, pulled out his signal torch, hooded the beam with his hand and shone it inside.

The launch was filthy and had at least four inches of water in the bottom. The torch beam lit on the centrally positioned engine which, as Hamilton had expected, was now no more than a solid block of rust. Floating incongruously in its vicinity were three cooking pans, obviously intended as bailers, at a guess the property of some optimistic but now departed missionaries. The beam played swiftly around the entire interior of the boat. There was no means of propulsion whatsoever: no mast, no sail, no oars, not even a solitary paddle.

Hamilton straightened and moved quickly to examine some of the nearest canoes. Within a minute he had collected at least a dozen paddles. He deposited those in the launch, hurried away, selected two large canoes and pulled them close to the launch. He unwound the rope around his waist, cut off two sections and used those to tie the canoes in tandem to the launch. He sliced through the manila painter, pushed the launch into deeper water, scrambled in, seized a paddle and began to move silently away from the bank.

Paddling the launch — and its attendant canoes — diagonally downstream, Hamilton was soon making heavy weather of it. The launch was naturally cumbersome and made more so by the amount of water in it and Hamilton, able to use only one paddle, had to switch continuously from side to side to keep it on course. Briefly, he paused, located what he could discern to be the upstream end of the island, now almost directly opposite him, pulled out his torch and pressed the button three times. He then pointed his torch diagonally downstream and flashed again three times. He replaced his torch and resumed paddling.

Ashore, an Indian warrior emerged from the communal hut, and walked casually towards the upper river-bank. Suddenly, he hurried forward and stooped over an Indian lying face-down on the bank. A trickle of blood was coming from what was the beginning of a massive bruise on the base of his neck. His fellow tribesman straightened and began to shout, repeatedly and urgently.

Hamilton momentarily ceased paddling and glanced involuntarily over his shoulder. Then he bent himself again to his task but with even more energy this time.

Ramon and Navarro, as by pre-arrangement, had already begun to move to the other end of the island. Now they stopped abruptly when they heard the cry ashore, a cry now taken up by the shouting of many more angry voices.

Ramon said: 'I think Senor Hamilton must have been up to something. I also think we'd better wait a little.'

The two men crouched on the island shore, rifles at the ready, and peered out across the channel. The bulky outline of Hamilton's launch and the two canoes he was towing were now visible not thirty yards from where they were. Not as visible, but still distinct enough to be unmistakable, were the shadowy forms of canoes putting out from the village in pursuit.

Ramon shouted: 'As close to the island as you can. We'll cover you.'

Hamilton glanced over his shoulder. The nearest of half a dozen canoes was already less than thirty yards away. Two men stood in the bows, one with a blowpipe to his mouth, the other pulling back the string of his bow.

Hamilton crouched as low as possible in the boat, glancing almost desperately to his right. He could now see both Ramon and Navarro and he could see that they had their rifles levelled. The two shots came simultaneously. The warrior with the blowpipe toppled backwards in the canoe: the one with the drawn bow pitched into the water, his arrow hissing harmlessly into the river.

'Quickly,' Hamilton called. 'Join the others.'

Ramon and Navarro loosed off a few more shots, more for the sake of discouragement than with the intent of hitting anything, then began to run. Thirty seconds later they rejoined the remainder of the party at the downstream end of the island, all looking anxiously up-river. Hamilton was struggling, unsuccessfully, to bring his unwieldy trio of boats ashore: it looked as if he would miss the tip of the island by feet only.

Ramon and Navarro handed over their rifles, plunged into the river, seized the bows of the motor-launch and turned it into the shore. There were no orders given, no shouts for haste: such were needless. Within seconds all the equipment and passengers were aboard the motor-launch, the boat pushed off and paddles distributed. They cast frequent and apprehensive glances astern but there was no cause for concern. The canoes, unmistakably, were dropping behind. There was going to be no pursuit.

Smith said, not even grudgingly: 'That was rather well managed, Hamilton. And now?'

'First we bail out. There should be three cooking pans floating around somewhere. Then we move out into the middle of the river — just in case they've sent some sharp-shooters down the left bank. There's going to be a full moon shortly, the skies are cloudless so we might as well carry on. Kellner and Hiller must be distinctly worried about us by this time.'

Tracy said: 'Why the two empty canoes?'

'I told you yesterday evening that there were falls about fifty miles below the town. That's why we had to airlift the hovercraft beyond them. The falls are about twenty miles farther on now. We'll have to make a portage there and it would be impossible to make it with this elephant. When we get there and have emptied her we'll give her a shove over the edge. Maybe she'll survive, the falls are only fifteen feet.'

Some little time later the now bailed-out motor-launch glided gently down the centre of the river, six men at the paddles but not exerting themselves; the current bore them along. The newly risen moon gleamed softly on the brown water. It was a peaceful scene.

Five hours later, as Hamilton guided the launch into the left bank, the passengers could distinctly hear the sound of the falls ahead, no Niagara roar, but unmistakably falls. They made the bank and tied up to a tree. The portage was not more than a hundred yards. First all the equipment, food and personal luggage were carried down, then the two canoes, and just in case the motor-launch should survive its fall, the three cooking utensils for bailing as well.

Hamilton and Navarro climbed into a canoe and reached a spot where the white water ended about a hundred feet below the foot of the falls and paddled gently to maintain position. Both men were looking upriver towards the falls beyond which, they knew, Ramon was at work.

For half a minute there was only the brown-white smoothness of the Rio da Morte sliding vertically downwards. Then the bows of the motor-launch came in sight, appeared to hesitate, until suddenly the entire boat was over and plunging down. There was a loud smack and a considerable cloud of spray as the launch first entered the water then disappeared entirely. All of ten seconds elapsed before it reappeared. But reappear it did, and, remarkably, right side up.

The launch, so full of water that there were only about four inches of freeboard left, drifted sluggishly downstream until Hamilton got a line aboard. With no little difficulty he and Navarro towed it to the left bank and tied up. Bailing operations commenced.

The brightly illuminated hovercraft lay anchored in mid-river. Navigation, deck and cabin lights were on. Kellner and Hiller were already close to despair because the expected arrivals were already fifteen hours late and it hardly seemed likely that if they hadn't arrived by that time that they would be arriving at all. They had no cause for worry as far as they themselves were concerned. They had only to continue down-river till they came to the junction with the Araguaia and some form of civilisation. Both men were prepared to wait indefinitely and both for the same unexplained reason: they had faith in Hamilton's powers of survival. And so Kellner had his hovercraft lit up like a Christmas tree. He was taking no chances that the helicopter would bypass him in the darkness.

He and Hiller, both men with their machine-pistols immediately and constantly ready to hand, stood on the brief after-deck between the fans, ears always straining for the first faint intimation of the rackety clamour of the Sikorsky. But it was his eyes that gave Kellner the answer he was waiting for, not his ears. He peered upriver, peered more closely, then switched on and trained the hover-craft's powerful searchlight.

A powerless but impassively manned motor-launch and two canoes had just appeared in line ahead round a bend in the Rio da Morte.