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’ll 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, upriver, 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 pla
yed 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 upriver. 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 midriver. 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 downriver 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 afterdeck 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 hovercraft’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.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The hovercraft’s cabin was luxuriously furnished although on a necessarily small scale. The bar was splendidly if selectively equipped and, at the moment, well patronised. Most of the passengers from the wrecked helicopter gave the impression of having escaped from the jaws of death. The atmosphere was relaxed, a
lmost convivial, and the spirit of the departed Heffner did not appear to hover over the company.
Hamilton said to Kellner: ‘Any trouble during the night?’
‘Not really. A couple of canoe-loads of Indians approached us just after midnight. We turned the searchlight on them and they turned and headed back for shore.’
‘No shooting?’
‘None.’
‘Good. Now, the big question tomorrow is the rapids that the Indians call the Hoehna.’
‘Rapids?’ Kellner said. ‘There are no rapids shown on the chart.’
‘I daresay. Nevertheless, they’re there. Never been through them myself although I’ve seen them from the air. Don’t look anything special from up there, but then nothing ever does. Much experience with rapids?’
‘A fair bit,’ Kellner said. ‘Nothing that a boat hasn’t navigated though.’
‘I’m told boats have made it through the Hoehna.’
‘So where’s the problem? A hovercraft can navigate rapids that no boat made by man could ever hope to.’
Serrano said: ‘Knowing you, Senor Hamilton, I thought you would have had us on our way by this time. A clear night. Bright moon. A beautiful night for sailing. Or is it “flying” in one of those machines?’
‘We need a good night’s rest, all of us. It’s going to be a hard day tomorrow. The Hoehna rapids are less than a hundred miles away. How long to get there, Kellner?’
‘Three hours. Less, if you want.’
‘One does not navigate rapids by night. And only a madman goes there in the hours of darkness. Because of the Horena, you see.’
Tracy said: ‘The Horena? Another Indian tribe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like the Chapate?’
‘They’re not at all like the Chapate. The Horena are the Roman lions, the Chapate the Christians. The Horena put the fear of living death into the Chapate.’
River of Death Page 10
