River Of Death

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.'