“But there might be more men.” Stew hung back.
“Nonsense! If there were others they wouldn’t have hidden the drums!”
“Guess you’re right.” Stew followed Jack.
Once they were at the spot the plane had just left, they were convinced at once that the mystery plane actually burned kerosene, for the air was filled with kerosene fumes and the buckets and barrels smelled of it. “Kerosene, beyond a doubt,” Jack exclaimed. “Think of doing four or five hundred miles per hour on kerosene!
“Come on! Let’s get out of here! They may come back.” He led the way rapidly up the slope.
There was little room to doubt that the trail they had followed was used by natives as well as by animals, for on their way back they came upon fresh prints of bare feet in the soft earth.
Stew had uncomfortable visions of poisoned arrows and darts from blowguns flying at them through the brush, but Jack, gripping his automatic, marched straight ahead.
Arriving at the spot where the narrow stream tumbled down, they decided to follow it to its source. In just a moment they found themselves confronted with a problem. They had come to a thicket of thorny bushes. These formed an arch over the stream.
“Just one thing to do—pull off our shoes and wade it,” Jack decided.
“Go native.” Stew laughed as he kicked off his G.I. brogans.
“Whew! Cold!” he exclaimed as he plunged his feet into the water. But on they went. Tumbling down a steep slope the stream formed many pools, some fairly large. As he waded through one of these up to his knees, Jack exclaimed:
“There are fish in this pool! I feel them tickling my toes!”
“Great!” Stew was an ardent, though usually an unlucky, fisherman. “Got a line?”
“I sure have!” Jack pulled a hook and line from his pocket. “I took it from the rubber raft. They all carry them now, just in case.”
“And you brought one along, just in case,” Stew laughed. “Wait till we’re out in the clear and we’ll hook our dinner.”
Just then Jack paused to listen. From up stream there came the sound of splashing water, then of rocks rolling down, and after that a hoarse grunt.
“Probably doing a little fishing on their own,” Jack suggested.
“Boy! Wouldn’t a young porker taste good roasted over the coals! And here they don’t take ration points!” Stew laughed.
