The progress of the dugouts was almost stealthy. Not a paddle thumped or splashed, not a voice spoke. They moved with the alert caution born not of fear, but of wary readiness for any sudden event--like prowling jungle creatures which, themselves seeking quarry, must be ever on guard lest they become the hunted instead of the hunters. For the past two days they had moved thus. The last fresh meat had been shot miles down the river, where a well-placed bullet from the rifle of McKay had downed a fat swamp deer. Since that day not a gun had been fired. The rations now were tough jerked beef and monkey meat, slabs of salt pirarucu fish, and farinha, varied by tinned delicacies from the stores of the Americans. Henceforth gunfire was taboo unless it should become necessary in self-defense. At length the fore canoe halted with an abruptness that told of back strokes of the blades hidden under water. McKay, bowman of the trailing craft, also backed water, while his mates held their paddles rigid. The two boats drifted together. "This is the place," Lourenço said, speaking low. The Americans, scanning the shore, saw nothing to differentiate the spot from the rest of the wilderness growth. Yet Lourenço's tone was sure. Pedro's face also showed recognition of his surroundings. With no apparent motion of the paddles--though the wrists of the paddlers moved almost imperceptibly--the canoe of the bushmen floated to the bank. They picked up their rifles, twitched their bow up on land, and turned their faces to the forest. "Stay here," was Pedro's subdued command, "until you hear the bird-call which we taught you down the river." He and Lourenço faded into the dimness and were gone. "Beats me how them guys find their way 'round," muttered Tim. "I could land here twenty times hand-runnin', but if I went away and then come back I'd never know the place." "It's all in the feel of it," was McKay's low-toned explanation. "They find places and travel the bush as an Indian does--by a sixth sense. Take them to New York City, guide them around, then turn them loose--and they'd be hopelessly lost in ten minutes." The others nodded agreement and sat watching. In the shadows no creature moved. Afar off some bird cried mournfully like a lost soul condemned to wander forever alone in the grim green solitudes. No other sound came to the listeners save the ever-present hum of the big forest mosquitoes, to which they now had become indifferent. For all they could see or hear of their two guides, they might as well have been alone. Yet they knew the Brazilians were not far away, threading the maze with sure step and scouting hawk-eyed for any sign of danger.