The Hills of Death by Melvin Douglas Smart

Author:Melvin Douglas Smart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Strategic Book Publishing and Rights Co

Chapter Fifteen:

Sergio’s Plans

The Río Negua was not as wide as the Atrato, nevertheless, at the lower reaches, it was an impressive feature. They were now faced with a three-hour journey against a strong current before they would reach their next river fork. Each took turns at the steering while periodically Aguero topped up the fuel tank. When at the tiller, Juan was given instructions to keep to the centre of the stream and away from the river’s edge. This was for two reasons; first, to avoid the possibility of snagging underwater obstacles, and second, because they had now entered what Aguero termed Indian country.

The native Embera Indians, who mostly lived near the rivers where they practiced hunting and fishing, had in recent years become somewhat hostile towards foreign intruders. This had been brought about by the encroachment onto their ancestral land by foreigners who came and destroyed their forest and polluted their rivers with their mining and other activities, and by the aggression shown to them by both the rebel army and government forces. Given the chance, a lone hunter, hidden at the water’s edge, would aim an arrow or two at any passing boat.

Juan was not convinced and didn’t think some solitary native with a bow and arrow could be any kind of a threat and laughed at Aguero’s concern. The boatman was not impressed by his companion’s lack of understanding and endeavoured to explain his reasoning.

“The arrow would probably not kill you, Señor Juan, but the slightest scratch from the arrow’s tip would.” He explained that the Embera Indians have a little yellow frog called Phyllobate terribilis and they only have to rub their arrow tips against the frog’s skin and it becomes more deadly than any bullet. Aguero’s advice was adhered to, and when steering, Juan made certain he kept to the centre stream and away from the shore.

As they progressed further upriver, it was noticeable that the terrain became hillier and the water more difficult to navigate. Not knowing the river or its dangers, Juan no longer felt confident with the tiller and allowed Aguero and Pablo to take over. Finally, they reached their next turning point. Where the rivers joined, it formed into an island and again they took the right fork, which was the continuation of the Negua.

It had rained several times since leaving the soldiers, but for the last half hour, the weather had cleared somewhat, giving them a better view. All around, the jungle-covered hills were shrouded in a strange kind of mist which to Juan seemed to be almost alive. The mist sometimes formed into small, wispy, white clouds which moved and twisted in the air currents, forming weird ghostly shapes.

The hours passed. They had seen no sign of any human activity, and with only the surrounding dense vegetation, Juan felt he had arrived at a true wilderness. He was beginning to wonder once more why his uncle had brought him to such a wild and lonely location and felt as if he were being drawn into some kind of a trap with no way of escape.

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