01 Amazon Adventure by Willard Price Page B

nervously. The sound was battered back and forth between the cliffs, rising and quickening until it became a devilish rattle and then wailed away in a mournful whine down the canyon.
    ‘Shut up!’ said Hal irritably.
    The canyon twisted and squirmed. At each turn Hal looked for trouble but there was none. The river was free of rocks, deep and oily smooth and in a tremendous hurry. Another turn. Now a breath of sound drifted up the canyon, but before he could decide whether it was made by water or wind it was gone. He looked up to see if the trees that lined the canyon’s edge were blowing. They were stone still. Far above, several dozen scarlet a great crimson V flew across the blue ribbon. Perhaps they had made the sound.
    Looking up to that sunlit blue was like looking out through the bars of a jail into a free world. This gorge was like a prison. Hal instinctively dug in his paddle and hurried the canoe along towards whatever danger there might be ahead. He was impatient to get it done with.
    He shivered. The equator was nearby and yet it was cold between these black, sunless walls. He felt strangely alone and helpless. His father appeared to be asleep. Roger had no feeling of responsibility. He was trying to feed Nosey from the bottle of goat’s milk. The little tapir slobbered noisily and each slobber came back from the walls like a handclap. The youngster’s whimper was turned by the cliffs into a faint, cackling laugh.
    Hal admitted to himself that he was having a bad case of the jitters. He wished that they had stayed out of this hellhole. It would have been better to fight the Indians.
    But he knew this was not true. If they had killed some Indians the only result would have been to bring hundreds more upon their necks.
    Again a sound drifted up the canyon, and as the canoe swept around a curve Hal hoped to see the gorge open out. Instead, it seemed to be closing in. The crests of the cliffs came closer together and large trees locked their branches across the chasm. Presently the rock ceiling was complete overhead. They were in a tunnel. Roger could not see to feed Nosey and looked up, bewildered.
    The darkness deepened. Now Hal could not see the paddle in his hand. The black water and black walls were all one. It was useless to steer; the current must do the steering. If there happened to be a great rock in the middle of the current — well, it was just too bad.
    No wonder the Indians had not followed. Hal had read of streams that disappear underground to become subterranean rivers. He remembered a story under the title, The River of No Return. It was not a comforting thought.
    ‘Holy smokes! What’s that?’ cried Roger.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Something flying around us.’
    The air was pulsating with the beat of wings. ‘Must be bats.’ Hal said. They were on every side. There must be hundreds of them. Hal pulled his head lower to avoid them although he knew that the radar-like equipment of the bat enables it to fly in pitch darkness without striking anything — unless it wants to.
    Unless it wants to. Suppose these were some of the vampire bats that were so common in the American tropics and that liked nothing better than to pierce the skin of a warmblooded animal, such as man, and lap up blood. But he tried to tell himself that they would not attack anything in swift motion.
    Now the cavern was filled with the fine squeaking of the bats. But under their high soprano there was developing a deep baritone.
    That was the sound of water. It grew into a thunder, but it was still distant. Could there be an underground waterfall? Would they be carried blindly over it and dashed to pieces on unseen
    rocks?
    Hal had been taught to believe that he was master of his fate. But now he and his companions were being whirled along to an unknown destiny and there was not one thing he could do about it.
    The river seemed to make a sudden turn and the canoe scraped against a wall. Hal clutched at the wall and his hand ploughed