Gretta moved cautiously forward, arms outstretched and waving like wings as she struggled for balance on the stony riverbed. The two men watched, holding the rope firmly, as the water rose up over her hips and settled about her waist.

She paused, feeling for the bottom with her foot, then turned back and announced that she was going to have to swim the last few yards so they should get a strong grip on the rope. Arnold waved and braced himself beside the professor as Gretta leaned forward into the current and lunged toward the rock.

There was a tense moment when she seemed to drift past the boulder but with a great effort, she managed to grasp the rock and drag herself up out of the river.

"Okay," she called, standing up and waving.

Arnold felt his mouth drop as stared at her water-soaked clothes; even at a distance there was little to disguise the heretofore-imagined fantasy that was Gretta. The professor busied himself with anchoring the rope to a small tree, clucking his disapproval at Arnold.

"For heaven's sake, man, have you never seen a woman before?"

Arnold clamped his mouth shut and turned his flaming face to the professor, head shaking negatively. "Not like Gretta. Never."

"You go next." The command was brusque and devoid of tolerance.

Arnold shouldered his pack and took hold of the rope with a grip of steel, stepping into the river and gasping as the water filled his boots.

"C'mon, you're doing fine, Arny."

He stared straight ahead, eyes glued to Gretta's sopping shirt as his beacon to safety. Her hand reached down and he refocused, letting go of the rope and grabbing her strong fingers. After a brief, clumsy scramble, he stood shakily beside her on the rock, cheeks still flaming.

"Good job. You okay? You look a little dazed." She turned her attention to the professor who was tying the rope about his waist and waiting for her to take up the slack.

"Uumh...unng... yuuuhh."

"Grab this and hold tight, we don't want to lose Cheesy downstream somewhere."

Arnold did as he was told and with a little effort, they managed to get him safely onto the rock where they all took a few moments to sit and recoup.

"I'm afraid you've shattered our young friend's equilibrium, dear." The professor flicked his eyes at Gretta's top as he cleaned his glasses on a dry portion of his own shirt.

She looked down and then straight at Arnold whose blush was accompanied with a mewling sound of protest.

"Just what is it with men-or should I say boys-your age?" She plucked the wet material away from her chest and stood up, hands on hips. "Better?" Arnold shook his head then nodded then shook his head again, his face suffusing with a deep pink.

"Grab the rope and tie it to that stump over there," she said stiffly as she urged him off the rock and into the water again. The wade was a short one and the water was only chest high, giving Arnold another case of sweats as he imagined Gretta crossing this portion behind him.

The small fire did its best to damp dry the clothes strung around it while the owners used an exceptionally large fern as a change screen to slip into a change from their packs. Gretta's deliberate choice of a dark blue tank top and khaki shorts did little for Arnold's comfort.

He avoided her daring stares as he moved about, organizing his things and fastening his pack ready to move on. The professor shot her a scolding look, holding her defiant return until her eyes dropped, conceding the childishness of the behaviour.

They began the laborious climb, slipping and grasping for roots and weeds as they made their way to the top of the ridge. Gretta was first up and had been looking at the map when Arny and the professor staggered up to her. She stood, folded it up and pointed.

"We'll go in that direction," she said, pointing toward another, smaller plateau. "Wild ox could be somewhere up there, among other inhabitants; keep your eyes peeled for spoor." Gretta led off at a quick pace.

"How could you miss an ox spoor?" Arnold muttered, scrambling to keep up.

"Natural fertilizer doesn't last very long in this eco-system," the professor lectured. "It's not like your domestic cow flap in a farmer's field."

Arnold grunted and hauled himself up the grade where once again his attention was diverted to the impossible image of flexing khaki shorts.

At the top of the falls, the landscape underwent a magical change. Instead of the humid dripping ferns and plants, there were rough grasses and more familiar tree and bush types again. The sky was a watery blue with traces of ribbon cloud and the sun beat down in an unrestricted blaze.

They refilled canteens then refreshed themselves at the top of the second plateau, pausing to eat a snack from their rations. Even while wishing his hat brim provided more shade, Arnold was relieved to be out of the claustrophobic jungle. On this plateau there were birds and butterflies and the feeling that he was in a more familiar environment. Listening to the steady whoosh of the falls he almost forgot how and why he was there-almost.

"Keep your eyes skinned for jaguar." Gretta's statement shocked him out of his bucolic reverie.

"Jaguar? I thought it was ox spoor we should watch for?"

"Don't let her alarm you, son," the professor sighed, "it's doubtful you'll see any up on this plane. There are other creatures to beware of though, so just be careful." He stood and began moving off toward the heavier tree line.

"Other creatures? What . . . " Arnold watched Gretta striding after the professor leaving him talking to himself.

Gretta and the professor were squatting and pointing at the ground when Arnold finally caught up. The grass was worn away and flattened and there were obvious signs of activity: broken shrubs, overturned stones.

"Thanks for waiting," he puffed to a stop. "What have we got?"

"We've got what we think was another of William's markers. It looks like there have been other people by here since his time." The professor pointed to a distinct heel print from a boot that was beside the overturned stones.

"Is that so strange? I mean it was well over a year ago you said since your uncle was here. Surely other people explore around here don't they?"

"Arnold, this isn't a big park where families come to picnic. This is virgin territory for the most part. Nothing stays the same here for very long, so when we see signs of life it's not from very long ago."

Feeling patronized and intimidated, Arnold asked what was on his mind anyway. "Would whoever this was," he said, pointing to the track behind them, "be following the same signs?"

"Quite likely."

"Right . . ." So much for that.

*****

Thomaso Perez checked his watch as he sped along the route to San Lorenzo. The professor would be calling in and if he didn't raise Thomaso on the radio, he would try his cell, which was in the pocket of his jacket in the back seat along with Vincent.

He tried to think of an excuse to stop and get to the phone to shut it off before the call came through but he could think of nothing. The man beside him would not be listening to any phony excuses.

"How much longer," Vincent complained from the back. "My back's killin' me." Claude turned to Thomaso and tilted his head in question.

"About one hour or so, señor."

Thomaso looked at Claude, who made a face but nodded assent, and pulled over to the side of the road. The three men climbed out and walked about the jeep, stretching their legs and fanning themselves in the hot sun.

Without even a warm breeze from driving, the air filled their nostrils with a thick humidity. Thomaso reached into the back for his jacket and fumbled for the switch on his phone.

"Whatta ya got there, beaner?" Claude clamped a hand on Thomaso's wrist and pulled it out of the pocket along with the phone.

"Please, señor, I was going to call my wife to tell her where I was and when I would be home." He winced as Claude twisted the wrist, sending Thomaso to his knees.

"Hey, Claude," Vincent shouted, "we need him to drive. Leave the poor prick alone."

Claude took the phone and dropped it on the ground, stomping on it and grinding the bits into the gravel. "Give me your wife's number and I'll call her when we get to this Lorenzo place."

He watched the panic spread across the driver's face and he laughed aloud, tossing the man's arm aside. "Don't like that idea?" He laughed again.

"Let's go," Vincent said with disgust, and they climbed back into the jeep and resumed their journey, Thomaso felt relieved that his phone problem was solved but still sweating under the scrutiny of his passenger.

The jeep slowed as it negotiated a sharp turn that led down into a shallow valley. At the shoulder of the road a dead cow served as a buffet for a bevy of scavengers that retreated temporarily until the jeep passed.

Vincent wrinkled his nose and wearily massaged his face with his good hand, wishing he was anywhere but where he was. Claude sat up and poked Thomaso, telling him to pull over.

"What now?" Vincent struggled to sit up and turn around.

"Take a look."

Vincent looked at the miserable huts at the side of the road with a tiny clearing alongside. "What am I supposed to see?"

Claude climbed out without answering and went to examine the ground in the clearing then he headed for the first hut just as a short, elderly man emerged.

"Buenos tardes, señor." The older man smiled nervously as Claude pushed past and peered into the hut. "¿Qúe quiere?"

"What's he want?" Claude turned to the driver.

"He's asking what do you want, señor."

"Tell him I want to know when the Americanos stayed here."

Thomaso spoke rapidly, exchanging information with the older man. "He says he doesn't know of any Americanos staying here. He says his hut is for his family only, it is not a hotel."

Claude stepped into the hut and dragged a woman outside by the hair, tossing her on the ground in front of the man. "Tell him once more."

"Please, señor, he is just a simple peasant, he knows nothing."

"Then he's no good, is he?" In one swift move, Claude drew a large knife from his belt and grabbed the old man about the neck. The woman struggled to her knees screaming the word no through her tears and Vincent stepped forward, too late to stop Claude but in time to catch the falling, lifeless form of the old man.

Blood splashed over the body and onto the ground and Vincent swore, dropping the weight and stepping back.

"Jesus, Claude, are you out of your mind? What the hell was that about?" He shook the hand with the splint that was now spattered with blood.

The woman threw herself on the body, sobs wracking her frame. Thomaso sagged to his haunches and removed his sombrero, crossing himself and muttering a prayer.

"Ask her what I asked him." Claude ordered, ignoring Vincent.

Thomaso tried to protest but the sight of the knife altered his approach and he bent down, lifting the woman off the body and trying to sooth her. After a moment, she muttered something and Thomaso glanced up and then back at the woman, telling her to be quiet.

"What did she say, Beaner?"

"She knows nothing, señor. She says no one has stayed here."

"¿Cómo se dice . . . bullshit!"

Thomaso paled, realizing that Claude understood and spoke Spanish, and let the woman slide to the ground as he scurried backward on his seat.

"No se mueva." Claude barked, telling Thomas to freeze where he was. He grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged her back inside the hut, pushing the flimsy door closed with a bang.

Vincent shook his head and went back to the jeep, rummaging through his pack until he found the small bottle he'd stowed for a treat. Thomaso lay trembling on the ground, listening to the shrieks coming from the hut.

His eyes drifted over to Vincent, pleading and getting a helpless shrug in return. After a while, Claude came out of the hut tucking in his shirt and spitting noisily on the ground next to Thomaso.

"Next time I tell you to get information, you'd better do it . . . and fast. Now get in there and drive."

"What about-?" Vincent started.

"Never mind her. She doesn't need your help- but she did know where they went."