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cloud drifted over the forest.
    ‘Butterflies,’ said Terry. ‘Just a few billion of them. And there’s another cloud — parakeets. You get your clouds in all colours in this country — green, yellow, red, and mixed. Wait till you see the parrots and toucans. You’ll think you’re looking at a picture in technicolour.’
    ‘What’s this stream beneath us?’ That, my dear sir, is the Amazon. Or at least it’s the Patate which becomes the Pastaza which becomes the Maranon which becomes the Amazon.’
    ‘And to think,’ said John Hunt, ‘that here within a hundred miles or so of the Pacific Ocean, the water turns its back on the Pacific and starts on a three-thousand-mile hike to the Atlantic’
    ‘And we’re starting on the same hike,’ said Hal. There was a thrill in that thought but a certain amount of fear too. The mystery of the unknown lay ahead. No other region on earth had so many secrets locked in its heart.
    Presently the Patate joined hands with the Chambo to form the Pastaza, river of the Jivaro headhunters. A little frontier post called Topo passed beneath, then Mera, then Terry prepared to come down at a jungle village called Puyo.
    Hal was referring to his guidebook: ‘Here the known world ends and the Amazonian wilderness begins. Penetration beyond Puyo is not possible even on horseback… .’
    It would have been possible by plane, but the plane was going back to Quito. The only other way was by boat. No westerner had ever gone down the Pastaza, and on John Hunt’s American Geographical Society map it was marked with a dotted line, meaning unexplored.
    If this expedition were successful, that dotted line would be made solid. More than that, the animal life of a new region would be revealed. That was what most interested the three wild-animal collectors. A waterfall appeared below, a hanging bridge across the river, then a clearing. Terry was nosing down into it.
    ‘What’s your stalling speed?’ asked Hal.
    ‘Sixty-five.’
    It seemed a very small field to strike at a speed of more than a mile a minute. And no brakes!
    At the far end of the field were a number of thatched huts. The plane plunged across the field, crushed the straw wall of a large hut, and came to a halt in the living-room-dining-room-bedroom among the members of a very startled household.
    That was the introduction of the Hunts to the headhunters. Luckily none of the Indians was hurt, or four new heads might have been added speedily to the brown ones on the shelves.

Chapter 4
Headhunters
    Even so, for a moment it looked like rough going. The Indians snatched up spears and knives. Others came running into the hut and everyone was armed. The place resounded with the screams of women, the cries of children, and the menacing shouts of the warriors.
    Then the smiling Irishman stuck his head out of the cockpit door. He called a merry greeting to an old man who turned out to be the chief. The angry chatter turned into a noisy welcome. These people knew Terry. This had been an outpost for the gatherers of cinchona, source of quinine, and Terry had been there many times.
    Terry introduced his friends. The Indians conducted their guests in a triumphant procession through the village to the chiefs house. The Hunts were astonished at the fine appearance of the village.
    ‘Lucky we struck a straw hut instead of one of these,’ said Hal. Most of the houses in the village were well-built of solid timbers. There were plots of corn, beans and bananas. Inside the houses could be seen looms on which cotton cloth was woven. On the shore of the swift Pastaza River were boats skillfully hollowed out of logs.
    ‘They’re a very clever people,’ said Terry, noting the surprise of his guests. ‘And very brave. The Incas never conquered them. The Spaniards ruled them for only a short time — then the Indians rebelled and threw the Spaniards out. The government of Ecuador gets along with them by leaving them alone.’
    ‘Where do they get