When the Arrow Flies

picked up any cup at any time and dipped it into the clay drinking pot holding drinking water. Likewise anybody ate out of any plate, washed or unwashed. Everybody was well but Harold, whose dysentery kept him in perpetual motion. The hunger pangs were gnawing their stomachs mercilessly before Rodriguez announced that they could come to dine. Rachel cooked in black iron cauldrons set on rocks over the open fire. Her guests sat on boxes and tins for the repast. She had prepared fried chicken with plenty of savory seasoning and a pot of rice cooked in broth. Rachel was an unusual person. She was below average in height, but of muscular build and always wore a holster with a loaded .32 revolver. She worked about cooking or making coffee and never stopped talking. Really it seemed impossible for a woman to travel under such uncivilized conditions with a party made up only of men, but she would not be left behind. It was going to make it mighty inconvenient for the others. In the treacherous ordeal that lay before them, Rachel would fully exercise her gift of saying the right thing at the wrong time. On the sixth day the boys decided to move their hammocks and personal belongings to the waterfall they had discovered. This would be a good fishing ground. Ten days passed, then two weeks, two weeks and a half. Still the

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