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bad shape, I would be more than willing to go look.’

‘OK, OK, don’t get yourself all worked up,’ I said. ‘I’ll go.’

I found Karl dragging a young balsa log through the sand. Marcus was right; Karl was ticked off.

‘Why the hell didn’t you come back? Am I your slave? I’m always willing to do everything, but I can’t do it without help.’

‘Kevin came to look for you, but he couldn’t find you.’

‘Don’t give me that. The whole jungle heard me hitting that tree with the machete. How could he not find me?’

But Karl was a good-natured guy. He never stayed angry for more than a few minutes and was always easily appeased.

We prepared the fibres from the second log and rapidly tightened the loose balsa logs to the main body of the raft. Then we were on our way again. The raft was in good shape, but the river was no longer calm. It became narrower, and the terrain around us grew mountainous. The river wound around numerous bends and scarcely had a bank. Karl soon grew tense. The current carried us up against the rocks and onto the sloping banks. In many places the rapids were white and frothy.

I was in the stern, holding the left oar. Kevin was on the right. Marcus stood next to Karl in the bow. We were rapidly approaching a bend in the river a few hundred yards ahead. Farther on we could see