Color drained from Dieter's florid face. “I did not mean I would not tell you. I only meant there must be room to negotiate.”

“All opportunity for negotiation has passed, regretfully. I'm tired of this affair. I'm tired of you.” He raised the pistol to Dieter's lips. “I'm tired of your lying mouth.”

There was a tremendous boom, and the lower half of the Dutchman's face disappeared in an explosion of crimson from the point-blank shot. The monocle popped from his unbelieving eye, and his body toppled over backward like a tree felled by a chainsaw.

The Frenchman turned the smoking gun on Paul. “As for you, I don't know if you are telling the truth or not. My instinct tells me that you are. It's very unfortunate that you happened to visit this pig. Nothing personal, but I can't let you carry away news of what has been going on.” He shook his head sadly. “I assure you, I will make it quick for your beautiful wife.”

Paul was light-years ahead of the Frenchman. He'd been shocked by Dieter's summary execution, but he knew immediately what Arnaud's move meant for Gamay and him. No witnesses. Trout's lanky body and normally languorous movements were deceptive. He could move quickly when he had to. He tensed his arms, ready to grab Arnaud's wrist and twist him to the ground. He knew that at the best he would take the bullet, but Gamay might get away in the confusion. At the worst, they would both be killed.

As Arnaud's finger tightened on the trigger and Trout prepared to make his last-ditch move, there was a sound, half grunt, half cough, from the Indian wearing the Yankees baseball cap. He had dropped the shotgun, and now he looked down in terror at the brown wooden shaft of an oversized arrow that protruded at least two feet from the front of his chest. Its barbed point glistened with red. He made a motion to grab onto the arrow, but the tremendous hemorrhaging from the projectile took its toll, and he crumpled to the ground near Dieter's body.

Another Indian cried out. “Chulo!” A giant arrow cut him down as soon as the shout left his lips.

His companions took up the horrified chant.

“Chulo! Chulo!”

There was a strange ululating cry, and a ghastly blue-and white face appeared in the bushes. Then another, and within seconds the masklike faces seemed to be everywhere. More arrows filled the air. More Indians fell. Torches dropped or were thrown to the ground in panic.

In the darkness and confusion Paul's long arm reached over and grabbed Gamay by the wrist, shocking her out of her trance. Ducking low, they ran toward the river with the same thought. Get to the boat. In their frantic haste they almost bowled over the slender figure who stepped out of the shadows and stood in their way.

“Stop!” she said firmly.

It was Dieter's wife, Tessa.

“We're going to the boat,” Gamay said. “Come with us.”