“Agreed,” Gamay said. “Now, as for food, I'm fresh out of granola bars. I've been watching the birds eating the berries on that bush. I don't see any dead birds, so they're probably not poison.”

“Berries it is,” Paul said. “They can't be that bad.”

Trout was wrong. The berries were so bitter it was impossible to eat even one without puckering up. With empty stomachs, the Trouts struck off along the shore of the lake. At one point where the mud looked like quicksand, they climbed to higher ground and stumbled onto a footpath. The trail was overgrown and looked as if it hadn't seen any recent use. Still, they proceeded cautiously, ready to dive into the bushes if they encountered anyone.

They trekked along the path for about a mile until they came to a place where mists from the lake rolled into the forest like vapor from a fog machine. The leafy growth was as wet as if it had been pelted by a rain shower, and the roar of the falls was like the beating of a thousand kettledrums. They were aware that the same noise that muffled their movement could drown out the approach of a marching army. 'The air became chilly and so damp that they put their hands over their noses so they wouldn't gag. The visibility was only a few feet, and they kept their heads low so their eyes could pick out the path.

Then, suddenly, they were out of the forest. If they were expecting to burst out on a beautiful valley like wayfarers in Shangri-la, they were disappointed. The forest was no different on the other side of the mists. The path no longer led along the lake but instead veered off along a tributary that the canoes must have followed.

After a few minutes Gamay stopped and shook her head. “Notice anything strange about this little river?”

Paul walked over to the edge of the banking. “Yes, it's much too straight to be natural. It looks as if someone has taken an existing stream and marsh and cleared them out with shovel and pick.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Gamay started walking again. “As I said, the Chulo are most fascinating.”

They plodded ahead for several hours. They had fashioned hats from palm leaves and stopped frequently to quench their thirst from the river. At one point they waited out a shower. They became more tense and watchful as the path widened, and they began to see the imprints of a bare foot in the soft, dark earth.

After a short discussion, they decided to follow the river for a while longer, then hide in the forest until dark. They were dog tired and needed to replenish their energy. As they plodded along they encountered a path coming in from the forest to their right. It was made of thousands of flat stones and reminded Gamay of the Maya or Inca roads. It was as good as anything she had seen on the Appian Way. Their curiosity got the best of them, and they followed the paved path for five more minutes. They were drawn on even farther by a gleam through the trees.