THERE WAS NO TIME to discuss adopting that orphaned baby, or anything else that might have been. They could only swing their packs to their shoulders and head for the door. Everything else they had was already in their pockets, including the golden quipu that Skip had temporarily forgotten about.

They scooted around the corner of the hut facing away from the village and ducked into the trees, sacrificing distance for cover.

"What did you do that upset them so?" asked Nusiri as she ran.

"Me? Nothing that Killa or Jack Fawcett didn't give their blessings to. It's just the fact that we're even here, and have seen things that some believe we shouldn't see."

"I thought Killa and her clan liked us."

"Not everyone here is on her side."

A blur of motion passed in front of his face as he heard the dull clunk of an object hitting a tree. An arrow with yellow feathers. He glanced to his left, toward the village, and saw Puma and three others running parallel to them, no doubt trying to head them off before they got to the river. They were the ones with a more direct line to the beached canoes, and at the moment, it looked like Puma and his band would win the race.

Something else flashed nearby. A blowpipe dart this time. The shots all seemed to be aimed at Skip specifically. He wondered if Puma's plan was to kill him, and take Nusiri and Zane captive.

He could see the canoes up ahead. Less than a hundred yards to go. Not that it would help much to reach an escape boat first. The others would just jump in another canoe and follow. But any time they could buy might mean the difference between life and death.

Seventy-five yards. Nusiri stumbled on a tree root stretched across their path. Skip grabbed her hand, steadied her, and pulled her along.

Fifty yards. Zane eased ahead, his nimble footwork skipping over the low-slung trip hazards as if they weren't there.

Twenty-five yards. Zane had almost reached the canoe he'd picked out for them, a sleek dugout with three paddles already aboard, the closest one to them.

Fifty feet. Another arrow slammed into the last tree as they ran beyond cover.

Thirty feet. Just a few more strides.

Twenty feet. Zane clambered aboard, grabbing a paddle as he did so.

Ten feet. Skip pushed Nusiri ahead. She took a couple more steps, and then was aboard herself.

Five feet. Skip lunged, got hold of the edge of the canoe, and gave it a shove into the current as he climbed in and grabbed the remaining paddle.

After a few powerful strokes, he dared look back. Puma's men were already climbing into two canoes, two to a craft. Puma himself still stood on shore, readying one last shot before he also continued the chase. He had a spear fitted to one of those atlatl devices. A second later, the spear slammed into the stern of Skip's canoe, narrowly missing him. A second after that, Puma was in and paddling for all he was worth, in hot pursuit.

Skip had a slight advantage in that his canoe had three people paddling, while the others had only two. But Puma's paddlers were stronger, and they knew this river well. Skip now wished he had picked up his raft, with its outboard motor, the other day when he had the chance. For the moment, he maintained a lead of couple hundred yards, but who knew how long that would last? Puma and his men were smart enough to hold off on shots, not wanting to waste any arrows or spears that they couldn't retrieve. Still, Skip was careful to keep changing his angle, not giving them a straight shot. Neither would he get his craft sideways to them, exposing a wider area that would be too easy to hit. For now it was a waiting game, a chase in slow motion. Skip could see Puma smiling, could hear his men laughing. For them, it had become sport, hounds after a hare. Only Skip and his family were the hapless rabbits.

Moving downstream, they were making good time. Skip read the river and kept to the swiftest part of the current as much as possible. But he knew that behind them, less than a hundred yards now, Puma's little fleet was doing the same.

An arrow whizzed by, between Skip and Nusiri, sailing past without harm, but much too close for comfort. Skip had foolishly lulled himself into not thinking that if they had a clear, steady shot, they would take it. He glanced over his shoulder and was shocked to see the lead canoe now only about a hundred and fifty feet back, off his starboard stern.

There was something else. Just for a second, he could have sworn he saw a jaguar, standing in the shadows on the bank, watching them.

He looked ahead again, saw a short drop-off between two large boulders, where the water ran faster. He took it, slipped into the rapid below, and gained a few precious yards, the boulders helping to spoil any further shot.

In front of him, Zane was still going strong, but he could see that Nusiri was beginning to tire. His own muscles ached and cried for rest, but he dug in all the harder. Even going downstream, he wasn't going to depend on the current alone to get them to safety.

And finally, that safety was almost in sight. The river junction was just ahead, and their own boat, with its little four-horse motor that could at least outrun a canoe.

As they landed their borrowed ride minutes later, their pursuers were hot on their heels. Puma had seen through their plan and had already beached his own canoe, aiming to run ahead on shore and head them off around the bend. Another arrow flew out from the other boat and went wide, sent by a young warrior with more eagerness than patience.

Skip, Nusiri, and Zane leaped out of the canoe, tossed their packs into their own boat and took their seats, while Skip leaned over the ancient Evinrude outboard and gave the starter rope a pull.

Nothing happened.

"This thing's a relic," he muttered.

Twice more he yanked on the starter.

"C'mon."

Clink!

An arrow bounced off the metal engine housing, narrowly missing Skip's fingers. He was just glad it was the solid motor that had harmlessly taken the hit. If the inflatable raft itself had been hit, it could have been all over.

One more mighty heave on the rope and the old engine sputtered to life. In a cloud of exhaust smoke, Skip turned the craft away from the shore, out into the middle of the river, and headed upstream, as fast as the little engine that could, would propel them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Puma, atlatl at his shoulder, with a spear ready to fly. Without thinking, Skip grabbed a paddle, the only defensive instrument he could find, and swatted the projectile away just before it could puncture the raft. He spun the boat in a couple of quick turns for good measure, making sure that Puma couldn't get another shot off, until he was sure they were out of range. The inflatable, V-shaped keel beneath the rigid plywood floor panels assured easy steering and maneuverability.

Then, letting out a heavy breath, he set his sights on the course ahead, as the little dinghy chugged its way back to the landing strip where they'd left the plane.

The next hour passed by mostly in silence, save for the drone of the motor, as their nerves slowly settled. At last, Lucille, the good old, trusty Ford Trimotor appeared around the bend. They pulled in and stumbled out on shaky legs. They wasted no time in tossing the packs inside. Nusiri disassembled and deflated the raft as Skip and Zane went through their pre-flight check, as quickly as possible.

"Never thought I'd be this glad to see this old beast," said Nusiri, as she started to fold up the boat. "That was enough adventure for me for awhile."

Something in Skip's pocket was poking him as they took their seats. He remembered what it was. A decision was coming up. Zane would be on board, no doubt. He didn't think Nusiri would.

"Be good to get home," she was saying.

It was now or never, Skip knew.

"We're not going home just yet," he announced. "There's still one bit of unfinished business. If you'll bear with me, I'd like to make a quick detour." He knew it would not be quick.

"We're going to find Paititi. We're heading to the Lost City of the Sun."