CHAPTER 50 “Cap’n Renato! Save us!”
Renato leaned against the trunk of an ancient oak, breath growling in his chest. Eight hours alone in the wilds, wary of every sound and sign, was an experience totally alien to him. He’d been born to skim over the sea, not crawl upon the land like a worm.
While LaChaise and the others had been caught flat-footed by the Kronks, Renato had lain prone in the brush for nearly an hour, barely venturing to breathe.
Circling west of the village, he’d finally been rewarded by the image of a snake cut high on the trunk of a great live oak. The second tree. Somewhat rejuvenated, he had moved south, finding the fish—a hundred yards from the edge of the Indian camp.
Now, north of the village, he’d at last come upon the sign of the bird cut deep into the bark of
