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The Island of Annoyed Souls There are a lot of pleasant ways to see the world—but footslogging through the Amazon jungle without a compass ain't one of them. After being gently asked at gunpoint to leave San Palmero I'd been three days and three nights without seeing nothing but an endless parade of mosquitoes and other six-legged critters with a few eight-legged ones tossed in for good measure, and I'd pretty much reached the point where I'd have welcomed the presence of a headhunter or two just to have a little company. Of course, that was before I ran smack dab into one. I heard him before I could see him, and he was making such a racket as would have woke such dead as weren't otherwise occupied at the moment. He kept crashing through the underbrush, of which there was an awful lot, and suddenly out he burst, maybe ten feet from me. He was carrying a bow and a bunch of little arrows, but he was in such a hurry that he seemed to have plumb forgot about them. He bumped into me, let out a scream, and stared at me kind of like a cow stares at a butcher. "Howdy, Brother," I greeted him. "The Right Reverend Lucifer Jones at your service. What's the quickest route back to civilization?" He jabbered something I couldn't understand, and kept looking back the way he had come, so I figured he was telling me he'd just been to the big city and hadn't found it all that congenial to a guy who was inclined to wander around stark naked and had a tendency to shrink the local citizenry's heads. I thanked him for pointing it out to me and started marching off, but he grabbed my arm and began jabbering again, more urgently this time. "I can |
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