Peru 1957

Night falls quickly in the jungle, and sounds carry strangely in the tropical night.

Two makeshift brush shelters stood at the periphery of the travelers' campfire. From one of them echoed three words, said in a man's choked, passionate voice: "Marion..God, Marion"

Mutt Williams was on his feet in an instant, switchblade in his hands and red murder in his eyes.

"What the hell does Jones think he's doing? My mother doesn't have to pay our freight on her back! I'm gonna.."

Harold Oxley put a firm hand on his arm.

"Lad. Your mother knows that you and I are within call. I haven't heard her utter the words 'no' or 'stop'. Have you?"

Glowering, Mutt shook his head. "No."

Ox slipped an arm around Mutt's shoulders and turned him back to face the fire. "And if you'll take a thought from an old campaigner who's known his share of camp sounds, what we heard did not signify.." Ox paused delicately, "..a man's pleasure."

Mutt relaxed fractionally and shot him a questioning look.

"No, Mutt. That was pain-the pain of a strong and brave man overcome with remorse and shame. Henry, for perhaps the first time in his adult life, is facing the enormity of the wrongs he's done."

"Little late, don't you think?"

" I shan't argue. But what I also know is that your mother is the only woman Henry-Indiana- has ever really loved. And that the only thing he cares about now is getting the woman he loves and the son she bore him back to America and safety. He's admitted to me that he thinks neither of you will want anything to do with him when we get there. If in fact, we do. Our chances are not good."

"That's pathetic, Ox."

"It is. So let your mother comfort him, boy. He needs her desperately, more than even he knows."