When you’re in the jungle, you’ve got to play by the rules. The only trouble is there’s no rule book.
“Learn to think like the jungle and you can beat it.” That’s what your parents have taught you, and they should know. Two months out of every summer they come to Africa to live, hunt, and get away from “civilization.” And for as long as you can remember, they’ve brought you with them.
Snakes, quicksand, poisonous plants, savage animals—there are lots of ways to die in the jungle. And thanks to your parents you know how to deal with all of them.
But if your parents are so jungle-smart, why don’t they see the snake that just crawled under the side of the canvas tent?
From your bedroll, you’ve been watching it slither toward the collapsible table your parents and some other hunters are sitting around. They’re totally absorbed in their card game and conversation—trading stories and gossip.
“Now, what about this Jones fella? What’s he doing in Africa?” asks a man with a bushy red beard. “Indiana Jones is what Tom Terrel called him.”
“We saw him on the boat coming over,” your mother says. “Quiet fellow. Kept to himself the entire voyage.”
“Don’t know what he’s after,” says the red beard. “But he can’t be much of a hunter. I heard he doesn’t carry a rifle. Just a whip.”





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