JNIVERSITY OF CA RIVERSIDE, LIBRARY
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THE
PATHLESS
TRAIL
THE
PATHLESS
TRAIL
BY y
ARTHUR O. FRIEL
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
PS35//
THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Copyright, 1922, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
TO
THE MEMORY OF
MY FATHER
GEORGE WILLIAM FRIEL
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAG2
I. SONS OF THE NOETH 1
II. AT SUNDOWN 8
III. THE VOICE OP THE WILDS 19
IV. THE GERMAN 28
V. INTO THE BUSH 40
VI. IN THE NIGHT WATCH 57
VII. COLD STEEL 70
VIII. THE DOUBLE-CROSS 85
IX. FIDDLERS THREE 97
X. BY THE LIGHT OP STORM 107
XI. Our OF THE AIR 117
XII. THE ARROW 129
XIII. THE WAT OP THE JUNGLE 144
XIV. A DUEL WITH DEATH 156
XV. THE CANNIBALS 169
XVI. BLACKBEARD 183
XVII. FEVER 200
XVIII. FRUIT OP THE TRAP 212
XIX. THE RED BONES 224
XX. THE RAPOSA 237
XXI. SHADOWS OP THE NIGHT 253
XXII. THE SIREN OP WAR 269
XXIII. STRATEGY 283
XXIV. THE BATTLE OP THE TRIBES 300
XXV. THE PASSING OP SCHWANDORF 314
XXVI. PARTNERS . 327
THE
PATHLESS
TRAIL
THE
PATHLESS
TRAIL
CHAPTER I. SONS OF THE NORTH
THREE men stood ankle deep in mud on
the shore of a jungle river, silently watch
ing a ribbon of smoke drift and dissolve
above the somber mass of trees to the northwest.
Three men of widely different types they
were, yet all cradled in the same far-off northern
land. The tallest, lean bodied but broad
shouldered, black of hair and gray of eye, held
himself in soldierly fashion and gazed unmoved.
His two mates one stocky, red faced and red
headed; the other slender, bronzed and blond
betrayed then 1 thoughts in their blue eyes.
The red man squinted quizzically at the smoke
feather as if it mattered little to "Him where he
was. The blond watched it with the wistfulness
of one who sees the last sign of his own world
fade out.
Behind them, at a respectful distance, a num
ber of swarthy individuals of both sexes in nonde
script garments smoked and stared at the trio
2 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
with the interest always accorded strangers by
the dwellers of the Out Places. They eyed the
uncompromising back of the tall one, the easy
lounge of the red one, the thoughtful attitude of
the light one. The copper-faced men peered at
the rifles hanging in the right hands of the new
comers, their knee boots, khaki clothing, and
wide hats. The women let then- eyes rove
over the boxes and bundles reposing in the mud
beside the three.
"Ingles?" hazarded a woman, speaking
through the stem of the black pipe clutched in
her filed teeth.
"Notre- Americano" asserted a man, nodding
toward the broad hats. "Englishmen would
wear the round helmets of pith."
"Mercadores? Traders?" suggested the wom
an, hopefully running an eye again over the
bundles.
"Explor adores," the man corrected. "Ex
plorers of the bush. Have you no eyes? Do
you not see the guns and high boots?"
The woman subsided. The others continued
what seemed to be their only occupation
smoking.
The smoke streamer in the north vanished.
As if moved by the same impulse, the three
strangers turned their heads and looked south-
westward, upriver. The red-haired man spoke.
"So we've lit at last, as the feller said when
him and his airyplane landed in a sewer. Faith,
SONS OF THE NORTH 3
I dunno but he was better off than us, at that
he wasn't two thousand miles from nowheres
like we are. The steamer's gone, and us three
pore lil' boys are left a long ways from home."
Then, assuming the tone of a showman, he
went on:
"Before ye, girls, ye see the well known
Ja-va-ree River, which I never seen before and
comes from gosh-knows-where and ends in the
Ammyzon. Over there on t'other side the water
is Peru. Yer feet are in the mud of Brazil.
This other river to yer left is the Tickywahoo "
"Tecuahy," the blond man corrected, grinning.
"Yeah. And behind ye is the last town in
the world and the place that God forgot. What
d'ye call this here, now, city?"
"Remate de Males. Which means 'Culmina
tion of Evils."'
"Yeah. It looks it. Wonder if it's anything
like Hell's Kitchen, up in liT old N'Yawk."
They turned and looked dubiously at the
town a row of perhaps seventy iron-walled
and palm-roofed houses set on high palm-trunk
poles, each with its ladder dropping from the
doorway to the one muddy street. Then spoke
the tall man.
"Before you see it again, Tim, you'll think
it's quite a town. Above here is nothing but a
few rubber estates, seven hundred miles of
unknown river, and empty jungle."
"Empty, huh? Then they kidded us on the
4 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
boat. From what they said it's fair crawlin'
with snakes and j aggers and lizards and bloody
vampires and spiders as big as yer fist. And the
water is full o' man-eatin' fish and the bush full
o' man-eatin' Injuns. If that's what ye call
empty, Cap, don't take me no place where it's
crowded."
A slight smile twitched the set lips of the tall
"cap."
"They're all here, Tun, though maybe not so**
thick as you expect. Lots of other things too.
Who's this?"
Through the knot of pipe-puffing idlers came
a portly coppery man in uniform.
"Well, I'll be Say, he's the same chap
who came onto the boat in a police uniform.
Now he's in army rig," the light-haired member
of the trio exclaimed. "O Lordy! I've got it!
He's the police force and the army! The whole
blooming works! Ha!"
Tim snickered and stepped forward.
"Hullo, buddy!" he greeted. "What's on
yer mind? "
"Boa dia, senhor," responded the official,
affably. With the words he deftly slipped an
arm around Tun's waist and lifted the other
hand toward his shoulder. But that hand
stopped short, then flew wildly out into the
ah*.
Tim gave a grunt and a heave. The official
went skidding and slithering six feet through the
SONS OF THE NORTH 5
mud, clutching at nothing and contorting him
self in a frantic effort to keep from sprawling in
the muck. By a margin thin as an eyelash he
succeeded in preserving his balance and stood
where he stopped, amazement and anger in his
face.
"Lay off that stuff!" growled Tim, head for
ward and jaw out. "If ye want trouble come
and git it like a man, not sneak up with a grin
and then clinch. Don't reach for no knife, now,
or I'll drill ye"
"Tim!" barked the black-haired one. "Ten-
shun!"
Automatically Tim's head snapped erect and
his shoulders went back. He relaxed again
almost at once. But in the meantime the tall
man had stepped forward and faced the raging
representative of the government of Brazil.
"Pardon, comrade," he said with an engaging
smile. "My friend is a stranger to Brazil and
not acquainted with your manner of welcome.
In our own country men never put the arm
around one another except in combat. He has
been a soldier. You are a soldier. So you can
understand that a fighting man may be a little
abrupt when he does not understand."
The smile, the apology, and most of all the
subtle flattery of being treated as an equal by a
man whose manner betokened the North Ameri
can army officer, mollified the aggrieved official
at once. The hot gleam died out of his eyes.
2
6 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Punctiliously he saluted. The salute was as
punctiliously returned.
"It is forgotten, Capitao. As the capitao says,
we soldiers are sometimes overquick. I come to
give you welcome to Remate de Males. My
services are at your disposal.'*
"We thank you. Why do you call me
capitao?"
"My eyes know a capitao when they see
him."
"But this is not a military expedition, my
friend. Nor are any of us soldiers now though
we all have been."
"Once a capitao, always a capitao," the
Brazilian insisted. Then he hinted: "If the
capitao and his friends wish to call upon the
superintendente they will find him in the in-
tendencia, the blue building beyond the hotel.
Jt will soon be closed for the day."
The tall American's keen gray eyes roved
down the street to the weather-beaten house
whose peeling walls once might have been blue.
He nodded shortly.
"Better go down there," he said. "Come
on, Merry. Tim, stick here and keep an eye on
the stuff. And don't start another war while
we're gone."
"Right, Cap." Tim deftly swung his rifle to
his right shoulder. "I'll walk me post in a mili
tary manner, keepin' always on the alert and
observin' everything that takes place within
SONS OF THE NORTH 7
sight or hearin', accordin' to Gin'ral Order
Number Two. There won't be no war unless
somebody starts somethin'. Hey, there, buddy,
would ye smoke a God's-country cigarette if I
give ye one?"
"Si," grinned the soldier-policeman, all ani
mosity gone. And as the other two men tramped
away through the mud they also grinned, looking
back at the North and the South American
pacing side by side in sentry-go, blowing smoke
and conversing like brothers in arms.
"Tun likes to remember his 'general orders/
but he's forgotten Number Five," laughed the
blond man.
"Five? 'To talk to no one except in line of
duty.' Don't need it here, Merry."
"Nope. The entente cordiale is the thing.
Here's hoping nobody makes Tun remember his
'Gin'ral Order Number Thirteen' while we're
gone, Rod."
He of the black hair smiled again as his mate,
mimicking Tim's gruff voice, quoted:
"'Gin'ral Order Number Thirteen: In case o'
doubt, bust the other guy quick.'"
CHAPTER II. AT SUNDOWN
PAST the loungers in the street, past others
in the doorways, past children and dogs
and goats, the pair marched briskly to the
faded blue house whence the federal superintend
ent ruled the town with tropic indolence. There
they found a thin, fever-worn, gravely courteous
gentleman awaiting them.
"Sit, senhores," he urged, with a languid wave
of the hand toward chairs. "I am honored by
your visit, as is all Remate de Males. In what
way can I serve you?"
The blond answered:
"We have come, sir, both for the pleasure of
making your acquaintance and for a little infor
mation. First permit me to introduce my friend
Mr. Roderick McKay, lately a captain in the
United States army. I am Meredith Knowlton.
There is a third member of our party, Mr.
Timothy Ryan, who remained on the river bank
to talk with er a soldier of Brazil."
The federal official nodded, a slight smile hi his
eyes.
"We are here ostensibly for exploration,"
Knowlton continued, candidly, "but actually to
find a certain man. I think it quite probable that
we shall have to do considerable exploring before
finding him."
AT SUNDOWN 9
"Ah," the other murmured, shrewdly. "It is
a matter of police work, perhaps?"
" No and yes. The man we seek is not wanted
by the law, and yet he is. He has committed no
crime, and so cannot be arrested. But the law
wants him badly because the settlement of a cer
tain big estate hinges upon the question of
whether he is alive or dead. If alive, he is heir
to more than a million. If not the money goes
elsewhere."
"Ah," repeated the official, thoughtfully.
"I might add," McKay broke in with a touch
of stiffness, "that neither I nor either of my
companions would profit in any way by this
man's death. Quite the contrary."
"Ah," reiterated the other, his face clearing.
"You are commissioned, perhaps, to find and
produce this man."
"Exactly," Knowlton nodded. "From our own
financial standpoint he is worth much more alive
than dead. On the other hand, any absolute proof
of his death proof which would stand in a
court of law is worth something also. Our
task is to produce either the man himself or
indisputable proof that he no longer lives.
"The man's name is David Dawson Rand. If
alive, he now is thirty-three years old. Height
five feet nine. Weight about one hundred sixty.
Hair dark, though not black. Eyes grayish green.
Chief distinguishing marks are the green eyes,
a broken nose caused by being struck in the
10 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
face by a baseball and a patch of snow-white
hair the size of a thumb ball, two inches above
the left ear. Accustomed to having his own way,
not at all considerate of others. Yet not a bad
fellow as men go merely a man spoiled by too
much mothering in boyhood and by the fact that
he never had to work. This is he."
From a breast pocket he drew a small grain-
leather notebook, from which he extracted an
unmounted photograph. The superintendent
looked into the pictured face of a full-cheeked,
wide-mouthed, square-jawed man with a slightly
blase" expression and a half-cynical smile. After
studying it a minute he nodded and handed it
back.
"As you say, senhor, a man who never has had
to work."
"Exactly. For five years this man has been
regarded as dead. It was his habit to start off
suddenly for any place where his whims drew
him, notifying nobody of his departure. But
a few days later he would always write, cable,
or telegraph his relatives, so that his general
whereabouts would soon become known. On
his last trip he sent a radio message from a
steamer, out at sea, saying he was bound for
Rio Janeiro. That was the last ever heard from
him."
"Rio is far from here," suggested the Brazilian.
"Just so. We look for Rand at the head
waters of the Amazon, instead of in Rio, because
AT SUNDOWN 11
Rio yields no clew and because of one other
thing which I shall speak of presently.
"It has been learned that he reached Rio
safely, but there his trail ended. As he had
several thousand dollars on his person, it was
concluded that he was murdered for his money
and his body disposed of. This belief has been
held until quite recently, when a new book of
travel was published The Mother of Waters, by
Dwight Dexter, an explorer of considerable repu
tation."
The Brazilian's brows lifted.
"Senhor Dexter? I remember Senhor Dexter.
He stopped here for a short time, ill with fever.
So he has published a book?"
"Yes.- It deals mainly with his travels and
observations in Peru, along the Maranon, Hual-
laga, and Ucayali. But it includes a short chapter
regarding the Javary, and in that chapter occurs
the following, which I have copied verbatim."
From the notebook he read:
" ' It falls to the lot of the explorer at times to
meet not only hitherto unclassified species of
fauna and flora, but also strange specimens of
the genus homo. Such a creature came suddenly
upon my camp one day just before a serious and
well-nigh fatal attack of fever compelled me to
relinquish my intention to proceed farther up the
Javary.
"' While my Indian cook was preparing the
afternoon meal, out from the dense jungle strode
12 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
a bearded, shaggy-haired, painted white man,
totally nude save for a narrow breechclout and
a quiver containing several long hunting arrows.
In one hand he carried a strong bow of really
excellent workmanship. This was his only
weapon. He wore no ornament, unless streaks of
brilliant red paint be considered ornaments. He
was wild and savage in appearance and manner as
any cannibal Indian. Yet he was indubitably
white.
( ' To my somewhat startled greeting he made
no response. Neither did he speak at any time
during his unceremonious visit. Bolt upright, he
stood beside my crude table until the Indian
stolidly brought in my food. Then, without a
by-your-leave, the wild man rapidly wolfed down
the entire meal, feeding himself with one hand
and holding his bow ready in the other. Though
I questioned him and sought to draw him into
conversation, he honored me with not so much
as a grunt or a gesture. When the table was bare
he stalked out again and vanished into the dun
forest.
'"After he had gone my Indian urged that we
leave the place at once. The man, he said, was
"The Raposa" a word which denotes a species
of wild dog sometimes found on the upper
Amazon. He knew nothing of this "Raposa"
except that he apparently belonged to a wild
tribe living far back in the forest, perhaps allied
with the cannibal Mayorunas, who were very
AT SUNDOWN 13
fierce; and that he appeared sometimes at Indian
settlements, where, without ever speaking, he
would help himself to the best food and then
leave. My man seemed to fear that now some
great misfortune would come to us unless we
shifted our base. When the fever came upon me
soon afterward, the superstitious fellow was con
vinced that the illness was attributable directly
to the visit of the human "wild dog."
"' Aside from the nudity and barbarism of the
mysterious stranger, certain personal peculiari
ties struck me. One was that his eyes were green.
Another was a streak of snow-white hair above
one ear. Furthermore, the red paint on his body
outlined his skeleton. His ribs, spine, arm- and
leg-bones all were portrayed on his tanned skin
by those brilliant red streaks. In this connection
my Indian asserted that in the tribe to which
"The Raposa" probably belonged it was the
custom to preserve the bones of the dead and to
paint them with this same red dye, after which
the bones were hung up in the huts of the de
ceased instead of being given burial. Beyond
this my informant knew nothing of the "Red
Bone" people, except that to enter their country
was death." 1
Knowlton returned the book to his pocket and
carefully buttoned the flap.
"When that appeared," he continued, "efforts
were made to get hold of Dexter, with the idea
of showing him the photograph of the missing
14 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
man and learning any additional details. Unfor
tunately, by the time the book was published
Dexter had gone to Africa to seek a race of
dwarfs said to exist in the Igidi Desert, and thus
was totally out of reach. Then we were called
upon to follow up this clew and find the Raposa
if possible. Men with green eyes and patches of
white hair above one ear are not common. So,
though our knowledge of this strange wild man
is confined to those few words of Dexter's, we
are here to learn more of him and to get him if
we can."
He looked expectantly at the onicial. The
latter, after staring out through the doorway for
a time, shook his head slightly.
"Something of this Raposa and of those red-
streaked people has come to my ears, senhores,
but only as rumors," he said, slowly. "And
one does not place great faith in rumors. Yet I
have repeatedly been surprised to learn, after
dismissing a story as an empty Indian tale, that
the tale was true.
" Of the Mayorunas more is known. They are
eaters of human flesh, inhabiting both sides of
the Javary, deadly when angered, and very
easily angered. Their country is not many days
distant from here, but as they never attack us
we do not attack them. It is an armed neutrality,
as you senhores would say. True, we have to
be careful in drinking water, for they sometimes
poison the streams against real or imaginary
AT SUNDOWN 15
enemies, and the poisoned waters flow down to
us, causing those who drink it to die of a fever
like the typhoid. Yet," and he smiled, "there is
a saying, is there not, that water is made not to
drink, but to bathe in?"
Knowlton laughed. McKay's eyes twinkled.
"I'm sorry to say that water's about all a
fellow can get to drink in the States now," the
blond man said, ruefully. "That is, of course,
unless a man knows where to go."
" Si. It is a pity. But here in Brazil one
need not drink water unless he wishes, and
often it is better not to. Of the Mayorunas,
senhor you do not intend to go among them,
seeking this wild man of the red bones? If
you should do so it would be a matter of regret
to me."
"Meaning that we should not come out again?
That's a risk we have to face. We go wherever
it is necessary."
"I am sorry. I regret also that I can give you
no definite information. Yet I wish you all suc
cess, senhores, and a safe return. This much I
can do and gladly will do: I can send word to
another white man who now is in the town and
who knows much of the upper river. He may be
able to assist you, and without doubt will be
eager to do so. He is staying at the hotel, just
below here Senhor Schwandorf."
The eyes of the two Americans narrowed. The
official coughed.
16 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Senhor McKay has been a soldier. And
Senhor Knowl-ton "
"I was a lieutenant."
"Ah! But the war has passed, senhores.
Senhor Schwandorf was not a soldier of Ger
many he has been in Brazil for more than six
years."
"War's over. That's right," McKay agreed.
"But don't bother to send word. We'll find him
if he's at the hotel. Going there ourselves. Glad
to have met you, sir. Good luck!"
"And to you also luck, Capitao and Tenente,"
smiled the official. McKay and Knowlton strode
out.
"Guess this is the hotel," hazarded McKay,
glancing at a house which rose slightly above the
others. "I'll go in and charter rooms. You get
Tim and have somebody rustle our impedimenta
up here."
He turned aside. Knowlton trudged on through
the glare of sunset to the river bank where Tim
and the army of Remate de Males still loafed
up and down, the admired of all beholders.
"All right, Tun. We're moving to the hotel.
No more war, I see."
"Lord love ye, no," grinned Tun. "Me and
this feller are gittin' on fine. He's Joey I f orgit
the rest of his names; he's got about a dozen
more and they sound like stones rattlin' around
inside a can. But Joey's a right guy. After
me tour o' duty ends he's goin' to buy me a drink
AT SUNDOWN 17
and maybe introduce me to a lady friend o' his.
Want to join the party, Looey?"
"Not unless the ladies are better looking than
these," laughed the ex-lieutenant, moving his
head toward the pipe-smoking females.
"Faith, I was thinkin' that same meself.
Unless he can dig up somethin' fancier 'n what
I see so far, I'd as soon have Mademoiselle."
"Who?"
"Mademoiselle of Armentieres. Sure, ye know
that one, Looey. Goes to the tune o' 'Parley-
Voo.'"
Wherewith he lifted up a foghorn voice and,
much to the edification of "Joey" (whose name
really was Joao) and the rest of Remate de
Males, burst into song:
"Mademoiselle of Armenteers,
Pa-a-arley-voo!
She smoked our butta and bummed our beers,
Pa-a-arley-voo I
She had cockeyes and jackass ears
And she hadn't been kissed for forty years,
Rinky dinky-parley- voo ! ' '
As his musical effort ended, out from the dense
jungle hemming in the town burst a hideous
roaring howl. Again and again it sounded in a
horrible crash of noise.
"Holy Saint Pat!" gasped Tim, throwing his
rifle to port and bracing his feet. "Now look
what I went and done! Is that the echo, or a cou
ple dozen jaggers all fightin' to oncet?"
18 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Guariba, Senhor Ree-ann," snickered Joao.
" Not jaguars no. Only one little guariba mon
key. The howler."
"G'wan! Ye're kiddin' !"
" But no, amigo. It is as I tell you. One mon
key. It is sunset, and the jungle awakes."
"My gosh! I'll say it does. Sounds like a
Sat' day night row in a Second Av'noo saloon,
except there ain't no shootin'. Guess you boys
have some night life, too, even if ye are away
back hi the bush."
" Tune for us to move, Tim," laughed Knowl-
ton. " It '11 be dark in no time. Joao, will you
have our baggage moved to the hotel?"
"Si, senhor. Immediatamente. Antonio
Jorge Rosario! And you, too, Meldo vem cd!
Carry the bundles of the gentlemen to the hotel,
presto! Proceed, senhores. I, Joao d' Almeida
Magalhaes Nabuco Pestana da Fonseca, will
remain here on guard until all your possessions
have been transported. Proceed without fear."
CHAPTER III. THE VOICE OF THE
WILDS
McKAY, eyes twinkling again, awaited
them at the top of the hotel's street
ladder.
"Rooms any good, Rod?" hailed Knowlton.
"Best in the house, Merry."
"See any insects in the beds?"
"Nary a bug in the beds." The twinkle grew.
"Didn't look in the bureaus or behind the mir
rors. Come look 'em over."
Entering a sizable room evidently used for
dining for its chief articles of furniture were
two tables made from planed palm trunks
McKay waved a hand toward a row of four door
ways on the right.
"First three are ours," he explained. "Only
vacancies here. Eight rooms in this hotel the
other four over there." He pointed across the
room, on the other side of which opened four
similar doors. "They're occupied by two sick
men, one drunk hear him snore? and one she-
goat which is kidding."
"Huh?" Tim snorted, suspiciously. "I think
ye're the one that's kiddin', Cap."
"Not a bit. I looked. The last room on this
side is the Dutchman's, and these are ours. Take
your pick. They're all alike."
20 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Knowlton stepped to the nearest and looked
in. For a moment he said no word. Then he
softly muttered:
"Well, I'll be spread-eagled!"
"Me, too," seconded Tim, who had been
craning his neck.
The room was absolutely empty. No bed, no
chair, no bureau, no rug nothing at all was in it
except two iron hooks. Its floor consisted of
split palm logs, round side up, between which
opened inch-wide spaces. Its walls were rusty
corrugated iron, guiltless of mirrors or pictures,
which did not reach to the roof.
"Observe the excellent ventilation," grinned
McKay. "Wind blows up through the floor if
there is any wind and then loops over the par
tition into the next fellow's room."
"Yeah. And I'll say any guy that drops his
collar button is out o' luck. It goes plunk into
the mud, seven foot down under the house. But
say, Cap, how the heck do we sleep? Hang our
selves up on them hooks?"
"Exactly."
"Kind o' rough on a feller's shirt, ain't it?
And the shirt would likely pull off over yer head
before mornin'."
"Yes, probably would. But the secret is this
you're supposed to hang your hammock on those
hooks. You provide the hammock. The hotel
provides the hooks. What more can you ask of
& modern hotel?"
THE VOICE OF THE WILDS 21
"Huh! And if a guy wants a bath, there's the
river, all full o' 'gators and cattawampuses and
things. And if ye eat, I s'pose ye rustle yer own
grub and pay for eatin' it off that slab table
there. There's jest one thing ye can say for this
dump a feller can spit on the floor. But with
all them cracks hi it he might not hit it, at that.
Mother o' mine! To think Missus Ryan's liT
boy should ever git caught stayin' in a hole like
this, along o' drunks and skiddin' she-goats and
did ye say a Dutchman?"
"German. Chap named Schwandorf."
"Yeah?" Tim's tone was sinister. "Say, Cap,
gimme the room next that guy. And if ye hear
anybody yowlin' before mornin' don't git worried.
It won't be me."
"None of that, Tun," warned Knowlton.
" The war's over "
"Since when? There wasn't no peace treaty
signed when we left the States."
"Er ahum! Well, technically you're right.
But this fellow may be useful to us. He knows
the upper river, they say."
"Aw, well, if ye can use him I'll lay off him.
Where is he?"
"Out somewhere," answered McKay. "I
haven't seen him yet. Want this first room,
Merry?"
"Just to play safe, I'll take the one next the
German. And if I hear any war in the night, Tun,
I'm coming over the top with both hands going."
3 '
22 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Grrrumph!" growled Tim.
"That goes, Tim," warned McKay. "I'll take
this room and you can have the one between us.
Here comes the baggage train with our stuff.
In here, men!"
Puffing and grunting, Antonio and Jorge and
Rosario and Meldo shuffled in with the boxes and
bundles. Under the directions of McKay and
Knowlton, these were stowed in the bare rooms.
Then the four shuffled out again, grinning happily
over a small roll of Brazilian paper reis which
McKay had peeled from a much larger roll and
handed to them. Immediately following their
departure, in came a youth carrying three new
hammocks.
"Our beds," McKay explained. "I sent this
lad to a trader's store for them. He's the pro
prietor's son. Thank you, Thomaz. Tell your
father to put these on our bill, and take for your
self this small token of our appreciation."
More reis changed hands. The young Brazilian,
with a flash of teeth, informed them that the
evening meal would soon be ready and disap
peared through a rear door.
"Do they really feed us at this here, now,
hotel?" Tim demanded. "Then the goat's safe."
"Meaning?" puzzled Knowlton.
"Meanin' I didn't know but we had to kill our
supper, and I was goin' to git the cap'n's goat.
That is, the goat the cap'n's kiddin' I mean
the goat that's kiddin' the cap the skiddin' she-
THE VOICE OF THE WILDS 23
goat Aw, rats! ye know what I'm drivin' at.
Me tongue so dry it don't work right."
Wherewith Tim retreated in disorder to his
room and began wrestling with his new hammock
and the iron hooks.
Swift darkness filled the rooms. The sun had
slid down below the bulge of the fast-rolling
world. Thomaz re-entered, lit candles stuck in
empty bottles, and, with a bow, placed one of these
crude illuminants at the door of each of the
strangers. By the flickering lights McKay and
Knowlton disposed their effects according to their
individual desires, bearing in mind Tun's obser
vation that any small article dropped on the
floor would land in the mud under the house,
whence sounded the grunts of pigs. Their work
was soon completed, and they sauntered together
to the small piazza.
"Nice quiet little place," commented Knowl
ton. "Make a good sanitarium for nervous
folks."
The comment was made in a tone which, in
the daytime, would carry half a mile. McKay
nodded to save a similar effort. The outbreak
of the howling monkey which so startled Tim
had been only the first note of the night concert of
the jungle. Now that the sun was gone the chorus
was in full swing.
Beasts of the village, the jungle, the river, all
hurled their voices into the uproar. From the
gloom around the houses rose the bellowing of
24
cows and calves, the howls and yelps of dogs,
the yowling of cats, the grunts and squeals of
hogs. In the black river, flowing past within a
stone's throw of the hotel door, sounded the loud
snorts of dolphins and the hideous night call of
the foul beast of the mud the alligator. Out
from the matted tangle of trees and brush and
great snakelike vines behind the town rolled the
appalling roars of guaribas, raucous bird calls,
dismal hoots, sudden scattered screams. And
over all, whelming all other sound by the sheer
might of its penetrating power, throbbed the
rapid-fire hammering of millions of frogs.
"Frogs sound like a machine-gun barrage,"
the blond man added.
"Or thousands of riveting hammers pounding
steel."
"Queer how much worse it is when you're
right in it. We've heard it all the way up two
thousand miles of Amazon, but "
"But you're right beside the orchestra now.
Position is everything in life."
The double-edged jest made Knowlton glance
sidelong at his mate. Of the tall, eagle-faced
Scot's past he knew little beyond what he had
seen of him in war, where he had met him and
learned to respect him whole-heartedly. From
occasional remarks he had learned that McKay
had been in all sorts of places between Buenos
Aires and Nome; and from a few intangible hints
he suspected that his "position in life" had once
THE VOICE OF THE WILDS 25
been much higher socially than at present. But
he asked no questions.
"Some orchestra, all right," he responded,
casually. " Plenty of jazz. It '11 quiet down after
a while."
For a tune they stood leaning against the wall,
staring abstractedly out at the dark. One by one
the domestic animals ceased their clamor and
settled themselves for the night. The jungle din,
too, seemed to diminish, though perhaps this was
because the ears of the men had become accus
tomed to it. At length through the discordant
symphony boomed the voice of Tim.
"By cripes! I know now what folks mean when
they talk about a howlin' wilderness. Always
thought 'twas one o' them figgers o' speech, but
I'll tell the world it ain't no joke! Gosh! Think
of all the things that's layin' out there and
bellerin' and waitin' for us pore li'l' fellers to
come in amongst 'em and git et up."
"You'll find the same things in the cities up
home," said Knowlton, a bit cynically. "Dif
ferent bodies and different methods of attack,
but the same merciless animals under the skin.
Snakes in silk suits foul-mouthed alligators in
dinner jackets hunting - cats and vampires,
painted and powdered and all the rest of it."
"Yeah. Ye said a mouthful, Looey. But say,
Tommy's shovin' some grub on the table. Mebbe
we better hop to it before the flies git it all."
After a glance at the vicious attack already
26 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
begun by the aforesaid flies, the pair adopted
Tim's suggestion and hopped to it. Manfully
they assailed the rubbery jerked beef, black
beans, rice, f arinha, and thick, black, unsweetened
coffee which comprised the meal. All three were
wrestling with chunks of the meat when Tim,
facing the door, stopped chewing long enough to
mutter:
"Dutchland overalls. Here's the goose step
per."
The heads of the other two involuntarily moved
a little. Then their necks stiffened and they con
tinued eating. Tim alone stared straight at a
burly, black-whiskered Teuton who had halted in
the outer doorway. And Tun alone saw the ugly
look crossing the newcomer's visage as he gazed
at the khaki shirts, the broad shoulders under
them, and the unmistakably Irish and hostile
face of Tim himself.
Catching the hard stare of the red-haired man,
he of the black beard advanced at once, his eyes
veering to the door of his own room. Straight to
that room he marched with heavy tread. He
opened the door with a kick, shut it behind him
with a slam. The three at the table glanced at
one another.
"Say what ye like," grumbled Tim, "but me
and that guy don't hold no mush party. I don't
like his map. I don't like his manners. And he
looks too much like the Fritz that shot me in the
back with a kamerad gun after surrenderin'. I
THE VOICE OF THE WILDS 27
was in hospital three months. D'ye mind that
time, Looey?"
Knowlton nodded. He remembered also that
Tim, shot down from behind and almost killed, had
reeled up to his feet and bayoneted his man before
falling the second time. Wherefore he replied:
"He isn't the same one, Tim."
"Nope," grimly. "That one won't never
come back. All the same, if you gents want to
chew the fat with this feller I'm goin' slummin'
with me friend Joey Mouthgargle Nabisco
Whoozis. Then I won't be round here to make
no sour-caustic remarks and gum up yer party."
"Might be a good idea," McKay conceded.
"There he is now, the liT darlin'! Hullo,
Joey, old sock! Stick around a minute while I
scoop a few more beans. Be with ye toot sweet
vite presto P. D. Q."
Wherewith he demolished the rest of his meal
with military dispatch, proceeded doorward,
smote the grinning army of Remate de Males a
buffet on the shoulder, and vanished into the
night. A moment later his stentorian voice rolled
back through the nocturnal racket in an im
promptu paraphrase of an old and highly im
proper army song:
"We're in the jungle now,
We ain't behind the plow;
We'll never git rich,
We'll die with the itch.
We're in the jungle now!"
CHAPTER IV. THE GERMAN
THE door of the German's room opened.
The German came out and marched to
the table. Two paces away he halted
and faced the Americans, ready to speak if
spoken to, equally ready to sit and ignore them
if not greeted. McKay and Knowlton rose.
"Herr von Schwandorf?" inquired Knowlton.
"Schwandorf. Neither Herr nor von. Plain
Schwandorf."
The reply came in excellent English, though
with a slight throaty accent.
"Knowlton is my name. Mr. McKay. The
third member of our party, Mr. Ryan, has just
left."
Schwandorf bowed stiffly from the waist.
"It is a pleasure to meet you. White men are
all too few here."
Seating himself at a place beyond that just
vacated by Tun, he continued, "You stay here
for a time?"
"Not long." They reseated themselves. "We
go up the river as soon as we can arrange trans
portation."
The black brows lifted slightly.
"It is a dangerous river. You would do well
to travel elsewhere unless you have some pressing
reason to explore this stream."
THE GERMAN 29
With an accustomed sweep of the hand he
shooed the flies from the bean dish and helped
himself to a big portion. Over the legumes he
poured farinha in the Brazilian fashion.
"We have. We are seeking a tribe of people
who paint their bones red."
Schwandorf's hand, conveying the first mouth
ful of beans upward, stopped in air. His black
eyes fixed the Americans with an astounded
stare. He lowered the beans, stabbed absently
at a chunk of beef, sawed it apart, popped a
piece of it into his mouth, and sat for a tune
chewing. When the meat was down he spoke
bluntly:
"Are there not ways enough to kill yourselves
at home instead of traveling to this place to
do it?"
McKay smiled. The directness of the man
amused him.
"As bad as that?" asked Knowlton.
"As bad as that. Blow your head off if you
like. Cut your throat. Take poison. Jump into
the river among the alligators. Step on a snake.
But keep away from the Red Bones."
"Why?" shot McKay.
"Cannibals and worse."
"Worse?"
"Truly. Most of the Brazilian savages do not
torture. The Red Bones do."
"Pleasant prospect."
"Very. Nothing to be gained among them,
30 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
either. If you're hunting gold, try the hills over
west of the Huallaga. None here."
Knowlton filled and lit a pipe. McKay slowly
drank the last of his syrupy coffee and rolled a
cigarette. Schwandorf continued shoveling food
into his capacious mouth.
"Know anything about the Raposa?" Knowl
ton asked.
The Teuton's eyelashes flickered. He ground
another chunk of meat between his jaws before
answering.
"Of course," he said then. "Wild dog. Sharp
snout, gray hair, bushy tail. I've shot a couple
of them."
"This one is a man. Green eyes, streak of
white hair over the left ear. Paints himself like
the Red Bones, as you call them, but is a white
man."
"Oh! That one? Heard of him, yes. Wild
man of the jungle. Want to catch him and put
him in a circus?"
"Maybe. We'd like to see him, anyhow.
Heard about him awhile ago. Any way to get
him that you know of?"
"Might try a steel trap," the German sug
gested, callously. "But I don't know where
you'd set it. Best way to get a wild dog is to
shoot him, and he isn't much good dead. Or
would this one be worth something dead?" A
swift sidelong glance accompanied the question.
"Not a cent!" snapped McKay.
THE GERMAN 31
"And perhaps he'd be worth nothing alive,"
added Knowlton. "But we have a healthy
curiosity to look him over. Guess the Red Bone
country would be the likeliest place. How far
is it from here?"
"Keep out of it," was the stubborn reply.
The Americans rose.
"We are not going to keep out of it," Knowl
ton declared, coldly. "We are going straight
into it. Thank you for your assistance."
"Not so fast," Schwandorf protested. "If you
are determined to go I will help you if I can.
Shall we sit on the piazza with a small bottle to
aid digestion? So! Thomaz! Bring from my
stock the kiimmel. Or would you prefer whisky,
gentlemen?"
"Ginger-ale highballs are my favorite fruit,"
admitted Knowlton. "Can ginger ale be bought
here?"
"Indeed yes. At one milrei a bottle."
"Cheap enough. Thomaz, three bottles of gin
ger ale and one of North American whisky the
best. Cigars also. Out on the piazza."
"Si, senhores."
Schwandorf got up.
"If you will pardon me, I will drink my kum-
mel. Frankly, I do not like whisky."
"And frankly, we do not like kummel. All a
matter of taste."
"Truly. So let each of us drink his own prefer
ence. I will join you in a moment."
32 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
The Americans sauntered to the door, while
the German strode into his room.
"Blunt sort of cuss/' Knowlton commented.
"Ay, blunt. But not candid. Knows more
than he's telling."
Disposing themselves comfortably, they sat
watching the lights of the town and the jungle
the first pouring from windows and open doors,
the latter streaking across the darkness where the
big fire beetles of the tropics winged their way.
As Knowlton had predicted, the night noise of
forest and stream had diminished; but now from
the village itself rose a new discord a babel of
vocal and instrumental efforts at music emanat
ing from the badly worn records of dozens of
cheap phonographs grinding away in the stilt-
poled huts.
"Good Lord!" groaned McKay. "Even here
at the end of the world one can't get away from
those beastly instruments."
A throaty chuckle from the doorway followed
the words. Schwandorf emerged, carrying a big
bottle.
"Yet there is one thing to be thankful for,
gentlemen," he said. "In all this town there is
not one man who attempts to play a trombone."
The others laughed. Thomaz appeared with
bottles and thick cups. Corks were drawn,
liquids gurgled, matches flared, cigars glowed.
Without warning Schwandorf shot a question
through the gloom:
THE GERMAN 33
"Have you seen Cabral the superintendent?"
"Yes."
"Ask him about the wild man?"
"Yes."
"Get any information?"
"Nothing definite. He suggested that we see
you."
"So."
A pause, while Schwandorf's cigar end glowed
like a flaming eye.
"The Red Bones live well up the river," he
began, abruptly. "Twenty-four days by canoe,
five days through the bush on the east shore.
That would bring you to their main settlement
if you were not wiped out before then. They're
a big tribe, as tribes go. Ever been here before?"
"No. Not here," Knowlton told him. "I've
been hi Rio, and McKay here has knocked around
in"
A stealthy kick from McKay halted him an
instant. Then, deftly shifting the sentence, he
concluded, " in a number of places."
"So." Another pause. "Then I should ex
plain about tribes. Tribes here generally con
sist of from fifty to five hundred or more persons
living in big houses called 'malocas.' Unless the
tribe is very big, one house holds them all.
There may be any number of malocas, the in
habitants of which are all of the same racial
stock; yet each maloca is, as far as government
is concerned, a tribe to itself, controlled by a
34 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
chief. No maloca owes any duty to any other
maloca. There is no supreme ruler over all, nor
even a federation among them. They live
merely as neighbors distant neighbors. At times
they fight like neighbors. You understand."
"'When Greek meets Greek '" quoted
McKay.
"Just so. When I say, then, that the Red
Bones are a big tribe, I mean that there are about
five hundred maybe more individuals in their
main settlement. They live in huts, not in one
big tribe-house like the Mayorunas. They are
not Mayorunas, in fact; they paint differently,
are darker of skin, and more cruel.
"The Mayorunas, by the way, are not so
debased as you might think. Though cannibals,
they do not kill for the sake of eating 'long pig/
like the cannibals of the South Seas. Neither do
they eat the whole body. Only the hands and
feet of their dead enemies are devoured. These
are carefully cooked and eaten as delicacies along
with monkey meat, birds, fish, and other things
prepared for a feast in honor of a victory. The
eating of human flesh seems to be symbolism
rather than savagery. Furthermore, they do not
range the jungle hunting for victims. They eat
only those who come against them as enemies.
"So it is quite possible, you see, that strangers
might go among them and escape death. It would
depend largely on the ability of the strangers to
convince the savages that they were friends. The
THE GERMAN 35
difficulty is that the savages consider all strangers
to be enemies until friendship is proved."
"A sizable difficulty," McKay remarked.
"Almost insurmountable. Yet it might be done.
Mind, I speak now of the Mayorunas, not of the
Red Bones. I tell you again that the Red Bone
country is closed."
"And where is the Mayoruna region?"
"In the same general section. The Mayorunas
are much more widely distributed. They are on
both banks of the Javary and extend as far west
as the Ucayali.
"Now if I sought to enter the Red Bone region
and again I say I would not this would be
my way of going at it. I would go first among
the Mayorunas near the Red Bones and seek to
convince them that I was their friend. I would
make the Mayoruna chief as friendly to me as
possible. I might even take a Mayoruna woman
for a time some of them are handsome, and
such a step would make me almost a Mayoruna
myself in their eyes. Then I would persuade the
chief to send messengers to the Red Bones with
word of me and a request that I be allowed to
visit their settlement. The request, coming from
the Mayoruna chief, probably would be granted.
I would then go in with a bodyguard of Mayo
runas, do my business, and come out via the
Mayoruna route."
A thoughtful silence ensued. Bottle necks
clinked against the cups.
36 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Something in that idea," conceded Knowl-
ton. "A good deal in it. Barring the woman
part, of course."
"Ay," spoke McKay, his tone casual as ever.
"When you came out what would you do with
your woman, mein Herrf"
Schwandorf, tongue loosened a bit by his
kummel, chuckled.
"Ho-ho! The woman? Leave her, of course,
when she had served my purpose. Why bother
about a woman here and there?"
" I see." McKay's face, indistinct in the gloom, .
was unreadable, but his tone had a caustic edge.
Schwandorf laughed again. "You are fresh
from the woman-worshiping United States and
you disapprove. But this is the jungle, and all is
different. 'Cada terra com sen uso,' as these
Brazilians say each land with its own ways.
Perhaps when you have met the Mayoruna
women, looked on their handsome faces and
shapely forms they wear no clothing, by the
way you will change your ideas. More than one
man along this border has risked his life to win
one of those women. But that rests with you.
And now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have
an engagement with a man at the other end of
town."
"Certainly. We are indebted to you for your
interest."
"It is nothing. Remember that I strongly
advise you not to go. But if you will go, I shall
THE GERMAN 37
gladly do whatever lies in my power to aid you
in preparing for the trip. Do not hesitate to call
on me."
He passed into the house, returning almost at
once.
"By the way," he added, "one of you has the
room next mine?"
"I have it," said Knowlton.
"Yes. Are you a good sleeper? I sometimes
snore most atrociously, I am told. So perhaps "
"Don't worry. I can sleep in the middle of a
bombardment."
"You are fortunate. Good evening, gentle
men."
When he was gone they sat for a tune smoking,
sipping now and then at their highballs. At
length McKay said, "Humph!"
"Amen. Pretty square sort of chap, though,
don't you think?"
"I'm not saying," was the Scot's cautious
answer. "Seems to be trying to discourage us
and egg us on at the same time. Something up
his sleeve, perhaps."
"Can't tell. But his line of talk rings true so
far. Checks up all right with what we've heard
about the Mayorunas and so on. And that
scheme of working in through the Mayoruna
country sounds about as sensible as anything.
Desperate chance and all that, but it might work.
Say, why did you kick me when I was going to
tell him you'd been in British Guiana?"
4
38 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Don't know exactly. Had a hunch. Seems
to me I've seen that fellow before somewhere, but
I can't place him. None of his business where
I've been, anyhow. We're boobs from the
States hunting for a wild man. That's all he
needs to know."
But it was not enough for Schwandorf to
know. At that very moment he was on his way
to the home of Superintendent Cabral, with
whom he had no engagement whatever, to learn
all he could concerning the business of these mili
tary-appearing strangers; also to impress on
that official the fact that he had sought to dis
suade them from starting on their mad quest.
And much later that night, when Knowlton
was making good his boast that he was a sound
sleeper, a black-bearded face rose silently above
the iron partition between his room and that of
the German. A hand gripping a small electric
flashlight followed. A white ray searched the
room, halting on the khaki shirt lying over a box.
A tough withe with a barb at one end came
over like a slender tentacle, hooked the shirt
neatly, drew it stealthily up to the top. Shirt,
stick, lamp, hand, face all dissolved into darkness.
After a time they reappeared. The shirt came
down, swung slowly back and forth, was dropped
deftly where it had previously lain. The breast
pocket holding the grain-leather notebook and
the photograph of David Dawson Rand was but
toned as it had been, and the notebook bulged
THE GERMAN 39
the cloth slightly as before. But the contents of
that book and the pictured face of Rand now were
stamped on the brain of Schwandorf . A sneering,
snarling smile curled the heavy mouth of Schwan
dorf. And softly, so softly that none could hear
it but himself, sounded the ironical benediction of
Schwandorf:
"Sleep well, offizier americanisch! Dream on,
poor fool! In time you will wake up. Ja, you
will wake up!"
CHAPTER V. INTO THE BUSH
SLEEPY EYED and frowzy haired, with shirt
unbuttoned and breeches and boots un
laced, Tun emerged from his iron-walled
cell into the cool-shadowed main room, blinked
at McKay and Knowlton lounging over their
morning coffee and cigarettes, stretched his harry
arms, and advanced sluggishly to the table.
" Yow-oo-hum!" he yawned. "Ain't they cute!
All dressed and shaved like they was goin' to
visit the C. 0. And here's pore Timrny Ryan
lookin' like a 'drunk and dirty' jest throwed
into the guardhouse, and feelin' worse. Top o'
the mornin' to ye, gents!"
"Same to you, Tun," McKay nodded.
"Who hit you?" asked Knowlton, squinting
at bumps and scratches on Tim's forehead.
"Nobody. Couple fellers tried to, but they
was out o' luck. Oh, I see what ye mean! I done
that meself while I was gittin' to bed."
"Waves must have been running high on the
ocean last night. Better drink some coffee.
Thomaz, another cup big and black."
"Thanks, Looey. 'Twas kind of an active
night, at that."
"I heard you come in," vouchsafed McKay.
"Were you trying some high diving in your
room?"
INTO THE BUSH 41
"Faith, I done some divin' without tryin',
but 'twas ragged work I pulled a belly smacker
every time. I got to tame that hammick o' mine.
It thro wed me four times hand-runnin', and the
only way I could hold it down was to unhook it
and lay it on the floor."
"Sleep well then?"
"I did not. Cap, I thought I knowed somethin*
about cooties, but I take it back I never knowed
nothin' about them insecks till last night. Where
they come from I dunno, but I'll tell the world
they come, and if they wasn't half an inch long
I'll eat 'em. They darn near dragged me off
whole, and all the sleep I got ye could stick in a
flea's eye. Lookit here."
He extended an arm dotted with swollen red
spots.
"Ants!" said McKay, after one glance. "Ants,
not cooties. They're everywhere. Especially
under the floor. That's one reason why folks
sleep in hammocks down here. Even then they're
likely to come down the hammock cords and
drive you out."
"Ants, hey? Never thought o' that. And I'd
sooner spend another night fightin' all the man-
eatin' j aggers in the jungle than them bugs. It's
the little things that count, as the feller said
when his wife give him his fourteenth baby."
He downed the thick coffee brought by Thomaz,
demanded another cup, accepted cigarette and
light from Knowlton, and sighed heavily.
42 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Who tried to hit you?" Knowlton persisted.
"Aw, I dunno. Two-three fellers took swipes
at me with bottles and things. Me and Joey
went to a place where they's card games and so
on only place in town where the village sports
can git action. Joey offers to buy, and does.
Stuff tastes kind o' moldy to me, so I asks have
they got any American beer. They have. It's
bottled and warm, but it's beer and tastes like
home. It goes down so slick I buy another round,
and then one more, lettin' in a thirsty-lookin'
stranger on the third round. That makes seven
bottles altogether. Then I think mebbe I better
pay up now before I lose track. Looey, guess
what them seven bottles o' suds come to in Amer
ican money."
"M-m-m! Well, say about three and a half
or four dollars."
"That's what I figgered," mourned Tim. "But
them highbinders want thirty-two dollars and
twenty cents, American gold."
"What!"
"Sad but true. Seems the stuff sells here for
four bucks and sixty cents a bottle. Thinkin'
I'm gittin' rooked because I'm a tenderfoot, I
raise a row to oncet and start to climb the guy.
Other folks mix in and things git lively right off.
But after I've dropped a couple o' fellers Joey
winds himself round me and begs me not to make
him arrest me, and also tells me I'm all wrong
that's the regular price. So o' course that makes
INTO THE BUSH 43
me out a cheap skate unless I come acrost, and I
do the right thing."
"Lucky you had the money on you," said
McKay, eying him a bit oddly.
"I didn't," chuckled Tim. "All the dough I
had was one pore lonesome ten-spot the one I
got from ye yesterday, Cap. But I don't tell
'em that. I jest wave my hand like thirty-two
plunks wasn't nothin' in my young life, and
start to work meself out o' the hole. After the
two guys on the floor are brought back to their
senses I order up drinks for all hands and git
popular again. Then I git out the bones."
"Oh! I see!" McKay laughed silently.
"Sure. Remember they told us on the boat
that these guys will gamble on anything? And
that a feller without shoes on may be some rub
ber worker packin' a roll that would choke a
horse? Wai, I make a few passes with them dice
o' mine and their eyes light up like somebody had
switched on the current. Then I scrabble me
hand around in me pants pocket, like I was peel-
in' a bill off a roll so big I didn't want to flash the
whole wad, and haul out that pore liT ten and
ask would anybody like to play a man's game.
"They would. I'll say they would. And they
got the coin to back up their play, too. Before I
come home I was buyin' beer by the case instead
o' the bottle. And it's all paid for, and I got
more 'n a hundred dollars left, besides givin'
Joey a fistful o' money jest for bein' a good feller.
44 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
This ain't a bad town at all, gents. Outside o'
that buckin' -broncho hammick and the man-
eatin' ants I had a lovely evenin'."
"How about Joao's lady friend?" quizzed
Knowlton.
"Huh? Oh, I didn't git to see her. When bones
and beer are rollin' high and handsome I got no
time for women. Besides, I found out she was
mostly Injun and fat as a hog. Nothin' like that
for liT Timmy Ryan. Oh, say, before I forgit
it I asked Joey about this Dutchman here, and
he says "
McKay scowled, shook his head, pointed
toward the closed door of Schwandorf . Tun lifted
his brows, winked understanding, and went on
with a break: " that this guy Sworn-off is a
reg'lar feller and knows this river like a book.
Says he's one fine guy and a man from hair to
heels."
Following which he grimaced as if something
smelled bad, adding in a barely audible whisper,
"And that's the worst lie I ever told."
"We met Mr. Schwandorf last night after you
went," Knowlton said, easily, drawing down one
eyelid. " Very likable sort of chap. He's going to
help us get started upriver."
"Uh-huh. When do we go? To-day?"
"If possible."
"Glad of it. This big-town sportin' life would
be the ruination of a simple country kid like me.
Yo-hum! Wonder how all our neighbors are this
INTO THE BUSH 45
mornin' the goat and the drunk and the two
sick fellers. Kind o' quiet over that side o' the
room."
Thomaz entered just then with more coffee.
Knowlton turned to him.
"Are the sick men better to-day, Thomaz?"
"Much better, senhor," the lad said, carelessly.
"They are dead."
"Huh?" Tim grunted, explosively.
"Dead," the youth repeated. "They were
taken out at dawn. Do not be alarmed. It was
the swamp fever, which is not what you say?
catching."
"Humph! Sort of a reg'lar thing to die of fever
here, hey?"
Thomaz shrugged as if hearing a foolish ques
tion.
"Si. Swamp fever, yellow fever, smallpox, beri
beri to-day we live, to-morrow we are dead."
"True for ye. They's allays somethin' hidin*
round the corner waitin' to jump ye, no matter
where ye are. If 'tain't one thing, it's another."
Despite his philosophical answer, however, Tun
fell silent, his eyes going to the doors of the rooms
where Death had stalked last night while he was
gambling. Like most men in whose veins red
blood runs bold and free, he had no fear of the
sort of death befitting a fighter sudden and
violent but a deep repugnance for those two
assassins against which a victim could not fight
back disease and poison. The Brazilian youth's
46 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
nonchalant fatalism aroused him to the fact that
here both those forms of death were very near
him; the one in the air, the other on the ground
fever and snakes.
For the moment he was depressed. Then curi
osity awoke.
"If this here, now, Javary fever ain't catchin',
how does a feller git it?"
"Mosquitoes," McKay enlightened him. "The
anopheles. It bites a man who has fever, then
bites a well man and leaves the fever in him.
Inside of ten days he's sick, unless he takes a
huge dose of quinine right away. Mosquito
attacks perpendicular to the skin. That is, it
stands on its head. If you ever notice one
of them biting that way get busy with the
quinine."
"Huh! Fat chance a feller's got o' seein' just
how all these bugs bite him. And one muskeeter
standin' on its head does all that, hey?"
"So they say. Also they say it's only the
female that bites."
"Yeah. I believe it. I been stung more 'n
once by females before now. How about the
yeller fever? Git that the same way?"
"Same way, only a different mosquito the
stegomyia. When you begin to vomit black
you're gone. And if you get beriberi you're
gone, too. First symptoms of that are numbness
of the fingers and toes. Muscular paralysis goes
on until your heart stops."
INTO THE BUSH 47
"Uh-huh. Nice cheerful place to die in, this
Ammyzon jungle. Aw well, what's the odds?"
Wherewith he inhaled more coffee, nipped his
cigarette butt at a small lizard on the floor not
far away, yawned once more, and swaggered out
to the piazza, bawling:
"And when I die *
Don't bury me a-tall, I
But pickle me bones
In alky-hawl "
When his roar had subsided and the two for
mer officers had sat silent a moment, smiling
over his nocturnal adventures, the door of
Schwandorf's room opened abruptly and the
German stepped out.
"M or gen" he grunted, striding to the table.
"Thomaz!"
"Si, Senhor Sssondoff." The youth faded
away into the kitchen quarters.
"Always feel grumpy until I eat," grumbled
the blackbeard. "None of this coffee-cigarette
breakfast for me. A real meal, coffee with gin in
it, a cigar then I feel human. Sleep well?"
His bold gaze never flickered as it encountered
Knowlton's.
"Fine. If you snored I didn't know it. Didn't
hear the bodies taken out this morning, either."
"Bodies! Oh! Those fellows dead?" He
tilted his head toward the doors behind which
the sick men had lain. "Glad of it. Best for
48 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
them and everybody else. Hate to have sick
people in the place."
The Americans said nothing. They lit new
cigarettes and waited for the other to become
"human." And when his substantial breakfast
was down, his gin-flavored coffee had disappeared,
and his big cigar was aglow, he did.
"Well, gentlemen, have you decided to take
good advice and let your Raposa alone?" he
asked, affably.
"Who ever follows good advice?" Knowlton
countered. Schwandorf chuckled.
"Niemand. Nobody. So you will go." He
shook his head solemnly. "I have said all I can
without offense. But if you persist I can only
help you to start. If possible I should like to go
with you up the river to the place where you will
take to the bush; but I must go to Iquitos, in
Peru, on the monthly launch which is due in a
day or two, so all my business is in the other
direction. If now I can aid in the matter of a
crew "
"That is what we were about to ask of you."
"So. Then let us be about it. I have been
thinking, since you showed your determination
last night, and have made inquiries about men.
There are now in Nazareth, the little Peruvian
town across the river, several men from whom you
can pick an excellent crew. Men of the river
and the bush, not worthless loafers like these
townsmen here. Men who are not afraid of hell
INTO THE BUSH 49
or high water, as the saying is. Not remarkable
for either beauty or brains, but good men for
your work by far the best you can obtain. I
would suggest a large canoe and six or eight of
those men as crew."
The others smoked thoughtfully. Then McKay
said, "We should prefer Brazilians."
"Not if you knew the people hereabouts as
well as I. It, of course, makes no personal dif
ference to me what sort of crew you get, but I
tell you that these men are best. What does it
matter which side of the river they come from?
Men are men."
"True," McKay conceded.
"Can't be too fussy here," Knowlton added.
"Let's see the men."
All rose. But then Schwandorf suggested:
"No need of your going to Nazareth. Better
stay here, unless you want to go through a great
deal of ceremonious foolishness over there. It's
Peruvian ground and the barefooted ignoramuses
of officials may insist on showing their importance
by demanding your papers and all that. I can go
across, get the men, and be back here before
you'd be half through the preliminaries. Saves
time."
"All right, if it's not too much trouble."
"A good deal less trouble than if you went, to
be frank. I'm known, and I can go straight
about the business. So sit down and wait.
Thomaz! My hat!"
60 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Out he tramped to the piazza, where he paused
a moment to run a swift eye over the disheveled
figure of Tim, who had fallen sound asleep in a
chair. Then, without a further word or glance,
he descended the ladder and swung away down
the street. The Americans, watching him from
the doorway, observed that children in his path
hastened to get out of it, and that he spoke to
nobody.
"Prussian," rasped McKay.
"M-hm! Done time in the Kaiser's army, too,
even if he has been here since before the war.
But he's treating us pretty white."
The captain made no answer. Their eyes fol
lowed the big figure until they saw it go sliding
away toward Peru in a canoe propelled by two
languid townsmen. Then McKay dropped a
hand on Tim's shoulder. The red-lashed eyes
flew open instantly.
Briefly, quietly, Knowlton told of what had
passed while he napped, then asked what infor
mation he had gleaned from Joao.
"He says," answered Tim, " this guy is a queer
duck. Been around here quite a while, but Joey
don't know what's his game. He goes off on
trips upriver, stays quite a while, comes back
unexpected, and nobody knows where he's been
or why. He don't use Brazilian boatmen gits
his men on the other side. And the Peru boys
themselves dunno where he goes, or, anyways,
they say they don't.
INTO THE BUSH 51
"Two of 'em come over here awhile back and
got drunk, and Joey tried to pump 'em, but all
the dope he got was that this here Fritz goes
away upstream to a liT camp, and from there he
goes off into the bush alone, and the Peru guys
jest hang around the camp till he gits back.
Sounds kind o' fishy to me, and Joey says it does
to him, too, but he couldn't work nothin' more
out o' the drunks because about that tune
Sworn-off himself comes buttin' in and asks these
guys what they think they're doin' on this side
the river, and they beat it back to Peru toot
sweet. He's got their goat, all right, and I
wouldn't wonder if he's got Joey's, too. Any
ways, Joey tells me he's off this geezer and advises
me to lay off him, too, though he can't name a
thing against him."
"Queer," said Knowlton, looking again at the
canoe out on the water.
"Gun running?" suggested McKay.
"Nope," Tun contradicted. "I thought o'
that, but Joey says they's nothin' to it; they
watched this sourkrout close, and he don't never
git no guns from nowheres. Besides, they's
nobody up there to run guns to but Injuns, and
them Injuns are so wild they don't want no guns;
they stick to the bow and arrer and such stuff,
which they sure know how to use. Whatever his
game is, he plays a lone hand as far's this town
knows. Got no pals here, and nobody wants to
walk on his corns."
52 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"May be perfectly all right, too," mused
Knowlton. "A little gold cache or something
though he said there was none in this region.
Oh, well, what do we care? We have our hands
full with our own business, and all assistance is
appreciated."
An hour drifted past. Men of the town lounged
by, looking curiously at the strangers, some nod
ding and voicing a friendly, "Boa dia" Women,
too, watched them from windows and doors, and
children slyly peeped around corners until some
thing more important such as a cat, a goat, or
a gorgeous butterfly came their way. Tun went
inside and slicked up a bit by buttoning and lacing
his clothes and combing his rebellious hair. At
length a long boat put out from the farther shore
and came surging across the sun-gleaming river.
"Handle themselves well," McKay approved,
noting the easy grace of the crew. In the bow a
tall, slender fellow stood with arms folded, bal
ancing himself to the sway of the rather clumsy
craft and watching the water ahead. In the
stern, on a little platform whence he could look
over the heads of the others and catch any signal
from the lookout, a squat, dark-faced steersman
lounged against his crude rudder. Between
these two the paddlers stood, each with one foot
on the bottom of the long dugout and the other
on the gunwale, swinging hi nonchalant unison
as their blades moved fore and aft. Under the
curving roof of a rough-and-ready cabin, open at
INTO THE BUSH 53
the sides to allow free play of air, Schwandorf
lolled like some old-time barbarian king.
Down to the landing place trudged the three
Americans, and there the employers and the pro
spective employees looked one another over with
interest. Eight men had come with Schwandorf,
and a hard gang they were. The bowman, hawk
nosed, slant eyed, black mustached, with hairy-
chest showing under his unbuttoned cotton shirt,
had the face and bearing of a buccaneer chief tain;
and the effect was intensified by a flaring red
handkerchief around his head and the haft of a
knife protruding from his waistband. The rowers
behind him, though of varying degrees of swarthi-
ness and height, all had the same sinewy build >
the same bold stare, the same devil-may-care
insolence of manner; and though none but the
lookout wore the piratical red around his brow 5
more than one knife hilt showed at then* waists.
The steersman, whose copper-brown skin and
flat face betokened a heavy strain of Indian
blood, gazed stolidly at the Americans with the
unwinking, expressionless eyes of a snake. Back
into the minds of McKay and Knowlton came
Schwandorf 's words, "Men not afraid of hell or
high water." They looked it.
"Here they are," announced the German,
stepping ashore deliberately. "Jose*, the pun-
tero" his hand indicated the lookout "Fran
cisco, the popero" pointing to the steersman
"and six bogas. Good men."
5
54 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
McKay ran a cold eye along the line of faces,
his gaze plumbing each. Under that chill scru
tiny the third man's stare wavered and dropped.
, That of the next also veered aside. The rest
fronted him eye to eye.
"Two of them will not do," he asserted, hi the
brusque tone of a captain inspecting his com
pany. "Numbers Three and Four fall out!"
Literal obedience would have put Three and
Four into the river, wherefore they stood fast.
But, though they did not quite understand the
meaning of the words, they grasped the fact that
they were not wanted. One laughed impudently,
the other slid a poisonous glance at the bleak-
faced officer. The squat Francisco scowled. So
did Schwandorf.
"No man who cannot look me hi the eye is
needed on this trip," McKay declared. "Also,
six men are enough. If necessary we will bear a
hand at the paddles ourselves. Jose", you have
been told by Senhor Schwandorf what we want?"
"Si."
"You can start at once?"
What pay?"
We leave that to you."
Um! A dollar a day for each man?"
"Money or goods?"
"American gold."
"Si. Bueno."
"Very well. Take those two men back to
"
INTO THE BUSH 55
Nazareth, get what belongings you need, return
here, and report to me at the hotel. I am captain.
Understand?"
11 Si Capitan."
"All right. On your way!"
As the boat drew out the two rejected men
bade the Americans an ironical "adios," and one
spat in the stream. In the faces of the others,
however, showed something like respect for the
crisp-spoken captain, and Jose* snarled some
thing at the ill-mannered Three and Four.
"You might need those men," mumbled
Schwandorf.
"Guess not," McKay answered, serenely, turn
ing toward the hotel. " Come on, boys. Let's get
our stuff ready to ride."
Less than two hours later their rooms were
vacant, their duffle was stowed hi the long dug
out, the Peruvian crew stood arrogantly eying
the Brazilians who had gathered to witness the
departure, and the Americans were bidding good-
by to Remate de Males in general and its German
resident in particular.
"Mr. Schwandorf, we thank you for your
efficient aid," said Knowlton, extending a hearty
hand. "You have helped us to get going with
all dispatch, and we trust that we can repay the
favor soon."
"You owe me no thanks," was the curt reply.
"I would expect you to do as much for me if
our positions were reversed. I wish you luck."
56 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Get aboard, Tim!" McKay ordered, setting
the example himself. Tim obeyed, first giving
the important Joao d' Almeida Magalhaes Nabuco
Pestana da Fonseca a real American handgrip
and getting in return a double embrace from that
worthy official. Whereafter he winked and
grinned expansively at several women garbed
hi violent hues of red, yellow, and green, frowned
slightly at Schwandorf, lit the last cigar he was
to smoke for many a long day, and, as the dugout
began to move, erupted into a more or less musical
farewell to the females of the species:
"The Yanks are goin' away,
Pa-a-arley-voo !
They're movin' on to-day,
Pa-a-arley-voo!
The Yanks are goin' away, they say,
Leavin' the girls in a heartless way,
Rinky dinky-parley- voo ! ' '
With one final wave of his cigar to the gesticu
lating Joao and the grinning women he turned
his back on the town and faced the little-known
river and the inscrutable jungle. But neither his
eyes nor his thoughts traveled beyond the bow
of the boat. Through narrowed lids he studied
the swaying paddlers and the piratical Jose". And
in his mind echoed the whispered warning of
Joao, delivered during the effusive embrace at
parting:
"Comrade, watch those bastardos Peruanos."
CHAPTER VI. IN THE NIGHT WATCH
DAY by day the long canoe crawled into the
vast unknown. Day by day the down-
flowing jungle river pushed steadily, sul
lenly against its prow, as if striving to repel the\
invasion of its secret places by the fair-skinned
men of another continent. Day by day it slid
past in resentful impotence, conquered by the
swinging blades of the Peruvian bogas. And day
by day the close companionship of canoe and
camp seemed to weld the voyagers into one com
pact unit.
Through hours of blazing sun, when the mer
cury of the thermometer which Knowlton had
hung inside the shady toldo cabin fluctuated well
above 100 degrees, the hardy crew forged on.
Through drenching rains they still hung doggedly
to their work, suspending it only when the water
fell in such drowning quantities that they were
forced to tie up hastily to shore and seek cover
'ji order to breathe. When sunset neared they
picked with unerring eye a spot fit for camping,
attacked the bush with whirling machetes, cleared
a space, threw up pole frameworks, swiftly
thatched them with great palm leaves, and thus
created from the jungle two crude but efficient
huts one for themselves and one for their
patrones. When night had shut down and all
58 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
hands squatted around the fire in a nightly smoke
talk they regaled their employers with wild tales
of adventures hi bush and town, some of which
were not at all polite, but all of which were
mightily interesting. And despite all discomforts,
fatigue, and the minor incidents and accidents
which often lead fellow travelers hi the wilder
ness to bickering and bitterness, no friction devel
oped between the men of the north and the men
of the south.
Not that the Peruvians were at all obsequious
or servile. They were a reckless, lawless, Godless
gang, perpetually bearing themselves with the
careless insolence which had characterized them
at first, blasphemous of speech toward one an
other but never toward the North Americans.
Disputes arose among them with volcanic sud
denness, and more than once knives were half
drawn, only to be slipped back under the tongue-
lashing of the hawk-nosed puntero, Jose", who
damned the disputants completely and promised
to cut out the bowels of any man daring to lift
his blade clear of its sheath. Five minutes after
ward the fire eaters would be on as good terms
as ever, shrugging and grinning at their passen
gers particularly Tun, who, shaking his head
disgustedly, would grumble:
"Aw, pickles! Another frog fight gone bust!"
Yet Tim, for all his disparagement of these
abortive spats, knew full well that any one of
them held the makings of a deadly duel and that
IN THE NIGHT WATCH 59
Josh's lurid threats were no mere Latin hyperbole.
He realized that the red-crowned bowman ruled
his crew exactly as any of the old-time buccaneers
whom he resembled had governed their free-
booting gangs by the iron hand; and that,
though these men sailed no Spanish Main and
flew no black flag, the iron-hand government was
needed. He saw also that the rough-and-ready
courtesy of this crowd toward their passengers
was due largely to the attitude of Captain
McKay, who had enforced their respect at the
start by his soldierly bearing and retained it
ever since by his military management.
For the captain, experienced in directing men,
conducted himself at all times as a commanding
officer should: he saw all, said little, treated
Jos6 as a subordinate officer, and left the handling
of the crew entirely to him. His aloofness fore
stalled any of that familiarity which, with such a
gang, would have led to contempt. On the other
hand, his avoidance of any assumption of med
dlesome authority prevented the irritation and
dislike which free men inevitably feel for the
self-important type of leader. Thus he cannily
steered himself and his mates between the two
rocks which might have wrecked the expedition
before it was well started. And Knowlton, ex-
lieutenant, and Tim, ex-sergeant, seeing and un
derstanding, followed his example.
So the days and nights rolled by, the miles of
never-ending jungle shore fell away behind, and,
60 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
save for the occasional outbreaks between mem
bers of the crew, all was serene. To all appear
ances the Peruvians were whole-heartedly inter
ested in serving their employers faithfully, and
the North Americans were gliding onward with
no thought of insecurity. Yet appearances fre
quently are deceptive.
In the heat of the day hi fact, before the broil
ing sun neared the zenith Tun and Knowlton
habitually fell asleep inside the toldo, not to
awake until two hours before sunset, when,
according to the routine agreed upon, the night's
camping place would be sought and two or three
of the Peruvians would go into the bush with
rifles, seeking fresh meat. McKay never slept
during the day's traverse. Nothing escaped his
eye from the time when he emerged from his
mosquito net in the misty morning until he en
tered it again by firelight. The men in the boat;
the floating alligators and wading birds of the
water; the flashing parrots, jacamars, toucans,
trogons, and hummers of the air; the yard-long
lizards and nervous spider monkeys of the tangled
tree branches alongshore all these he watched
quietly as the boat forged on. And the sinister
Francisco, watching him in turn, and the pad-
dlers throwing occasional glances his way, came
to regard him as the only alert member of the
trio. Wherein they erred.
The truth was that every one of the three
adventurers was on his guard. Tim had not for-
IN THE NIGHT WATCH' 61
. j
gotten the last words of his boon companion,
Joao, and at the first opportunity he had quietly
passed on that warning. Moreover, McKay and
Knowlton, without discussing the matter, had
meditated on the unexpected assistance of
Schwandorf, the speed with which the crew had
been obtained, the promptness of Jose" to accept
the first payment offered, and other things.
Wherefore it had come about that at no hour of
the twenty-four was every eye and ear closed.
And the real reason why red Tim and blond
Knowlton slept by day was that they thus made
up the slumber lost at night.
Not that either of them patrolled the camp in
sentry go. So far as the Peruvians knew, they
slept as soundly as McKay. But, lying in their
hammocks, they divided the night watches be
tween them on a schedule as regular as that of a
military camp, though the shifts necessarily were
longer. As sunset came always at six o'clock
and all hands sought their hanging beds two
hours later, Tim's "tour of duty" lasted until
one in the morning. When the phosphorescent
hands of his watch pointed to that hour he
stealthily reached out and jabbed Knowlton,
sleeping beside him. When a barely audible
"All right" reached his ears he was officially
relieved.
Night followed night, became a week, length
ened into a fortnight. Still, so far as the crew was
concerned, nothing happened. A little rough
62 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
banter among them as they smoked their last
cigarettes, then sleep and snores; and that was
all until morning. Men less experienced in night
vigils than the ex-soldiers would have abandoned
their watches long before this if, indeed, they
had ever adopted them. But these three were
schooled in patience. Moreover, neither Tim nor
Knowlton had ever before penetrated the jungle,
and at times the light of the waxing moon
revealed to their eyes strange things which they
never would have seen by day. So the tedium
of the long hours of wakef ulness might be broken
at any moment.
Once they camped close to a conical hillock of
compact earth, some four feet high and almost
stone hard, from which radiated narrow covered
galleries the citadel and viaducts of a commu
nity of termites. Tim, still harboring vivid recol
lections of his ant battle at Remate de Males
though by this tune he had trained himself to
sleep in his hammock, where he was compara
tively safe looked askance at it when told what
it was, and was only partly reassured by the
information that termites were eaters of wood
rather than of flesh. After sleep had embraced
the rest of the camp he still was uneasy, lifting
his net at long intervals and squinting at the
moonlit mound as if expecting a horde of pincer-
jawed insects to erupt from it and charge him.
And during one of these inspections he saw some
thing totally unexpected.
IN THE NIGHT WATCH 63
From the black shadows of the forest had
emerged another shadow, so grotesque and mis
shapen that it seemed a figment of indigestion
and weird dreams a thing from whose shaggy
body protruded what appeared to be only a long
tubular snout where a head should be, and which
looked to be overbalanced at the other end by a
great mass of hair. It stood stone still, and for
the moment Tim could not decide which end of
it was head and which was tail, or even whether
it were not double-tailed and headless. Then,
slowly, the apparition moved.
Into that hard-packed earth it dug huge hooked
claws, and from its tapering muzzle a wormlike
tongue licked about, gathering the outrushing
white ants into its gullet. For minutes Tim lay
blinking at it, wondering if he really saw it.
Then, picking up his rifle, he slipped outside his
net and advanced on the creature.
The animal turned, sat back on its great tail,
lifted its terrible claws, and waited. Six feet
away, just out of its reach, Tim stopped and
stared anew. Then he grinned.
"You win, feller," he informed the beast.
"What ye are I dunno, but any critter that's
got the guts to ramble right into camp and offer
to gimme a battle is too good a sport for me to
shoot. Help yourself to all the ants in the world,
for all o' me. I'm goin' back to bed. Bon sewer,
monseer."
Wherewith, still grinning, but warily watch-
64 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
ing, he backed until sure the big invader would
not spring at him. Knowing nothing of ant
bears, he did not know it was hardly a springing
animal.
Its claws looked sufficiently formidable to dis
embowel a man as, indeed, they were, if the
man came near enough. But when Tim had
withdrawn and the sluggish brute had decided
that it would not need to defend itself, it sank to
all-fours and passed stiffly away into the shades
whence it had come.
On another night, when Tim slept, Knowlton
detected a creeping, slithering sound which made
him slip off the safety catch of his heavy-bulleted
pistol and peer at the hut where slept the crew.
No man was moving there. Still the sound per
sisted. Lifting his net, he spied beyond the hut
of the Peruvians a moving mass on the ground
a cylindrical bulk which looked to be two feet
thick, and which glided past like a solid stream
of dark water flowing along above the dirt. Its
beginning and end were hidden in the bush, and
not until it tapered into nothing and was gone
did he realize fully that he had been gazing at
an enormous anaconda. Then he kicked himself
for not shooting it. But before long he congratu
lated himself for letting it go.
Perhaps an hour later the startled forest re
sounded with an agonized scream, so piercing
and so appallingly human that all the camp
sprang awake. The outcry came but once, sound-
IN THE NIGHT WATCH 65
ing from some place not far off, near the water's
edge, and in the direction toward which the huge
serpent had disappeared. Before the watcher
had time to tell the others of what he had seen,
one of the boatmen discovered the rut left in
the soft ground by the reptile. Thereafter Knowl-
ton kept his own counsel, listening to the excited
curses of the men and observing their pallor
and their nervous scanning of the shadows. Jose*
said the screech undoubtedly was the death
shriek of some animal caught and crushed in the
snake's tremendous coil. McKay concurred with
a nod. And when Knowlton casually said it was
tough that nobody had been awake to shoot the
thing as it passed the camp, Jose" emphatically
disagreed.
A bullet fired into that fiendish giant, he
averred, would have meant death to one or more
men; for the serpent's writhing coils and lashing
tail would have knocked down the sleeping-hut
and shattered the spines of any men they struck.
No, let Sefior Knowl-ton thank the saints that
the awful master of the swamps had gone its
way unmolested. For the rest of that night
Knowlton kept his watch openly, accompanied
by Jose* and three of the paddlers, who refused
to sleep again until they should be miles away
from the vicinity of that dread monster.
Two nights afterward the camp was aroused
again. Tim alone saw the start of the disturb
ance, and he kept mum about it because he did
66 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
not choose to let the Peruvians know he had
been on the alert. Out from the gloom and
straight past the huts a thick-bodied, curve-
snouted animal came charging madly for the
river, carrying on its back a ferocious cat creature
whose fangs were buried deep in its steed's neck
a tapir attacked by a jaguar. With a resound
ing plunge the elephantine quarry struck the
water and was gone. The tiger cat, forced to re
linquish its hold or drown, swam hurriedly back
to the bank below the encampment, where it
roared and spat and squalled in a blood-chilling
paroxysm of baffled fury. And though every
man was awakened, not one left the flimsy shel
ter of his net. Nor did anyone so much as speak
until Tim, wearying of the noise, announced his
intention to "go bust that critter in the nose
and give him somethin' to yowl about."
The proposal met with instant and peremptory
veto.
"As you were!" snapped McKay. "Let him
alone! You wouldn't have a Chinaman's chance
in that black bush. A jaguar is bad all the time,
and when he's mad he's deadly. Never fool with
one of those beasts, Tim. I've met them before
and I know what they can do."
To which Jos6 agreed with many picturesque
oaths, declaring that a jaguar was no mere
beast it was a devil. Tim, grumbling, obeyed
orders. The jaguar, hearing their voices,
stopped its noise and probably reconnoitered
IN THE NIGHT WATCH 67
the camp. But no man saw the brute, and its
next roar sounded from some spot far off in
the jungle.
Other things, too, passed within Tun's range
of vision from time to tune hi the moonlit hours:
a queer bony creature which he took for some new
kind of turtle, but which really was an armadillo;
a monstrous hairy spider which slid like a streak
up his net, hung there for a time, decided to go
elsewhere, and departed with such speed that the
man inside rubbed his eyes and wondered if he
was "seein' things that ain't"; a couple of vam
pires which flitted in from nowhere like ghoulish
ghosts, wheeled and floated silently on wide wings,
seeking an exposed foot protruding from the
hammocks, found none, rested a moment on the
roof poles, chirping hoarsely, and veered out
again into the night.
To Knowlton's watch came a strange owl-
faced little monkey with great staring eyes and
face ringed with pale fur one of those night apes
seldom seen by man; a small troop of kinkajous,
slender, long-tailed animals which looked to be
monkeys, but were not, and which leaped deftly
among the branches like frolicsome little devils
let loose to play under the jungle moon; a big'
scaly iguana, its back ridged with saw teeth and
its pendulous throat pouch dangling grotesquely
under its jaw; and more than one deadly snake
and huge alligator, the first gliding past with
venomous head raised and cold eye glinting, the
68 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
second lying quiescent except for occasional
openings of horrific jaws.
To the ears of both the hammock sentinels
came the mournful sounds of living things un
seen. From the depths beyond drifted the weird
plaint of the sloth, crying in the night, "Oh me,
poor sloth, oh-oh-oh-oh!" Goat suckers repeated
by the hour their monotonous refrains, "Quao
quao," or "Cho-co-co-cao," while a third ear
nestly exhorted, "Joao corta pao!" ("John,
cut wood!"). Tree frogs and crickets clacked
and drummed and hoo-hooed, guaribas poured
their awful discord into the air, and on one
bright breathless night there sounded over and
over a call freighted with wretchedness and
despair the wail of that lonely owl known
to the bushmen as "the mother of the moon,"
whose dreadful cry portends evil to those who
hear it.
Sometimes the air shook with the thunderous
concussion of some great falling tree which, long
since bled to death by parasitical plant growths,
now at last toppled crashing back into the dank
soil whence it had forced its way up into a place
in the sun. Other noises, infrequent and unex-
plainable, also drifted at long intervals from the
mysterious blackness. And in all the medley of
night sounds not one was cheerful. The burden
of the jungle's cacophonic cantanta ever was the
same despair, disaster, death.
Then came the fifteenth day. It dawned red,
IN THE NIGHT WATCH 69
the sun fighting an ensanguined battle with the
heavy morning mists and throwing on the faces
of the early-rising travelers a sinister crimson
hue. Before that sun should rise again some of
those faces were to be stained a deeper red.
6
CHAPTER VII. COLD STEEL
OME two hours after the start, while
Knowlton and Tim loafed at the fore end
of the cabin, enjoying the comparative
coolness of the early day, another boat hove in
sight up ahead a longish craft manned by
eight paddlers and without a cabin.
As it came into view its bowman tossed his
paddle in greeting. The Peruvians ignored the
salutation. The bowman, after shading his
eyes and peering at the flamboyant figure of
Jose", resumed paddling without further cere
mony, evidently intending to pass in silence.
But then McKay arose, waved a hand, and told
Jose" to steer for the newcomers. Jose", with a
slightly sour look, gave the signal to Francisco,
and the course changed.
The other canoe slowed and waited. Its men
watched the tall figure of McKay. Tun and
Knowlton scanned the bronzed faces of those
men and liked them at once. The paddlers evi
dently were Brazilians, but of a different type
from the sluggish townsmen of Remate de Males
alert, active-looking fellows, steady of eye,
honest of face, muscular of arm in all, a more
clean-cut set of men than the Peruvians. All
three of the Americans noticed that no word
was exchanged between the two crews.
COLD STEEL 71
" Boa dia, amigos!" spoke McKay. "Who are
you and whence do you come?"
"We are rubber workers of Coronel Nunes,
senhor," the bowman answered, civilly. "We
go to make a new camp. This land is a part of
the seringel of the coronel, and we left his head
quarters yesterday."
"Ah! Then the headquarters is above here?"
"One more day's journey," the man nodded.
"I thank you. Good fortune go with you."
"And with you, senhor. May Godprotectyou."
With the words the Brazilian glanced along
the line of Peruvian faces and his eyes narrowed.
Though his words were only a respectful fare
well, his expressive face indicated that McKay
might be badly in need of divine protection at
no distant date. As his paddle dipped and his
men nodded their leave-taking, Francisco, the
popero, sneered raucously:
"Hah! Mere caucheros! Workers! Slaves!"
And he spat at the Brazilian boat.
Fire shot into the eyes of the bowman and his
comrades. Their muscles tensed.
"Better be slaves better be dogs than Peru
vian cutthroats!" one retorted. "Go your way,
and keep to your own side of the river."
"We go where we will, and no misborn Bra
zilians can stop us," snarled Francisco. To which
he added obscene epithets directed against Bra
zilians in general and the men of Coronel Nunes
in particular.
72 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
The unprovoked insults angered the Americans
as well as the Brazilians. Knowlton leaped
through the toldo and confronted Francisco.
"Shut your dirty mouth!" he blazed.
For reply, the evil-eyed steersman spat at him
the vilest name known to man.
An instant later, his lips split, he sprawled
dazedly on his platform, perilously close to the
edge. Knowlton, the knuckles of his left fist
bleeding from impact with the other's teeth,
stood over him in white fury. Francisco's right
hand fumbled for his knife. Knowlton promptly
stamped on that hand with a heavy boot heel.
"Good eye, Looey!" rumbled Tim's voice at
his back. "Boot him some more for luck. Hey,
you! Back up or I'll drill ye for keeps!" This
to a pan- of the Peruvian paddlers who had come
scrambling through the cabin.
After one searching stare into Tim's hard blue
eyes and a glance at his fist curled around the
butt of his belt gun, the bogas backed up. A
moment later they were thrown boldly into their-
own part of the boat by Jose", who blistered them
with the profanity of three languages at once.
Then McKay came through and took charge.
"That '11 do, Tun! Same goes for you, Merry!
Jose", I'll handle this. You, Francisco ! Get up!"
The curt commands struck like blows.- Every
man obeyed. And when the squat steersman
again stood up McKay went after him roughshod.
In the colloquial Spanish of Mexico and the
COLD STEEL 73
Argentine, in the man talk of American army
camps, he flayed that offender alive. Jose" him
self, efficient man handler though he was, stared
at his captain in awe. And Francisco, though
not given to cringing, skulked like a beaten dog
when the verbal flagellation was finished.
Turning then to the Brazilians, McKay for
mally apologized for the insults to them.
"It is nothing, senhor," coolly answered the
bowman though his glance at the Peruvians
said plainly that it would have been something
but for the swift punishment by the Americans.
"Again I say may God protect you! Adeos!"
The Brazilian boat glided away. The Peruvian
craft crawled on upstream in silence.
When the next camp was made all apparently
had forgotten the affair. The men badgered one
another as usual, though none mentioned Fran
cisco's split mouth; and Francisco, himself, albeit
sulky, betrayed no sign of enmity. After night
fall the regular camp-fire meeting was held and
at the usual tune all turned in. One more night
of listening to the sounds of the tropical wilder
ness seemed all that lay ahead of the secret
sentinels.
Sleep enveloped the huts. Snores and gurgles
rose and fell. Tim himself, for the sake of effect,
snored heartily at intervals, though his eyes
never closed. Through his mosquito bar he could
see only vaguely, but he knew any man walking
from the crew's quarters must cast a very
74 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
visible shadow across that net, and to him the
shadow would be as good a warning as a clear
view of the substance. But the hours crept on
and no shadow came.
At length, however, a small sound reached his
alert ear a sound different from the regular
noises of the bush a stealthy, creeping noise
like that of a big snake or a huge lizard. It came
from the ground a few feet away, and it seemed
to be gradually advancing toward his own ham
mock. Whatever the creature was that made it,
its method of progress was not human, but
reptilian. Puzzled, suspicious, yet doubtful, Tim
lifted the rear side of his net, on which no moon
light fell. Head out, he watched for the crawling
thing to come close.
It came, and for an instant he was hi doubt
as to its character, for around it lay the deep
shadow of some treetops which at that point
blocked off the moon. It inched along on its
stomach, its black head seeming round and
minus a face, its body broad but flat a thing
that looked to be a man but not a man. Then,
pausing, it raised its head and peered toward
the hammock of Knowlton. With that move
ment Tim's doubts vanished. The lifting of the
head showed the face the face of Francisco,
the face of murder. In its teeth was clamped
a bare knife.
Forthwith Tim applied General Order Number
Thirteen.
COLD STEEL 75
In one bound he was outside his net, colliding
with Knowlton, who awoke instantly. In another
he was beside the assassin, who, with a lightning
grab at the knife in his mouth, had started to
spring up. Tim wasted no time in grappling or
clinching. He kicked.
His heavy boot, backed by the power of a
hundred and ninety pounds of brawn, thudded
into the Indian's chest. Francisco was hurled
over sidewise on his back. Another kick
crashed against his head above the ear. He
went limp.
"Ye lousy snake!" grated Tim. "Crawlin' on
yer belly to knife a sleepin' man, hey? Blast
yer rotten heart "
" What's up?" barked McKay from his
hammock.
"Night attack, Cap. If ye' re comin' out bring
along yer gat. Hey, Looey, got yer gun on?
Some o' these other guys might git gay. They're
comin' now."
True enough, the Peruvian gang was jumping
from its hut. With another glance at the pros
trate Francisco to make sure he was unconscious,
Tim whirled to meet them, fist on gun.
"Halt!" he roared. "First guy passin' this
corner post gits shot. Back up!"
The impact of his voice, the menace of his ready
gun hand, the sight of Knowlton and McKay
leaping out with pistols drawn, stopped the rush
at the designated post. But swift hands dropped,
76 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
and when they rose again the moonlight glinted
on cold steel.
"Capitan, what happens here?" demanded
Jose, ominously quiet.
"Knife work," McKay replied, curtly. "Your
man Francisco attempted to creep in and murder
Senor Knowlton. If you and the rest have
similar intentions, now's your time to try. If
not, put away those knives."
"Knives! Par Dios, what do you mean?"
"Look behind you."
Jose" looked. At once he snarled curses and
commands. Slowly the knives slipped out of
sight. The paddlers edged backward to their
own shack, leaving their puntero alone.
"The capitan has it wrong," asserted Jose".
"We awake to find our popero being kicked in
the head. We want to know why. If Francisco
has done what you say I will deal with him. That
I may be sure, allow me to look."
"Very weU. Look."
Jose" advanced, stooped, studied the ground,
the position of Francisco's body, the knife still
clutched in the nerveless hand. Tim growlingly
vouchsafed a brief explanation of the incident.
When Jose" straightened up, his mouth was a
hard line and his eyes hot coals.
"Si. Es verdad. To-morrow we shall have a
new popero."
With which he stooped again, grasped the prone
man by the hair, dragged him into the moonlit
COLD STEEL 77
space between the huts, and flung him down.
"Juan, bring water!" he ordered.
One of the paddlers, looking queerly at him,
did so. Jose deluged the senseless man. Fran
cisco, reviving, sat up and scowled about him.
His eyes rested on the three Americans standing
gjimly ready, shoulder to shoulder, before their
hut; veered to his mates bunched in sinister
silence beside their own quarters; shifted again to
meet the baleful glare of Jose". His hand stole
to his empty sheath.
"Your knife, Francisco mio?" queried Jose",
a menacing purr in his tone. "I have it. It
seems that you are in haste to use it. Too much
haste, Francisco. But if you will stand instead
of crawling as before, you may have your knife
again and use it, too."
Francisco, staring sullenly up, seemed to read
in the words more than was evident to the
Americans. He lurched to his feet, staggered,
caught his balance, braced himself, stood waiting.
"You know who commands here," Jose* went on.
" You disobey. You seek to stab in the night "
"Now or later what is the difference?"
" and now the boat is too small for both of
us." Jose" ignored the interruption. "Here is
your knife. Now use it!"
He flipped the weapon at the other, who caught
it deftly. Jose" dropped his right hand to his
waist. An instant later naked steel licked out
at Francisco's throat.
78 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
The steersman's knife flashed up, caught the
reaching blade, knocked it with a scraping clink.
For a few seconds the two weapons seemed
welded together, their owners each striving to
bear down the other's wrist. Then they parted
as the combatants sprang back.
Jose" side-stepped twice to his right. Francisco,
turning to preserve his guard, now had the light
full in his face. But the moon rode so high that
the steersman's disadvantage was negligible, and
the next assault of the puntero was blocked as
before. And this time the wrist of the popero
proved a bit the better; he threw the attacking
steel aside and struck hi a slashing sweep at his
antogonist's stomach.
A convulsive inward movement of the bow
man's middle, coupled with a swift back-step,
made the slash miss by a hair's breadth. With
the quickness of light Jose" was in again. His
knife hand, still outstretched sidewise, stopped
with a light smack of flesh on flesh. Then it
jerked outward. His steel now was red to the
hilt.
One more rapid step back, a keen glance at
his opponent, and Jose" stood at ease. From
Francisco burst a bubbling groan. He staggered.
His knife dropped. His hands rose fumblingly
toward his neck. Suddenly his knees gave way
and he toppled backward to the ground. The
silvery moonlight disclosed a dark flood welling
from his severed jugular.
COLD STEEL 79
With the utmost coolness Jose" ran two fingers
down his wet blade, snapped the fingers in air,
and spoke to his crew:
"As I said, we shall have a new popero. To
morrow, Julio, you will take the platform."
A rumble ran among the men. Their eyes
lifted from Francisco to the Americans, and in
them shone a wolfish gleam. The bowman
turned sharply and faced them.
"Who growls?" he rasped. "You, Julio?"
"Si, yo soy," Julio answered, harshly, fingering
his knife. "I will be steersman, but I steer
downstream, not up. Francisco spoke the truth.
Now or later what is the difference? Let it
be now!"
A louder growl from the others followed his
words. One stepped back into the shadow of
the hut.
"Perros amarillos! Yellow dogs! You go
upstream, fools! The Americans must be
taken "
A raucous sneer from Julio interrupted him.
Simultaneously the paddler's hand leaped up
ward, poising a knife.
"The gringos stay here and you, too, you
Yanqui cur!"
The poised knife hissed through the air at Jose".
Out from the crew house shot a streak of fire
and a smashing rifle report.
Jose" dodged, staggered, screeched in feline
fury, the knife buried in his left arm.
80 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
McKay grunted suddenly, fell, lay still.
" God! "yelled Tim. "Cap's gone! Clean 'em,
Looey!"
With the words he leaped aside and pulled
his pistol, just as another rifle flare stabbed out
from the other hut and a bullet whisked through
the space where he had stood. An instant later
he was pouring a stream of lead at the spot
whence the burning powder had leaped.
Knives flashing, teeth gleaming, the other
paddlers charged across the ten-foot space be
tween the huts.
Jose", his left arm helpless, but his deadly right
hand still gripping his knife, hurled himself on
Julio, who had seized a machete from somewhere.
Knowlton slammed a bullet between the eyes
of the foremost boga, who pitched headlong. He
swung the muzzle to the other man's chest
yanked at the trigger got no response. The
gun was jammed.
With a triumphant snarl the blood-crazed
Peruvian closed in, slashing for the throat.
Knowlton slipped aside, evaded the thrust, swung
the pistol down hard on his assailant's head.
The man reeled, thrust again blindly, missed.
Knowlton crashed his dumb gun down again.
It struck fair on the temple. The man collapsed.
Tim was charging across the open at the crew
house. Jose" and Julio were locked in a death
grapple. No other living man, except Knowlton,
still stood upright. Stooping, he peered into the
COLD STEEL 81
red-dyed face of McKay. Then he laid a hand
on the captain's chest. Faint but regular, he
felt the heart beating.
"Thank God!" he breathed. With a wary
eye on the battling Peruvians he swiftly raised
the captain and put him into Tim's hammock.
As he turned back to the fight Tim emerged
from the other hut, carrying a body, which he
dropped and swiftly inspected. At the same
moment the fight of Jos6 and Julio ended.
With a choked scream Julio dropped, writhed,
doubled up. Then he lay still. Jose", his face
ghastly, stared around him. His mouth stretched
in a terrible smile.
"So this ends it," he croaked, his gaze dropping
to Julio. " Adios, Julio! The machete is not
so good as the knife unless one has room to
swing it "
He chuckled hoarsely and sank down.
For an instant Knowlton hesitated, his glance
going back and forth between McKay and Jose".
Swiftly then he ran his finger tips over McKay's
head. With a murmur of satisfaction he turned
from his comrade and hurried to the motionless
bowman, over whom Tim now bent.
"Bleedin' to death, Looey," informed Tim.
"Ain't cut bad excep' that arm. That flyin'
knife must have got an artery. Can we pull
him through? He's a good skate."
"I'll try. You look after Cap. He's only
knocked out bullet creased him "
82 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Glory be! He's all right, huh? Sure I'll
fix him up. Everybody else dead? I got that
guy in the bunk house drilled him three times."
"Look out for that fellow over there. Maybe
I brained him, but I'm not sure."
Knowlton was already down on his knees
beside Jose*, working fast to loop a tourniquet
and stop the flow from the pierced arm. With a
handkerchief and his pistol barrel he shut off
the pulsating stream.
"Yeah, he's done," judged Tim, rising from
the man whom Knowlton had downed at last.
"Skull's caved in. What 'd ye paste him with?"
"Gun. Cursed thing stuck."
"Uh-huh. Them automats are cranky. Say,
lookit the mess Hozy made o' that guy Hooley-o."
Knowlton glanced at Julio and whistled. Josh's
oft-repeated threat to disembowel a refractory
member of the crew had at last been literally
fulfilled.
But the lieutenant had seen worse sights in
the shell-torn trenches of France, and now he
kept his mind on his work. Wedging the gun
to hold the tourniquet tight, he lifted his patient
from the red-smeared mud and bore him to the
nearest hammock in the crew quarters. Striding
back, he found Tim alternately bathing McKay's
head and giving him brandy. In a moment the
captain's eyes opened.
"Some bean ye got, Cap," congratulated Tim,
vastly relieved at sight of McKay's gray stare.
COLD STEEL 83'
"Bullet bounced right off. Here, take another
swaller. Attaboy! Hey, Looey, we better pack
this crease o' Cap's, huh? She keeps leakin'."
"Yep. Dip up the surgical kit. And give
Jose" a drink. I'll have to tie his artery, too.
How do you feel, old chap?"
"Dizzy," McKay confessed. "What's hap
pened?"
"Lost our crew," was the laconic answer.
"All gone west but Jose*, and he's bled white.
We'll have to paddle our own canoe now."
For a time after his head was bandaged McKay
lay quiet, staring out at the tiny battlefield and
atfhis two mates working silently on the wounded
arm of Jose*. When they came back he spoke
one word.
"Schwandorf."
"Yeah! He's the nigger in the woodpile, I bet
my shirt. But why? What's his lay, d'ye s'pose?"
"Perhaps Jose* knows," suggested Knowlton.
"But he's in no shape to talk now. Let's see.
Schwandorf said he was going to Iquitos?"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean anything."
"Probably not. Well, maybe Jose" can ex
plain."
There were some things, however, which Jose"
could not have told if he would, for he himself
did not know them. One was that Schwandorf
really had gone to Iquitos, where was a radio
station. Another was that from that radio
station to Puerto Bermudez, thence over the
84 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Andes to the coast, and northward to a New
York address memorized from Knowlton's note
book, already had gone this message:
McKay expedition killed by Indians. Rand search most
dangerous, but if empowered I attempt locate him for fifty
thousand gold payable on safe delivery Rand at Manaos.
Reply soon a^ possible.
KARL SCHWANDORF.
CHAPTER VIII. THE DOUBLE-CROSS
NOON, sweltering hot. A blazing sun pour
ing vertical rays down on a blinding river.
A long canoe wearily creeping up the glar
ing waters, minus a lookout, heedless of the ever-
present danger of sunken tree trunks; propelled
by three sun-blistered white men, one of whom
wore a bandage around his head; steered per
functorily by a pallid pirate whose left arm
hung in a sling. Atop the right bank an un
broken, endless tangle of jungle growth. Ahead,
on the left shore, a gap gouged out of the forest
and a number of boats at the water's edge.
"Guess that's it," panted Knowlton, shielding
his eyes and squinting at the clearing. "One
more day's journey, the Brazilian chap said.
We've been two and a half."
"One day's journey for six hardened river-
men, senor," corrected Jose". "Not for three
men doing six men's work and hampered by a
cripple."
"Aw, ye're no crip, Hozy," dissented Tim.
"Any guy that can steer a tub like this here one-
handed after losin' a couple gallons o' juice is in
good shape yet, I'll say. If ye had both legs
shot off and yer arms broke and yer head stove
in, now, ye might call yourself sort o* helpless.
Ease her over to the left a li'P more, so's we'll
7
86 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
hit the bank right at the corner o ; that gap.
Me, I don't want to take one stroke more 'n
I have to. Every muscle in me is so sore it
squeaks."
"Same here," admitted Knowlton. "I'm one
solid ache."
Jose" nodded. The clumsy craft veered a bit.
The three put a little more punch into their
lagging strokes, noting, as they neared the
steep bank, that a couple of men had appeared at
its top and were staring at them. Gradually
the long dugout worked in to the muddy shore,
where the paddlers stabbed their blades into the
clay and held it firm.
"Ahoy, up there! This the Nunes seringal?"
From the edge, some thirty feet above, the
taller of the two watchers answered:
"Si, senhor. The headquarters of the coronel.
Do you come to visit him?"
"Right."
"Then permit me to help you. The path is a
little ahead. Pull up and tie to this stake."
The tall fellow came dropping swiftly downward.
At the same time the other Brazilian stepped back
and was gone.
With a dexterous twist the man of Nunes
moored the boat to the designated stake. Then
he reached a hand toward Tim to help him out.
"I ain't no old woman, feller," Tim refused,
and hopped aground unassisted. McKay and
Knowlton followed. But Jose*, after moving
THE DOUBLE-CROSS 87
languidly forward and contemplating the sharp
slope, hesitated and then shrugged his shoulders.
"I am tired, senores," he said. "And perhaps
it would be well for one to stay here and watch,"
The tall Brazilian's eyes narrowed.
"There is no danger of loss," he asserted, with
dignity. "We men of the coronel are not
thieves."
The slight emphasis of his last sentence might
have been taken as an intimation that some one
else not far away would bear watching. Josh's
mouth tightened. For a moment Brazilian and
Peruvian eyed each other in obvious dislike.
Then, with a glance at his crippled arm, Jose*
shrugged again.
"Better come along, Jose*," McKay said.
"Stuff's safe enough."
"As you will, Capitan."
He lounged to the edge, hesitated, wavered
slightly. At once the Brazilian darted out a hand
and gave him support. And while the four
clambered up the slope he retained a grip on the
Peruvian's arm, aiding him to the top. When
they emerged on the level, however, he dropped
his hand immediately. Jose" gave him a half-
mocking bow of thanks, to which he replied with
a short nod. Then he stepped back and let the
Peruvian precede him toward a number of sub
stantial pole-supported houses a hundred yards
away.
"No love lost between them two," thought
88 THE PATHLESS TRAIL ^
Tim, who had watched it all. "Good skate,
though, this new feller. Ready to help a guy
that needs it, whether he likes him or not; ready
to knock his block off, too, if he needs that. Bet
he'd be a hellion in a scrap. Dang good-lookin'
lad, too."
Wherewith he introduced himself.
"Don't git sore because I growled at ye down
below," he said, with a friendly grin. "Sounded
rough, mebbe, but that's my style. I'm Tim
Ryan, from the States. I bark more 'n I bite."
The overture met with instant response a
quick smile and a twinkle in the warm eyes.
"It is not words that give offense, senhor, but
the way they are spoken and the man who
speaks them. One man may growl, but you like
him. Another may speak smoothly, but you itch
to strike him. Is it not so? I am Pedro Andrada,
a seringwiro who should be tapping trees instead
of loafing here. But my partner and I have just
come in from a long trip into the sertao wilder
ness and are resting."
"Yeah? Was that yer buddy I seen with ye? "
"My ah buddee? Partner? Yes, that was
he Lourengo Moraes, the best comrade one
ever had. He has gone to tell the coronel of your
arrival. Have you met with an accident down
river?"
He moved a thumb meaningly toward the only
remaining member of the crew.
"Yeah," grimly. "Bad accident."
THE DOUBLE-CROSS 89
Tim tapped his pistol significently, raised five
fingers, winked, and twitched his head toward the
Peruvian. Pedro lifted his brows, nodded quick
understanding, pointed to the bad arm of Jose",
and made motions as if pulling a trigger. Tim
shook his head and enacted the pantomime of
drawing and throwing a knife. Whereat the
Brazilian, aware that Jose* was not a prisoner and
probably knowing that North Americans were
not knife throwers, looked much puzzled. But
their sign manual went no farther, for they now
approached the house which evidently formed
the dwelling and office of Coronel Nunes.
At the foot of the ladder stood a broad-
shouldered, square- jawed, thick-muscled, deeply
tanned man, who, without speaking, pointed a
thumb upward. Above, in the doorway, waited
an elderly Brazilian of medium height and spare
figure, standing with soldierly erectness and
garbed in white duck of semimilitary cut. He
beamed down at McKay and Knowlton, but as
his black eyes encountered those of Jose* they
seemed suddenly to become very sharp. Then
his gaze rested on Tun's broad face and he
smiled again.
"Enter, gentlemen," he invited. "Esta casa
e a si/as or denes this house is at your disposal."
McKay, with a bow, climbed the ladder, fol
lowed by Knowlton. Jose", with a swaggering
stare at the wide-shouldered man, who stared
straight back without facial change, also went up.
90 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Tim came fourth and last, for Pedro stopped
beside his countryman, who evidently was
Lourengo.
The travelers found themselves in a room
which, in view of its distance from civilization,
seemed palatial. Its floor was tight, its furniture
modern, its walls decorated with a few excellent
pictures, of which the largest was a superb view
of the rugged harbor of Rio de Janeiro. Com
fortable chairs were ranged along the walls, and
the middle of the room was occupied by a massive
square-cornered table on which lay a jumble of
hand-written business papers, a number of books,
a high-grade violin and bow. Beyond the table
stood a swivel chair, evidently the usual seat of
the coronel. Table and chair were so arranged
that the master of this house sat always with his
back to a wall and his face toward the door.
And on a couple of hooks on that wall, ready for
instant service, hung a high-power rifle.
On their way up the river the Americans had
passed, at long intervals, a few small rubber
estates, whose headquarters consisted mainly of a
crude shack or two, hardly better than the dingy
houses of Remate de Males. This place was more
imposing. They had observed, while crossing
the cleared space, that it was at least half a mile
square; that its warehouse for supplies was big
and solid; that a goodly number of barracaos, or
rubber workers' huts, surrounded the house of
the master at a respectful distance; and that the
THE DOUBLE-CROSS 91
owner's home was no one-room cabin, but big
enough to contain six or eight rooms. This well-
appointed reception room and the formal yet
sincere courtesy of its owner showed that Coronel
Nunes was no mere native of the frontier. Later
they were to learn that he was a gentleman of
Rio who, exiling himself from the capital after the
death of his wife, had carved from this forbidding
jungle a fortune in the rubber trade.
With the correct touch of Latin punctilio
McKay spoke the introductions and stated that
they were on their way upriver to explore the
hinterland. With equal politeness the coronel
bowed and begged his illustrious guests to be
seated. Then he touched a small bell. A door
at one side opened and a white-suited negro
appeared.
"Cafe"," the coronel ordered. As speedily as
if these visitors had been long expected, the serv
ant brought in a tray bearing cups of syrupy
coffee. Each of the guests accepted one. Where
after the decorum of the occasion was shattered
by Tim, who, at the imminent risk of scalding
himself, gulped his refreshment and vociferated
his satisfaction.
"0-o-oh boy! That hits right where I live!
Gimme another one, feller, and make it man's
size!"
The black fellow struggled with his quick
mirth and then laughed outright the throaty,
infectious laugh of his race. The coronel's eyes
92 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
twinkled. And when Tim fished a damp cigarette
from his shirt, nonchalantly scraped a match on
his host's table, blew a cloud of smoke, and
sprawled back with one leg dangling over a chair
arm, formality went a-glimmering.
11 A quern madruga Deus ajuda" laughed the
coronel. "Or, as you North Americans put it,
'God helps those who help themselves.' Let us
not be ceremonious, gentlemen. 'Tonio, bring
more coffee. And cigars. And "
Down behind his table, where only the servant
saw the motion, he twitched a finger as if pulling
a cork. 'Tonio, his ebony countenance split by
a grin, ducked his head and vanished into the
other room.
"How is the rubber market, sir?" asked
Knowlton, seeking to divert attention from Tim.
"Not so good," the old gentleman replied,
with a deprecatory gesture. "In truth, it is very
poor since the war so poor that soon I shall
abandon this seringal and go out to spend the
rest of my life on the coast. With rubber selling
at a mere five hundred dollars a ton in New
York and the artificial plantations of the Far
East growing greater yearly, there is no longer
much profit in bleeding the wild trees of our
jungle. I really do not know why I stay here
now, unless it is because I have become so much
accustomed to this life."
"Why, I understood that there was much
money in rubber!"
THE DOUBLE-CROSS 93
"You speak truth there was. Now there is
not. The world moves and times change. Years
ago foreigners came into Brazil, helped them
selves to the seed of our wild trees, and planted
it in Ceylon and the Malay region. That seed
now bears such fruit that the world is flooded
with rubber. Ten years ago, senhores, a ton
sold for six thousand five hundred dollars. Now,
in this year nineteen-twenty, the price is only
one-thirteenth of what it was in those days. It
scarcely pays for the gathering. I hope you have
not come expecting to make fortunes in rubber."
"No. We are here to find a race of men known
as Red Bones."
The coroners brows lifted. They kept on
lifting, and he opened his lips twice without
speaking. After a long stare at Knowlton he
looked at McKay, at Tim, and finally at Jose".
A frown grew on his face. And the Americans,
following his look at the Peruvian, were surprised
to see that Jose" himself was staring blankly
at the speaker.
" Jose" Martinez!" snapped the coronel, leveling
a finger pistollike at the punter o. "What devil's
game are you working now?"
Jose" recovered himself and lifted his coffee cup.
"I do not understand you, Nunes," he replied,
languidly. "I am but the humble puntero of
the crew engaged by these senores. My only
work has been to earn my pay. And you may
ask el capitan whether I have earned it."
94 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Ay, he has," corroborated McKay. "Killed
two of his own crew in our defense."
The coronel's jaw dropped. He blinked as if
disbelieving his ears.
"He Jose"? Not possible!" he stuttered.
"Jose* this man defended you against his
companions?"
"Exactly."
The Brazilian slowly shook his head. Then
suddenly he nodded as if an illuminating thought
had crossed his mind.
"I see. Jose is very well paid."
"One dollar a day," was McKay's dry retort.
At that moment 'Tonio re-entered with a
larger tray than before, bearing more coffee,
long cigars, and squat glasses in which glowed a
golden liquid. Tun sat up with a grunt and
helped himself with both hands. When the
coronel's turn came he disregarded the drinks,
but lit the cigar as if he needed it.
"De noite todos os gatos sao pardos," he said.
"At night all cats are gray. I am much in the
dark, gentlemen. If you would be so good as
to enlighten me "
He paused, looking sidewise again at Jose* as
if the puntero had suddenly grown wings or
horns.
"All right," nodded Knowlton, biting and
lighting his cigar. "We are somewhat in the
dark ourselves as to why Jos6 has been so
zealous, for he has been very taciturn since the
THE DOUBLE-CROSS 95
recent fight at our camp. Perhaps Jose" also is
a bit hazy about our expedition he looked
rather surprised just now. So here is the
situation."
Briefly then he outlined the object of the
search, stating that the identity of the mysterious
Raposa was a matter of some concern to cer
tain persons in the United States and that the
expedition had been formed with the view of
settling the question. From the time of the
landing at Remate de Males, however, he nar
rated events more fully, giving complete details
of Schwandorf s activities, Francisco's offense,
and the final attack by the crew. While he
talked the coronel's frown deepened. Also, Jose"
gradually assumed the expression of a thunder
cloud. And when the tale was done the puntero
exploded.
"Sangre de Cristo!" he yelled. "El Aleman
the German he told you we would go among
the cannibals? We? Peruvians? Madre de
Dios! If ever I get within knife length of him!
Nunes, you see, do you not?"
The coronel nodded grimly.
"I see that he planned to have all of you
destroyed. Senhor Knowlton, that black-bearded
and black-hearted man suggested that you take
Mayoruna women? He told you they were
shapely of body and tried to put into your minds
the thought of making them your paramours?
The snake!
96 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"He did not tell you, then, that the Mayonma
men allow no trifling with their women; that
any alien man attempting to embrace one of
them would be killed. But it is true. If you
should succeed in establishing friendly relations
with the men which is not at all likely you
would forfeit all friendship, and your lives as
well, by the slightest dalliance with any of the
women.
"He told you that more than one man has
risked his life to win a Mayoruna woman? That
is true. But he gave you a false impression as
to the way in which the risk was incurred. He
did not tell you that Peruvian caucheros have
sometimes raided small isolated melocas of the
Mayorunas, shooting down the men and carrying
off the girls to be victims of their bestial lust.
He did not tell you that for this reason any
Peruvian is considered their enemy and is killed
without mercy wherever found. Yet he tried
to send you with Peruvian guides into their
country. He knew the Peruvians would be
killed on sight and you with them."
CHAPTER IX. FIDDLERS THREE
BLACK looks passed among the men as the
duplicity of Schwandorf lay plain before
their eyes. Tim growled. Jose" hissed
curses. The coronel whirled to him.
"Jose"! What was his object in trying to
destroy you and your crew? You have been
his man. You know much about him. He
wanted to stop your mouth, yes? Dead men
tell no tales."
The puntero's eyes glittered. For a moment
the others thought he was about to reveal im
portant secrets. Then his face changed.
"I know no reason why we should be killed,"
he declared.
"I do not believe you," the coronel declared,
bluntly.
Jose" shrugged, calmly drank the coronel's
wine, lighted the coronel's cigar, leaned back
in the coronel's chair, and eyed the coronel with
imperturbable insolence.
"See here, Jose"," demanded McKay, "you've
had something up your sleeve all along. Now
come clean! What is it?"
Jose" puffed airily at the cigar, saying nothing.
"What orders did Schwandorf give you?"
This time the reply came readily enough.
"To take you twenty-four days up the river
98 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
and put you ashore. To prevent any trouble
before that time."
"Ah! And after that?"
"Nothing. At least, nothing to me. What
may have been said to the other men I do not
know. Schwandorf came to me last, after he
had picked all the others."
"And what do you know about Schwandorf?"
"What is between me and Schwandorf will be
settled between me and Schwandorf. My duty
to you senores lies only in handling the crew.
Now that there is no crew my duty ends. Also,
Capitan, I would like my pay now."
"You quit?"
"Why not? I have done my best. I can do
no more. I am crippled. I am of no further
use to you. Give me my pay, a little food, a
small canoe, and I go."
"It is possible, Senhor Jose*," spoke the coronel,
with ironic politeness, "that you may not go
so soon. You have killed two men recently.
You refuse to reveal some things which should
be known about the German. Perhaps the
law"
Jos6 burst into a jeering laugh.
"Law? You speak of law? There is no law
up the river but the law of the gun and the knife.
And if there were, senor, what then? I killed
hi a fair fight. I killed men who would do
murder. I killed on the west bank of the river
Peru. Neither you nor any other Brazilian
FIDDLERS THREE 99
can lay hand on me. And though I now have
only one good arm, it will not be well for anyone
to try to hold me. My knife and my right hand
still are ready."
"By cripes! the lad's right!" Tim blurted,
impulsively. " And I'll tell the world I'm for him.
He's got a right to keep his mouth shut if he
wants to. He don't owe us nothin'. Mebbe
he's got somethin' up his sleeve, at that; but he
stuck with us in the pinch, and "
"And we'll give him a square deal, of course,"
Knowlton cut in. "Jose", your own wages to
this point, at a dollar a day, are eighteen dollars.
The wages of the five other men to the place
where they quit would aggregate seventy-five
dollars. Grand total, ninety-three. The others
chose to take their pay in lead instead of gold,
so their account is closed. Therefore I suggest
that their pay go to you as puntero, popero,
and good sport. What say, Rod?"
"Make it a hundred flat," McKay agreed.
"Right. A hundred in gold. Satisfy you,
Jose-?"
"Indeed yes, senor. I did not expect such
generosity."
" That's all right, then. We'll fix you up before
we move on, and Say! Are you in Schwan-
dorf's pay, too?"
Jos6 hesitated. Then he replied:
"Since you mention it, I will admit that el
Akman offered me certain inducements to make
100 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
this journey. I now see that he had no intention
of meeting his promises. But you can leave it
to me to collect from him whatever may be
due."
Even the coronel nodded at this. The gleam
in the Peruvian's eyes presaged unpleasantness
for Schwandorf.
"You gentlemen, of course, will not attempt
to continue your journey for the present," the
coronel suggested. "You are fatigued and I shall
greatly appreciate the pleasure of your com
panionship. New arrangements also will be nec
essary in the matter of a boat and men."
"We've been wondering about getting another
boat and a new crew," Knowlton said, frankly.
"The canoe we have is too big for three men to
handle, and I'll admit we're tired. Jose, too,
is in no shape to travel yet "
"Jose", of course, is my guest also," the old
gentleman interrupted. "The question of new
men can be solved. But there is time for every
thing, and now is the time for all of you to rest.
As our proverb has it, l Devagar se vae ao longe'
he goes far who goes slowly."
McKay arose, glass in hand.
"To our host," he bowed. The toast was
drunk standing. Whereafter the host tapped
the bell twice and 'Tonio reappeared with a tray
of fresh glasses. A toast to the United States by
the coronel followed, and as soon as the black
man arrived with a third round the Republic of
FIDDLERS THREE 101
Brazil was pledged. Then the coronel directed
the servant:
"'Tonio, if Pedro and Lourengo are outside,
ask them to move the belongings of the gentle
men from the canoe. And make ready rooms
for the guests."
'Tonio disappeared down the ladder. The
coronel raised the violin, tendered it to the
others, accepted their pleas to play it himself,
and for the next half hour acquitted himself with
no mean ability. Snatches of long-forgotten
operas and improvisations of his own flowed from
the strings in smooth harmony, hinting at by
gone years amid far different surroundings for
which his soul now hungered and to which he
would return. Pedro and Lourengo, transporting
the equipment, passed in and out soft-footed and
almost unnoticed. At length the player, with a
deprecatory smile and a half apology for " boring
his guests," extended the instrument again to
ward the visitors. And McKay, silent McKay,
took it.
Sweet and low, out welled the haunting melody
of "Annie Laurie." Tun, who had listened with
casual interest to the coronel' s music, now grinned
happily. And when the plaintive Scotch song
became "Kathleen Mavourneen" he closed his
eyes and lay back in pure enjoyment. "The
River Shannon" flowed into "The Suwanee
River," and this in turn blended into other heart-
tugging airs of Dixieland. When the last strain
102 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
died and the captain reached for his half-smoked
cigar the room was silent for minutes.
Then, to the astonishment of all, Jose* spoke :
"Senores, there was a time when I, too, could
draw music from the violin. If I may " His
eyes rested longingly on the instrument.
"Certamente, if you can use the arm," the coro-
nel acquiesced. With a little difficulty Jose"
drew his arm from the sling, balanced his left
elbow on the chair arm, and poised the violin.
A half smile showed in the eyes of the coronel as
he glanced at his guests. He, and they as well,
expected a discordant, uncouth attempt to scrape
out some obscene ditty of the frontier.
But as Jose*, after jockeying a bit, began drift
ing the bow across the strings, the suppressed
smiles faded and eyes opened. Here was a man
who, as he said, once could play. And he wasted
no time on airs composed by others and known
to half the world. Under his touch the mellow
wood began to talk, and hi the minds of the
listeners grew pictures.
City streets, blank-walled houses, patios, the
rattle of the hoofs of burros over cobbles, the
shuffle of human feet, the toll of bells from a con
vent tower. Gay little bits of music, laughter,
flashing eyes, a voluptuous love song repeated
over and over. A sudden wild outbreak, fighting
men, shots, the clash of steel again a tolling bell
and a requiem for the dead. A horse galloping hi
the night. Mountain winds crooning mournfully,
FIDDLEB.S THREE 103
rising to the scream of tempest and the crash of
thunder. Dreary uplands, the hiss of rain, the
sough of drifting snow, the patient plod of a mule
along a perilous trail. And then the jungle: its
discordant uproar, its hammering of frogs, its
hoots and howls, the dismal swash of flood waters.
A monotonous ebb and flow of life, punctuated by
sudden flares of fight. Then a long, mournful
wail and silence.
His bow still on the strings, Jose* sat for a
minute like a stone image, his eyes straight
ahead, his pale face drawn, his red kerchief
glowing dully in the semishadow like a cap of
blood. For once his face was empty of all in
solence, changed by a pathetic wistfulness that
made it tragic. Then, wordless, he lowered the
violin, held it out to the coronel, fumbled absent
ly at his sling, and slowly incased his wounded
arm. When he looked up his old mocking ex
pression had come back and he once more looked
the reckless buccaneer.
For a time no one spoke. Each felt that he had
glimpsed something of this man's past; felt, too,
that he who now was a bloody-handed borderer
had once been a cabaliero, moving in a much
higher circle. Certainly he could not play like
this unless he had been of the upper class in his
youth. The coroneFs face was thoughtful as he
took back the violin. When at length he began
to talk, however, it was on a topic as remote as
possible from music and present personalities
104 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
the reconstruction of Europe as the result of the
World War.
With this and kindred subjects, aided by the
attentive ministrations of 'Tonio, the afternoon
passed swiftly. Dinner proved a feast, the piece
de resistance being tender, well-cooked meat
which the Americans took for roast beef, but
which really was roast tapir. More cigars,
coupled with the fatigue of the past two days of
paddling, eventually caused the visitors to seek
their rooms, where McKay and Knowlton paired
off and Tim took Jos6 as his "bunkie."
When Tim awoke the next morning he found
himself deserted.
To Knowlton, who drew from the small gold-
chest the hundred dollars allotted to Jose and
handed it to him before redressing his wound,
the puntero quietly revealed his intention to go
before sunrise.
"Say nothing, senor," he requested. "You
need know nothing of it, if you like. I am here
to-night I am gone to-morrow that is all. I
am of no further use to you, I am unwelcome in
this house of Nunes, and I go. Oh, have no
fear for me! I have my gun, my knife, and my
good right arm, and I can take care of myself
very well. No doubt the coronel will be aston
ished to find that on leaving to-night I have
neither cut anyone's throat nor stolen anything
ha! I have a black name on this river, and it
is well earned, perhaps. Yet few men are as
FIDDLERS THREE 105
bad as those who dislike them think they are.
I may borrow a small canoe, but any Indian
would do the same. An unoccupied canoe is
any man's property.
"Before our ways part, senor, let me say that
as Jos6 Martinez never forgets his enemies, so
he never forgets friends. Where some men
would have turned me loose like a sick dog with
my eighteen dollars, you and Senor McKay give
me a hundred. And far more than that, you
saved my life at a time when many men would
have said, 'Bah! let the bloody one die! He is
nothing but scum of the border and leader
of that murdering crew.' You had only to let
me lie a few minutes longer and you would be
rid of me. No, Jos6 does not forget.
"That is all, except if you will, in parting,
take the hand of a man known as a killer and
other things "
Knowlton gripped that hand with swift hearti
ness. He would have protested against such a
departure, but the other's steady gaze betokened
inflexible purpose. So he merely said:
"Then good luck, old chap! And if you meet
Schwandorf give him our affectionate regards."
"Si, senor," was the sardonic answer. "I
will do that thing. And here is something that
may be of interest to you. I happen to know
that before we left Remate de Males a swift
one-man canoe left Nazareth, and that the man
in it was an Indian who is in the German's con-
106 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
trol. It went upstream while we were loading
your supplies, and it has not returned. By this
time it must be many hours above this place.
I do not know what message that Indian carries,
nor where he goes. But he is a short man, and
his left leg is crooked. If you meet such a one
make him talk. Good-by, senor."
Just how and when the puntero catfooted his
way out that night none ever knew but himself.
But before the next dawn he had vanished from
the Brazilian shore.
CHAPTER X. BY THE LIGHT OF
STORM
" /^\ NE thing I can't understand," Knowlton
If said, toying with his coffee cup the next
morning, "is why Schwandorf should
double-cross us. We never did anything to him.
Another thing I don't quite get is how he expected
to have the Peruvians wiped out when he knew
blamed well they were aware of the enmity of
the cannibals. They'd hardly be likely to go
into the bush with us under those circumstances."
"My guess is this," McKay replied. "He set
a trap. He is on a friendly footing with some of
the savages above here, no doubt. He dispatched
that Indian messenger to stir them up with some
false tale and bring them to some place where
they'd be pretty sure to get us. He pruned the
crew to jump us at the same place, perhaps.
Then the crew would kill us or we'd kill them, and
whichever side won would be smeared by the
Indians. Sort of a trap within a trap. Why he
did it doesn't matter much. He double-crossed
us, he double-crossed the crew, he double-crossed
Jose". First thing he knows he'll find he's double-
crossed himself."
"Yeah," Tim grunted. "He better beat it
before we git back!"
"He wanted no killing before we reached the
108 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
cannibal country," McKay went on, "because
then it would all be blamed on the savages and
he could show clean hands. Francisco's venge-
fulness tipped over his cart."
"Still, he might have known we'd stop here for
a call on the coronel, and that there was a big
chance for us to be warned here about the feud
between Mayorunas and Peruvians."
"That probably was provided for. Crew
doubtless had orders to prevent any such visit,
by lying to us or in other ways. We probably
would have gone surging past here at top
speed."
"Wai, it don't git us nothin' to talk about
things that 'ain't happened," interposed the
practical Tim. "Question is, where do we go
from here? And how?"
All eyes went to the coronel, who sat lan
guidly smoking his morning cigar.
"Coronel, we are in your hands," McKay said,
bluntly. "Your men, I presume, are all out at
work hi various parts of the bush. We want a
crew and, if possible, guides. Can you help us? "
The coronel flicked off an ash and spoke slowly:
"I have two men, senhores, who have no peers
as bushmen. They are the two whom you saw
yesterday. Frankly, they are most valuable to
me, and I hesitate about sending them on so dan
gerous a mission as yours. Yet they might suc
ceed where most men would fail, for they have
repeatedly gone into the bush on risky journeys
BY THE LIGHT OF STORM 109
and returned unharmed. Their adventures
would fill books.
"The older of these two, Lourengo Moraes,
has been more than once among the cannibals of
this region, and so he knows something of them.
Naturally he did not live long among them; he
left them as soon as he could. But he has the
faculty of extricating himself from hopeless
positions or perhaps it would be better to say
that his cool head and good fortune together have
preserved him thus far. ' Tanta vez vae o cantaro
afonte ate que urn dia lafica' the pitcher may go
often to the spring, but some day it remains
there.
"Pedro Andrada, the younger, is not so steady
and cool-headed as Lourengo. Yet he is a most
capable man, and the two together they are
always together make a very efficient team."
"I bet they do," Tim concurred, heartily. "I
like that Pedro lad fine."
"So do I," the coronel smiled. "Now, gentle
men, I will not order these men to go with you.
If they go it must be of then* own choice. They
have only recently returned from a hazardous
mission and they are entitled to rest. Yet I have
little doubt that they will jump at the chance to
risk their lives in a new venture. If they choose
to go, I suggest that you place yourselves entirely
in their hands and give them free rein. You
would look far for better men."
"And we're lucky to get them," Knowlton ac-
110 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
quiesced. "To them and to you we shall be
greatly indebted."
"Not to me, senhor," the coronel demurred.
"I do nothing but bring you men together.
Theirs is the risk. 'Tonio! Find Pedro and
Lourengo. Shall we go into the office, gentle
men?"
Chairs scraped back and an exodus from the
dining room ensued. Outside, the lusty voice of
the negro bawled. Soon he was back, and at his
heels strode the lithe Pedro and the quiet Lou
rengo. They ran their eyes over the group, then
stood looking inquiringly at then- employer.
"Be seated, men. Roll cigarettes if you like,"
said the coronel. Coolly they did both. Pedro,
catching Tim's friendly grin, flashed a quick
smile in return. Lourengo, unsmiling, looked
squarely into each man's face in turn and seemed
satisfied with what he saw. Both then glanced
around as if missing some one.
"Your friend Jose has left us," the coronel
informed them, dryly, interpreting the look.
"He disappeared in the night."
"Ah! That is why one of our canoes is gone,"
said Pedro. "We are ready to start."
"You mistake," the old gentleman laughed.
"We do not want him back. Nothing else is
missing."
Whereat Pedro looked slightly surprised.
Lourengo's lips curved in a fault grin. Neither
made any further comment.
BY THE LIGHT OF STORM 111
The coronel plunged at once into the business
for which they had been summoned. Succinctly
he stated the purpose of the North Americans
in coming here, pointed out their need of guides
* and stopped there. He said nothing of the
' dangers ahead, mentioned no reward, did not
even ask the men whether they would go. He
merely lit a fresh cigar and leaned back hi his
chair.
A silence followed. Again Lourenco looked
searchingly into the face of each American.
Pedro contemplated the opposite wall, taking
occasional puffs from his cigarette. At length
Knowlton suggested, tentatively:
"We will pay well"
Both the bushmen frowned. The coronel
spoke in a tone of mild reproof:
"Senhor, it is not a matter of pay. These men
can make plenty of money as seringueiros. "
"Pardon," said Knowlton, and thereafter held
his tongue.
Deliberately Lourengo finished his smoke,
pinched the coal between a hard thumb and fore
finger, and spoke for the first time.
"May I ask, senhor, if you are the com
mander?" His gaze rested on McKay.
"I am."
"And do I understand that we shall at all
times be subject to your orders?"
" In case any orders are necessary yes. But I
assume that you will not need commands."
112 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
A quiet smile showed in the bushman's eyes.
He glanced at Pedro. The latter met the look
from the corner of his eye, without wink, nod, or
other sign. But when Lourengo turned again
to McKay he spoke as if all were arranged.
"When do we start, Capitao?"
Tun slapped his leg and cackled.
"By cripes! there ain't no lost motion with
these guys. Hey, Cap?"
McKay smiled approvingly.
"We shall get on together," he said. "Lou-
rengo and Pedro, this is not a one-man party.
We are three comrades, who now become five.
If at any tune one man needs to command, I, as
senior officer, will take that command. Other
wise we are all on an equal footing."
"Just so," Lourengo agreed. "If it were
otherwise you would still be three men not five.
Since that is plain, let me say frankly that your
big canoe had best stay here, also everything
you do not need in the bush. Two light canoes
are faster, easier to handle and to hide. Pedro
and I have our own canoe and will provide our
own supplies. We will pick out a three-man
boat for you and load it with what you select
from your equipment. After that every man
swings his own paddle."
"Cada qual par si e Deus por todos. Each for
himself and God for us all," Pedro summarized.
"That's the dope," applauded Tim. "Now
say, Renzo, old feller, what d'ye know about
BY THE LIGHT OF STORM 113
these here, now, Red Bones up above here? And
have ye got anything on that Raposy guy?"
Lourenso shook his head.
"I know little of the Red Bone people, for I
have never met them. That is one reason why I
now should like to meet them. I have heard of
them, yes; and the things I have heard are not
pleasant. Yet it may be that the tales are worse
than the people. I have also heard terrible stories
of the light-skinned cannibals, the Mayorunas;
yet I have been among the cannibals and found
them not so bad though it is true that they eat
the flesh of their enemies; I have seen it done. But
it makes a very great difference how they are
approached and who the men are who approach
them. It is possible that we may go unharmed
among even los Ossos Vermelhos the Red Bones.
We shall see.
"Of the Raposa I think I do know something.
I have seen him."
Everyone except Pedro sat up with a start.
"You have seen him?" exclaimed the coronel.
"When? Where? How? Why have you not
spoken of it?"
"Because, Coronel, I forgot it until now. It
meant nothing to us yes, Pedro was with me
except that it was one more queer thing in the
bush. In time I might have remembered it
and told you. But you know we have been
busy."
"True. But go on."
114 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"It was only a little time ago. We were re
turning from the scouting trip on which you sent
us to locate new rubber trees. We were seven
eight seven "
"Eight days' journey from here," prompted
Pedro.
"Si. We were in our canoe when a sudden
storm broke and we got ashore to wait until it
was over. The place was on an ygarape a
creek about two days away from the river. The
trees were large and the ground free from bush.
In a flash of lightning we saw a man peering out at
us from a hollow tree.
"He was naked and streaked with paint
that was all we saw in the flashes that came and
went. The rain was heavy, and we stayed where
we were until it ended. Then we ordered that
man to come out.
"He came, and he held bow and arrow ready
to shoot. We, too, were ready to shoot, but we
held back our bullets and he held back his arrow.
We saw that his paint was red and that it traced
his bones; that his skin was that of a tanned
white man and his hair was dark with a white
streak over one ear. No, we did not notice the
color of his eyes the light was not good and he
stood well away from us.
"We looked around for other men, but saw
none. We asked him who he was and what he
wanted, but he gave no answer. He looked at
us for a long time, and we at him. Then he began
BY THE LIGHT OF STORM 115
walking away sidewise, watching us steadily,
holding his arrow always ready. Finally he dis
appeared among the trees and we saw him no
more. But we heard him, senhores; twice before
we lost sight of him he spoke out hi a queer voice
like that of a parrot. And the thing he said
was, 'Poor Davey!"
McKay thumped a fist on his chair.
"Davey! David Rand!"
"Perhaps so, Capitao. I do not know. But
he spoke English."
"By thunder! David Rand! Merry, where' s
that picture?"
Knowlton was already unbuttoning his pocket
flap. Quickly he produced the photograph.
"That the fellow?"
Lourengo studied the face. The eagerly an
ticipated affirmative did not come.
"I cannot say surely. This is a full-faced,
clean-shaven man with hair close trimmed.
That one's face was gaunt, covered partly with
beard and partly by long hair, and we were not
close to him, as I have said. I would not say
the two were the same until I could have a better
look at the wild man."
"You didn't follow him?"
"No. Why should we? He had done nothing
to us and we let him go his way. We did look
at his hollow tree, though. But it was only an
empty tree, not his home; a place where he had
stepped in out of the storm. We had other things
116 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
to do, so we got into our canoe again and paddled
off."
"You can find the place again?"
"Yes. But I much doubt if we shall find him
there."
"Never mind. We've something to start with
now, and that's worth a lot. Get busy with
your boats and supplies, boys, right away. Tim
and Merry, let's dig out our essentials and start.
We're on a hot trail at last. Let's go!"
CHAPTER XI. OUT OF THE AIR
ArAIN the sun fought the mists of a new day,
casting a pallid, watery light on the livid
green roof of the limitless jungle. High
up under that roof, more than a hundred feet
above the ground, the morning alarm clock went
off with a scream, the sudden chorus of monkeys
and macaws awaking after a few hours of silence.
Down on the eastern shore of the river, in a little
natural port where the shadows still lay thick,
men stirred under their black mosquito nets,
yawned, and waited for more light before starting
another day's journey.
To three of the five men housed under those
flimsy coverings the somber hue of their nets
was new. On leaving Remate de Males the insect
bars had been clean white; and though they had
grown somewhat soiled from daily handling,
they never had approached the drab dinginess
of the barriers draping the hammocks of the
Peruvian rivermen. In fact, their owners had
been at some pains to keep them as clean as
possible, folding them each morning with military
precision and stowing them carefully. Wherefore
they were somewhat taken aback when informed
that nice white nets were decidedly not the thing
in this part of the world.
"Up to this place, senhores, they have done no
118 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
harm," Pedro said, before leaving the coronel's
grounds. "But from here on they will not do at
all. The weakest moonlight yes, even starlight
would make them stand out in the darkness
like tombstones. A few days more and we shall
be in the cannibal country. And it is an old trick
of those eaters of men to skulk along the shore
by night, watching a camp until all are asleep,
and then sneak up with spears ready. A rush
and a swift stab of the spears into those white
nets, and you are dead or dying from the poisoned
points. I would no more sleep under a white net
than I would lie in my hammock and blow a
horn to show where I was. Your light nets must
stay here. We will find dark ones for you."
Thus the voyagers learned another of those
little things on which sometimes hinges life or
death. Even McKay, with his experience of
other jungles, had never thought it necessary to
drape himself in invisibility at night. But when
his attention was called to it he recognized its
value at once, and the white nets were forthwith
abandoned.
Now, on the first morning out from the Nunes
place, the three Americans stretched themselves
in lazy enjoyment after a night passed without a
sentinel. The stretching evoked sundry grunts
due to the discovery that then* muscles still were
lame. The long steamer journey from their own
land, followed by the daily confinement of the
Peruvian canoe, had afforded scant opportunity
OUT OF THE AIR 119
for keeping themselves fit, and the sudden neces
sity for doing their own paddling had found every
man soft. But they now were hardening fast, and
the steady swing of the paddles was proving a
physical joy. These were men ill accustomed to
sitting in enforced idleness for weeks on end.
Matches flared under the nets and cigarette
smoke drifted into the air, rousing to fresh
activity the mosquitoes humming hungrily out
side. Gradually the shadows paled and the weak
light reflecting from the fog-shrouded water
beyond grew into day. The nets lifted and the
bloodthirsty insects swooped in vicious triumph
on the emerging men. But again matches
blazed, flame licked up among kindlings, a fire
grew, and in its smoke screen the voyagers found
some surcease from the bug hordes. Soon the
fragrance of coffee floated into the air.
Tim yawned, coughed explosively, and swore.
"Fellers can't even take a gape for himself
without gittin' these cussed bugs down his
throat," he complained, and coughed again.
"Gimme some coffee! I got one skeeter the size
of a devil's darnin' needle stuck in me windpipe."
"A devil's darning needle? What is that,
Senhor Tim?" inquired Pedro, passing him a cup
of hot coffee. When the liquid and the "skee
ter" had passed into Tim's stomach he en
lightened the inquirer.
"Ye dunno what's a devil's darnin' needle?
Gosh! I'm s'prised at ye. I seen lots of 'em right
120 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
on this here river. He's a bug about so long"
he stuck out a finger "and he's got jaws like a
crab and a long limber tail a with reg'lar needle
hi the end, and inside him is a roll o' tough silk
tough as spider web. And he's death on liars.
Any tune a feller tells a lie he's got to look out,
or all to oncet one o' them bugs '11 come scootin'
at him and grab him by the nose with them jaws.
Then he'll curl up his tail the bug, I mean
and run his needle and thread right through the
feller's lips and sew his mouth up tight. Then he
flies off lookin' for another liar."
"For Deus! And the liar starves to death? "
"Wai, no. 0' course he can git somebody to
cut the stitches. But the needle is a good thick
one and it leaves a row o' holes all along the
feller's lips. Any tune ye see a guy with li'F
round scars around his mouth, Pedro, ye '11 know
he's such an awful liar the devil bug got him."
McKay coughed. Knowlton blew his nose into
a big handkerchief. Lourengo squinted sidewise
at Tim, who was solemn as an owl. Pedro, his
eyes twinkling, bent forward and scrutinized
Tim's mouth.
"You have been fortunate, senhor," he said,
simply and stepped around to the other side of
the fire.
"Huh? Say, lookit here, ye long-legged
gorilla "
Knowlton exploded. McKay and Lourengo
snickered.
OUT OF THE AIR 121
"It's on you, Tim!" vociferated Knowlton.
"You dug the hole yourself. Now crawl in and
pull it in after you."
Tim snorted wrathfully, but his eyes laughed.
"Aw, what's the use o' trying to educate you
guys?"
"You swallowed a mosquito just now, but I
cannot swallow that devil bug," Pedro grinned.
Tim rumbled something, solaced himself with a
cigarette, then squatted and joined the others in
their frugal breakfast of coffee and chibeh a
handful of farinha mixed with water hi a gourd.
When it was finished McKay, who never smoked
in the morning until he had eaten, filled a pipe
and suggested:
"Guess we'd better plan our campaign. We
didn't take time yesterday. In case we find no
trace of the Raposa at the place where you
fellows saw him, what's your idea?"
Lourenc.o, puffing thoughtfully, stared into the
fire.
"There will be tune enough to decide that,
Capitao, after we have visited that place,"
he said, slowly. "Still, perhaps it is best to
make some plan; it can be changed at any
time."
For a moment longer he looked at the dying
flame. Then, dropping his cigarette stub into it,
he continued:
"If I were going alone to find a man among the
Red Bones, I should go first to the Mayorunas
122 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
and work through them to make sure of a friendly
reception by the other people. I would "
"Why, that's the very thing Schwandorf
suggested!"
"Yes? I have not heard what he said. Tell
me."
McKay did so. Lourengo smiled.
"Sometimes, Capitao, the devil puts into the
hands of men a weapon which is turned against
himself. So it is now. That AUemao, Schwan
dorf, never expected you to reach the people you
seek, but the plan is good. It would not be good
if you followed it exactly as he laid it out, but
things have changed; and what you could not
do with Peruvian companions, or alone, you
perhaps can do with us. I will show you.
"It happens that I have been twice among the
cannibals living hi a certain maloca which I can
find again. Perhaps you know that those people
live in scattered malocas, each ruled by its own
chief"
"Yes, we know about that."
"Good. Now if we went to any maloca where
we were not known we might be killed at once.
But at that maloca of which I speak I am known
to the chief and all his righting men, for I once led
them on a raid into Peru. So they will remem
ber me "
"What's that?" Knowlton interrupted, in
amazement. "You led a cannibal tribe on the
warpath?"
OUT OF THE AIR 123
"Just so, senhor. It is a long story, but these
are the facts:
"There was in Peru a gang of killers, robbers
and worse who called themselves the Peccaries.
They raided one of the coronel's camps where I
was hi charge, killed all my gang except myself
and one other, and used us two as slaves and
beasts of burden.
"The other man died from poison. I lived only
to revenge myself on those foul outlaws. There
was much rubber of the coronel's, worth much
money at that time, in the camp they had raided.
So, after driving me like a beast to their strong
hold in the hills of Peru, they came back with
boats and Indian porters to get out that rubber.
"On that return journey I tried to kill the
leader, who was called El Amarillo yellow-
skinned. I failed, and he had me nailed with
long thorns to a tree where I might hang in tor
ment for days, dying slowly. See. Here are
the marks."
All three of the Americans had noticed on the
previous day that each of LourenQo's hands was
disfigured by a scar which looked as if a spike
had been driven through. Now he held those
hands forward for their inspection. Then he
pulled off his loose shirt and rolled up his trousers.
They saw other scars in the big muscles before
the armpits, in the soft flesh under the ribs, in the
thighs and calves.
"The dirty Hun!" Tim grated.
124 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"That was not all, Senhor Tim. They also
put fire ants on me, which bit so cruelly that I
nearly lost my mind from pain. Then they
went on, intending to have more sport with me
when they came back with the rubber. But
after they left me two hunters of the cannibal
tribe who had been following a tapir's track
found me and took me down from the tree.
"Now the Peccaries before this had stolen
some women from a Mayoruna maloca and were
treating them like dogs I saw one of those
women brutally murdered while I was captive in
the outlaw camp. I managed to tell the two
hunters I could lead them to the Peccary strong
hold and give them revenge. They carried me to
their maloca I could not walk and told their
chief what I had said. The chief caused my
hurts to be cured, and then I kept my promise.
"I guided the savages to the outlaw camp; they
surrounded it, and in the fight that followed
every Peccary was killed except then- leader.
Now that cannibal chief has not forgotten me "
"Wait a minute," protested Knowlton. "Did
that Peccary leader escape?"
"No. He was kept alive until a big herd of
peccaries was met. Then, because he called him
self 'King of the Peccaries/ he was nailed to a
tree, as I had been, and told to make the pec
caries take out the thorns. The wild pigs tore
him into ribbons with their tusks."
Calmly he donned his shirt again. Tim,
OUT OF THE AIR 125
staring at him, twitched his shoulders as if a chill
had gone down his back.
"Ugh!" muttered Knowlton.
"So now," Lourengo resumed, "if I can find
that chief again he may have been killed in
some tribal fight before now he may be friendly
to all of us. Or he may not. Savages cannot be
relied on with much certainty. But if any of the
Mayorunas will help us, he will. It is worth
trying."
"And if he is not friendly " Knowlton
paused.
"We do not come back," Pedro finished.
"Have you a better plan?"
All shook their heads.
"Laurengo's idea is excellent," said McKay.
" I was thinking along the same line, though I did
not know he had any such friendly relations with
a chief. That makes it all the more advisable to
try it, unless we find the Raposa first. We, of
course, will not land at the place where Schwan-
dorf told us to go ashore, seven days from here."
"By no means," Lourengo concurred. "In
five days we leave the river and travel along the
ygarap. If we go to the maloca it will be from
another direction than the river."
He began preparing to travel. The others also
went about the work of breaking camp. By the
time the canoes were loaded the mists had lifted
and the river lay open and empty before them.
In the bush around and beyond, gloom still lay
126 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
thick and the forest life yelped, howled, clattered,
and wailed. But out on the water it was broad
day, and far overhead sounded the harsh cries of
unseen parrots flying two by two in the sunlight
above the matted branches. The world of the
pathless tropic wilderness, ever dying, ever living,
was about its daily business. The five invaders
were about theirs.
As the paddlers dipped, however, Knowlton
held back.
"Say, Rod, we didn't tell these fellows about
Schwandorf's Indian. Hold up a second, men."
While all rested on their paddles he spoke of
the mysterious messenger dispatched from Naz
areth. Pedro and Lourengo contemplated the
river, then frowned.
"That may be of importance, senhores," said
Lourenc.o. "It may change everything for us.
We saw a lone Indian go past the coroner s place,
traveling fast, three days before you came. I
would give much to know where he is now and
what word he carries. A short man with a bad
left leg, you say. We shall keep watch for such a
man. Perhaps we may meet him."
Wherein he predicted more accurately than
he knew.
The canoes swung out and the paddlers settled
into the steady stroke to which they were growing
accustomed. Hour after hour they forged on,
the Brazilians adjusting their speed to that of
the Americans, who had not yet attained the
OUT OF THE AIR 127
muscular ease of habitual canoemen. The miles
flowed slowly but surely behind them, the sun
rolled higher and hotter, the silence of approach
ing noon crept over the jungle on either side.
Then, as the time drew near when they would
land for a more hearty meal than that of the
morning, Pedro pointed ahead.
Up out of the bush on the Peruvian shore rose
a vulture. It flapped sullenly away as if dis
appointed. The bushmen, quick to note any
thing that might be a sign, paid no attention to
the bird's flight, but marked with unerring eye
the spot whence it had taken wing.
"Let us cross, comrades, and see what we may
see," Pedro called. "If nothing is there, we
can eat."
But something was there. All saw it before
they landed the stern of a small, speedy canoe
almost concealed in a narrow rift at the bottom
of the bank. In the soil of the rising slope were
the prints of bare feet. And Pedro, scanning the
tracks narrowly after he and the others reached
shore, asserted, "These were not made to-day."
Up the bank they climbed, silent and watchful.
At the top Lourengo took the lead. In under
big trees the five passed in file. A short distance
from the edge Lourenc.o stopped, looking at the
ground. The others spread out and stared at the
thing he had found.
Between the buttress roots of a tall tree was a
crude shelter of palm leaves. Before this lay the
128 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
scattered bones of a man. The skull had been
crushed by a mighty blow.
The bones were picked clean had been stripped
and torn asunder days before, and the vulture
which had just left had gotten nothing for its
belated visit. Among them were remnants of
cloth, a belt and a machete, and strands of coarse
black hair. A few feet away lay a cheap "trade"
gun. Lourengo inspected the weapon and laid it
back.
"Did he shoot before he was downed?" asked
Knowlton.
"No. The gun is loaded. His death came
from above." The bushman ran his eye up the
towering tree, then pointed to a large dark object
on the ground near by.
"Castanha Brazil-nut tree," he explained.
"That heavy nut fell and smashed the Indian's
skull like an egg. Indian, yes. His gun, his
shelter, and his hair show that. And" stooping
and pointing at one of the bones "that bone
shows who he was. See, Capitao."
McKay looked down on a leg bone. At some
time the leg had been broken and badly set, if set
at all. The bone was crooked.
"A short Indian with a crooked leg. Schwan-
dorf's messenger!"
"Si. No man will ever receive the message
he bore. He camped here days ago. Now he
camps here forever."
CHAPTER XII. THE ARROW
SLOWLY, silently, two canoes glided along
the still, dark water of a gloomy creek over
arched by the interlaced limbs of lofty trees.
The first, propelled by the slow-dipping blades
of two Brazilian bushmen, seemed to be seeking
something; for it nosed along with frequent
pauses of the paddles, during which it drifted
almost to a stop while its crew searched the
solemn jungle depths reaching away from the
right-hand shore. The second, carrying three
bronzed and bearded men of another continent,
was only trailing the leader. It moved and
paused like the first, but the recurrent scrutiny of
the farther gloom by its paddlers was that of men
who saw only a meaningless, monotonous bulk of
buttresses and trunks and tangle of looping
lianas. In this dimness and bewildering chaos
the trio might as well have been blind. The eyes
of the tiny fleet were in the first boat.
The progress of the dugouts was almost
stealthy. Not a paddle thumped or splashed,
not a voice spoke. They moved with the alert
caution born not of fear, but of wary readiness
for any sudden event like prowling jungle
creatures which, themselves seeking quarry,
must be ever on guard lest they become the
hunted instead of the hunters.
130 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
For the past two days they had moved thus.
The last fresh meat had been shot miles down
the river, where a well-placed bullet from the
rifle of McKay had downed a fat swamp deer.
Since that day not a gun had been fired. The
'rations now were tough jerked beef and monkey
meat, slabs of salt pirarucu fish, and farinha,
varied by tinned delicacies from the stores of the
Americans. Henceforth gunfire was taboo unless
it should become necessary in self-defense.
At length the fore canoe halted with an abrupt
ness that told of back strokes of the blades hidden
under water. McKay, bowman of the trailing
craft, also backed water, while his mates held
their paddles rigid. The two boats drifted to
gether.
"This is the place," Lourengo said, speaking
low.
The Americans, scanning the shore, saw
nothing to differentiate the spot from the rest of
the wilderness growth. Yet Lourenc.o's tone was
sure. Pedro's face also showed recognition of
his surroundings. With no apparent motion of
the paddles though the wrists of the paddlers
moved almost imperceptibly the canoe of the
bushmen floated to the bank. They picked up
their rifles, twitched their bow up on land, and
turned their faces to the forest.
"Stay here," was Pedro's subdued command,
"until you hear the bird-call which we taught
you down the river."
THE ARROW 131
He and Louren$o faded into the dimness and
were gone.
"Beats me how them guys find their way
'round," muttered Tim. "I could land here
twenty times hand-runnin', but if I went away
and then come back I'd never know the place."
"It's all in the feel of it," was McKay's low-
toned explanation. "They find places and travel
the bush as an Indian does by a sixth sense.
Take them to New York City, guide them
around, then turn them loose and they'd be
hopelessly lost in ten minutes."
The others nodded agreement and sat watch
ing. In the shadows no creature moved. Afar off
some bird cried mournfully like a lost soul con
demned to wander forever alone in the grim
green solitudes. No other sound came to the
listeners save the ever-present hum of the big
forest mosquitoes, to which they now had become
indifferent. For all they could see or hear of their
two guides, they might as well have been alone.
Yet they knew the Brazilians were not far away,
threading the maze with sure step and scouting
hawk-eyed for any sign of danger.
At length a long soft whistle sounded hi the
bush ahead. Any Indian hunter hearing that
sound would straightway have begun scanning
the high branches, for the liquid call was that of
the mutum, or curassow turkey. But the waiting
trio knew it for Pedro's signal that all was clear.
At once they slid their canoe to shore, lifted its
132 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
bow to a firm grip on the clay, and, after plumbing
the shadows, quietly advanced in squad column.
A few steps, and they halted suddenly and
whirled. A voice had spoken just behind them.
There, squatting leisurely between the root
buttresses of a huge tree, Lourengo looked up at
them in amusement. They had passed within
rifle length of him without seeing him.
"Of what use are your eyes, comrades?" he
chaffed. "In the bush one should see in all
directions at once. You were looking at that
patch of sunlight just ahead, yes? But danger
lurks in the shadows, not in the glaring light."
Without awaiting an answer, he arose and took
the lead. At the edge of the small sunlit space
beyond he halted.
"You were heading for the right place," he
added then. "Look around. Do you see any
thing?"
Swiftly they scrutinized the gap left by the
fall of a great tree whose gigantic trunk had
bludgeoned weaker trees away in its crushing
descent. Seeing nothing unusual, they then
peered around them. Tim suddenly snapped up
his rifle.
"Holler tree there and a man in it! Hey!
come out o' there!"
"Your eyes improve," Lourenco complimented.
"But the man is Pedro."
Tim lowered the gun as Pedro, grinning, came
out of his concealment.
THE ARROW 133
"That is the tree of the Raposa," Lourengo
went on. "The lightning flashing in from above
showed us the man. But now, senhores, I think
we must tramp the bush for some tune before
we find that Raposa again. There is no trace
of him here."
" Hm ! " said Knowlton. Striding to the hollow
tree, he peered about inside it. The cavity was
almost big enough to sling a hammock in, but it
was empty of any indication of habitation,
human or otherwise. A temporary refuge that
was all.
"No sign anywhere around here, eh?" queried
McKay.
"We have found none. We shall look farther,
but I have small hope. If you senhores will
make the camp this time we shall start at once
and stay out until dark. Build no fire until we
return. And if you hear the call of the mutum,
pay no attention to it; we may use it to locate
each other if we separate, and also perhaps as a
decoy. Any wild man, red or white, hearing that
call would seek the bird making it, for a fine fat
mutum is well worth killing. Keep quiet and
be on guard."
"Right. Go ahead."
The bushmen turned at once and stole away.
The others returned to the canoes, transported
the necessary duffle to the base of the hollow tree,
made camp with a few poles, and squatted against
the trunk to smoke, watch, and wait. Several
10
134. THE PATHLESS TRAIL
times they heard mutum calls receding in the
distance. Then came silence.
The sun-thrown shadows in the gap crawled
steadily eastward. Knowlton tested the feed of
his automatic, which, since its balkiness in the
fight with the Peruvians, he had kept carefully
oiled and free from the slightest speck of rust.
Tun arose at intervals and paced up and down hi
sentry go, eyes and ears alert a useless activity,
but one which provided an outlet for his restless
energy. McKay let his gaze rove over the small
area visible from their post, studying the con
tours of the towering trunks, the prone giant
whose fall had opened the hole in the leafy roof,
the parasitical vines twined about other trees,
the thin, outflung buttresses supporting the
mighty columns all familiar sights to him, but
the only things to occupy his vision. So limned
on his brain did the scene become that after a
tune he could close his eyes and see it hi every
important detail.
It might have been two hours after Pedro and
Lourenso had departed the shadows had grown
much longer when over McKay stole the feeling
that he was being watched. He glanced at his
companions and found that neither of them was
looking at him. Knowlton, sitting with hands
clasped around updrawn knees, was dozing. Tim,
though wide awake, was staring absently at a
fungus. The captain's eyes searched the short
vistas all about, spying nothing new. Still the
THE ARROW 135
feeling persisted. Then all at once his roaming
gaze stopped, became fixed on a point some
forty feet away.
There rose a rough-barked red-brown tree, and
from it, near the ground, projected a blackish
bole. McKay was very sure the protuberance
had not been there before. He had stared
steadily at that tree more than once, and its
shape was quite clear in his mind. Was that
bump an insensate wood growth now revealed
for the first time by the changing sun slant, or
For minutes he watched it. It did not move.
Then Tim, restless again, rose directly in Mc
Kay's line of sight, yawned silently, swung his
gun to his shoulder, and began another slow
parade of his self-appointed post. When he had
stepped aside McKay looked again for the
puzzling bole.
It was gone.
With a bound the captain was up and dashing
toward the tree, drawing his pistol as he ran.
But within three strides he went down. A tough
vine, unnoticed on the ground, looped snakily
around one ankle and threw him hard. His gun
flew from his hand. As he fell a tiny whispering
sound flitted past, followed by a small blow some
where behind him. Ensued a gruff grunt from
Tim and the swift clatter of a breech bolt.
Raging, McKay kicked his foot loose and
heaved himself up. Empty handed, he con
tinued his rush for the tree. But when he
136 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
reached it he found nothing behind it. If any
thing had been there it now was gone, and the
vacant shadows beyond were as inscrutable as
ever.
Feet padded behind him and Tim and Knowl-
ton halted on either side. A moment of silent
searching, and Tim broke into reproach.
"Cap, don't never do that again! If ye take a
tumble hi my line o' fire, for the love o' Mike
stay down till I shoot! I come so near drillin'
ye when ye hopped up that I'm sweatin' blood
right now."
In truth, the veteran was pale around the
mouth and his broad face was beaded with cold
drops.
"I seen more 'n one time in France when
I felt like shootin' my s'perior officer, but I
never come so near doin' it as jest now. I
had finger to trigger and had took up the
slack, and a hair's weight more pull would
have spattered yer head all around. And be
sides givin' me heart failure ye let that guy git
away. We'll never find him "
"You saw him?" McKay cut in.
"I seen somethin' beyond ye couldn't make
out what 'twas, but from the way ye was goin'
over the top I knowed it must be a man. And
then when the arrer come "
"Arrow?"
"Sure. Missed ye when ye took that flop, and
stuck in the tree over Bonder. What 'd ye rush
THE ARROW 137
the guy for, anyways? Whyn't ye drill him
from where ye was?"
In the reaction from his sudden fright Tim was
as wrathfully ready to "bawl out" his captain
as if he were some raw rookie. McKay, with a
cool smile, explained his abrupt action, meanwhile
reconnoitering the dimness for any further sign of
the vanished assailant. None showed.
While Tun stood vigilant guard the other two
stooped and moved around the base of the tree,
narrowly examining the ground. Beyond it they
paused at one spot, fingered the soil lightly, and
lit a match or two.
"No ghost," said Knowlton. "Barefoot man.
Didn't leave much trace, but enough to show he
was here. Let's look at that arrow."
Back to the hollow tree they went, retrieving
McKay's pistol on the way. About a yard above
the earth a long shaft projected from the bark.
Knowlton reached for it, but McKay held him
back and drew it out.
"M-hm! Thought so!" he muttered. "Poi
soned."
"Oof! Nice, gentle sort of a cuss," rumbled
Tim. "That smear on the point is that poi
son?"
"Poison. Quickest and deadliest kind of
poison. Mixes instantly with blood. Paralysis
convulsions death. The least scratch and
you're gone. Wicked head on this thing, too:
looks like a piece of serrated bone. See all those
138 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
little barbs along the edges? War arrow, all
right."
"Meanin' that we'll be jumped pretty soon by
more Injuns. If that guy's on the w^arpath he
ain't alone."
"Wouldn't be a bad idea to take cover,"
nodded McKay. Turning the five-foot shaft
downward, he plunged its head into the soft
ground and left it sticking there, harmless.
"Tim, go down and guard the canoes. Merry,
lie in between these roots and keep watch off
that way. I'll go over to that tree where the spy
hid."
For another hour the camp was silent. Each
in his covert, finger on trigger, the trio watched
with ceaseless vigilance, expecting each instant
to detect dusky forms crawling up from tree to
tree. Yet nothing of the sort came. Nor did any
hostile sound reach them. Somewhere parrots
squawked, somewhere else the puppylike yapping
of toucans disturbed the solitude; nothing else.
The wan light faded. The sun crawled up the
trees, leaving all the ground in shadow. Then,
not far off, sounded the soft whistle of the
mutum. Suspicious, the watchers held their
places until, with another whistle, Pedro came
into view, followed by Lourengo.
McKay arose, met them, and briefly explained
the situation. They nodded, but seemed un
disturbed.
"We can start a fire now, Capitao," Lourengo
THE ARROW 139
said. "Night comes and we are hungry. There
will be no danger before another dawn."
With which he leaned his rifle against a tree
and started immediate preparations for a meal.
Pedro continued on to the canoes, made sure
they were drawn up high enough to remain hi
place in case of any sudden ram, and returned
with Tim. Around them now resounded the
swiftly rising roar of the nightly outbreak of
animal life. The sun vanished. At once black
ness whelmed all except the little fire.
"See anything while you were out?" asked
McKay.
"We found no trace of the Raposa," Lourengo
evaded.
"What do you plan to do now?"
' ' Eat smoke talk sleep. ' '
McKay eyed the bushman keenly, feeling that
he was holding something back. But, feeling also
that this pair knew what they were about, he
bided his time. When all had eaten and tobacco
smoke was blending with that of the burning
wood, Lourenc,o drew the arrow from the ground
and studied it. Then he passed it to Pedro, who,
after a critical examination, held it in the blaze
until the deadly head was burned away.
"A big-game arrow of the cannibal Mayo-
runas," said Lourenc,o. "The point, with its saw
tooth barbs, is made from the tail bone of the
araya, the flat devilfish of the swamp lakes. That
fish, as you perhaps know, has a whiplike tail
140 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
I
armed with that bone; and if he strikes the bone
into your flesh it breaks off and stays in the
wound, and you are likely to die."
"But in that case death comes from gangrene,"
McKay remarked. "This point has been dipped
in wurali poison."
"You have seen such arrows before, Capitao?"
"Seen the poison before, yes. Over in British
Guiana. The Macusi Indians make it from the
wurali vine, some bitter root or other, a couple
of bulbous plants, two kinds of ants one big
and black with a venomous bite, the other small
and red a lot of pepper, and the pounded fangs
of labarri and couanacouchi snakes. They boil
all this stuff down to a thick syrup, and that's
the poison. The man who makes it is sick for
days afterward."
"Our cannibals make that poison in much the
same way. Yet Guiana is many hundreds of miles
from here, and our Indians know nothing of those
Macusi people. Queer, is it not, that the same
plan should be used by savages thousands of
miles apart?"
"Rather odd. Must have started from some
common source hundreds of years ago and spread
around. Queerest thing is, though, that a
poison so deadly doesn't spoil meat for eating."
"Huh?" exclaimed Tim. "Mean to say them
cannibals can kill us by scratchin' us with a
poison arrer and then stummick us afterwards?"
"Exactly. You'd taste just as sweet as ever,
THE AKROW
Tim maybe more so. Cheer up! They say it
doesn't hurt much to die that way; you're para
lyzed so quick you just sort of fade out."
Tim shook his head, his abhorrence of poison
strong as ever. Knowlton spoke.
"I've heard that this wurali poison is much
overrated, that it will kill only birds and monkeys,
not men."
11 Par Deus! Whoever said that was a fool
trying to appear wise!" Pedro snorted. "We
have seen the poison death, and we know."
McKay also shook his head.
"Experiments have been made with the wurali
of the Macusis," he stated. "It was tried on a
hog, a sloth and a sloth is mighty hard to kill
also on mules, and on a full-grown ox weighing
almost half a ton. It killed every one of them."
A momentary silence followed. Tim gazed
sourly at the arrow, now harmless but still
sinister.
" Urrrgh ! " he growled. " Cap, ye had a narrer
squeak come near gittin' it from in front, and
behind, too. Wisht I could have drilled that
guy."
The bushmen grinned. And Loureno's next
speech was amazing.
"Be thankful you did not. That bullet might
have killed us all."
After enjoying their puzzled expressions a
moment he continued.
"We are nearer to a Mayoruna maloca than I
142 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
thought. Not the one I intended to seek, but a
smaller one. It is about three days' journey
from here, and to reach it we must go through
the bush. The man who left this arrow here to
day is from that maloca.
"A week ago his brother went hunting, and he
has not returned. So this young savage and
three of his comrades now are searching the bush
for some sign of him. To-day they separated,
each going in a different direction, agreeing to
meet again to-night at a place less than half a
day's journey from here. This man circled
around and worked along this creek, knowing his
brother would hardly go beyond the water.-
He spied our canoes, then sought the men who
had come in them and found you.
"He watched you for some time, and if you
had not rushed at him he would have slipped
away without attacking you, for he was alone and
he saw your guns. But when you, Capitao, sud
denly leaped at him he darted away, then
stopped long enough to send an arrow at you.
After that he dodged out of sight and ran to the
camp of his three friends. He is there now,
telling about you."
"Great guns! You chaps are wizards!" cried
Knowlton. "How do you know all this?"
"Because we met him while on our way back
here. He was running hard, and we heard him,
so we blocked him. After we convinced him that
we were friendly we talked for some time I can
THE ARROW 143
speak their tongue and he told us about you.
He was sure you were enemies to him and his
people, and believed also you had killed his
missing brother, and he was going first to rejoin
his companions and then hasten to the maloca to
bring all their fighters against you. It was well
that we met him in time. It was well, too, that
you did not shoot him or even shoot at him.
His companions would have learned of it, and
then death for us all."
"And now what?"
"Now, comrades, we all go to the maloca
of that man. We meet him and the other three
to-morrow at the place where we talked to him
to-day. I told him we were going to visit that
other chief whom I knew, and, though he was at
first suspicious of a trap, he finally agreed to lead
us to his own chief. So in the morning we march.
Now let us sleep."
Knowlton and McKay glanced at each other
and nodded.
"Luck's with us so far," said the captain.
"Right. We just march right into Jungle
Town with bodyguard and everything. Pretty
soft! Wonder if they'll turn out the tomtom
band to drum us in."
Tun said nothing. He squinted again at the
headless arrow, then inspected the breech bolt
of his rifle.
CHAPTER XIII. THE WAY OF THE
JUNGLE
DAWN came, dismal, damp, and chill. Mois
ture dripped drearily from the upper reach
es, and under the dense canopy of leaves
and limbs the gloom and the fog together made a
murk wherein the early-rising bushmen were
scarcely visible to the North Americans ten
feet away. Yet day had come, or was coming;
the noise of the animal world left little doubt of
that.
By the light of a sullen smoky fire and oil-
smeared torches Pedro and Lourengo made up
their packs, cording them roughly with bark-
cloth strips brought from headquarters. The
Americans, after eating a more solid meal than
the Brazilians seemed to require, also rolled their
blankets, hammocks, nets, and other parapher
nalia; strapped the outfits into the army pack
harnesses which they had transported for thou
sands of miles and never yet used; crammed
their web belts with cartridges; slung their
sheathed machetes down their left thighs; looked
to their guns; and announced themselves ready
to go.
While the northerners made these final prepa
rations their guides slipped away for a tune.
Pedro, on his return, announced that the canoes
THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 145
had been concealed. Lourengo, bringing back
the freshly filled canteens of the ex-army men,
delivered with them the marching orders of the
day.
"If you thirst, comrades, drink only from your
canteens. If the canteens fail, never fill them
from flowing water unless the Indians also drink
from the stream. There are always small pools
to be found, and, though their water may be
warm and stale, it is not likely to be poisoned, as
the streams may be.
"To-day, and every day after we meet the
cannibals, make no suspicious moves. Do not
speak harshly. Do not laugh or sneer at them.
They are unreasoning and easily insulted, and
lifelong foes when angered. Let me do the
talking.
, "Do not hold a gun hi a threatening manner
or draw pistols unless you must fight. Then kill.
"Above all, pay no attention to their women.
"Now we go. I lead."
He turned and strode away into the fog as
easily and surely as if cat-eyed and cat-footed.
Pedro swung nonchalantly after him. The others
followed in order, hitching at their backstraps.
The ghostly haze about them now was paler,
but through the interstices overhead came no
glint of sunshine, nor even the glow of a clear
dawn. The whole sky evidently was overcast,
and around the marching men the gloom still lay
thick. Yet Lourengo's eyes seemed to bore
146 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
through the shades and the dark shroud blurring
the trunks, for his steady gait did not falter. The
little file hung close together, for all knew that
any man straggling would be instantly lost.
Worming around gigantic columns, crawling
over rotting trunks long laid low, changing
direction abruptly when blocked by some great
butt too high to be scaled, sinking ankle-deep in
clinging mud, the venturesome band wound along
through the wilderness. Repeated glances at his
compass showed McKay that the general trend
of the march was southeast; but the impassable
obstacles encountered at frequent intervals neces
sitated not only detours, but sometimes actual
back-tracking.
"Walk four miles to advance one," was his
thought. And for some time it seemed that
such was the case. But then the ground changed,
the light improved, the trees thinned, and the
undergrowth became more dense and, para
doxically, the rate of progress improved.
This was because the smaller growth gave the
two leaders a chance to cut their way straight
onward instead of dodging about; and cut they
did. Their machetes swung with untiring energy,
opening a path through what seemed an unpene
trable tangle. Now every yard of movement was
a yard gained. But the ground was rising and
the struggle up some of the sharp slopes winded
more than one man.
Then the slope dipped the other way, and they
THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 147
slipped down into a ravine where water gleamed
darkly. Here a halt was called while the leaders
sought for a fallen tree. Tim squatted and
mopped his face for the hundredth time.
"Gosh! This is what I call travelin'!" he
panted. "Flounderin' round in mud soup, bit to
death by skeeters and them what-ye-call-'em
flies piums sweatin* yerself bone dry and
totin' forty thousand pounds on yer back, not to
mention hardware slung all over ye this ain't no
place for a minister's son or a fat guy, I'll tell the
world. And this is only the start!"
A call from Pedro forestalled any answer. The
trio struggled along to the spot where the guides
waited at the butt of a slanting tree trunk
spanning the gulf. As they reached it Pedro
walked carefully up the trunk, carrying a long
slender sapling, which he lowered and fixed in the
bottom of the stream. Then, steadying himself
with the upper end of this pole, he continued his
journey to the other side, where he flipped the
sapling back to Lourengo. One by one the
others crossed, slipping, almost losing balance,
but managing to evade a fall. Tim, walking the
precarious bridge and looking down, saw that the
surface of the water was dotted with the heads of
venomous snakes.
"Are you following your trail of yesterday?"
demanded McKay.
"No, Capitao. Yesterday we circled. To-day
we go as nearly straight as possible."
148 THE PATHLESS TRAII/
"And you can find the appointed place by this
new route?" The captain's tone was dubious.
"Certainly. Else I should go the other way.
Come."
Up another bank they toiled, and on through
rugged country which seemed momentarily to
become higher and harder to traverse. In the
minds of the Americans grew suspicion that, for
the first time, the Brazilians were bluffing; it
seemed impossible for any man to keep his sense
of direction in such a maze. But they said no
word and followed on.
At length the leader paused and sent the long
call of the mutum floating through the trees. No
answer came. After a moment the line moved
on, each man peering ahead with sharper gaze,
each holding a little tighter. To the Americans,
at least, the thought of possible ambush loomed
large.
Four man-eating savages, hidden hi this laby
rinthine tangle and armed with arrows whose
slightest scratch meant death, could strike down
every man of this expedition without even a
wound hi return; for of what avail were high-
power guns, automatic pistols, and machetes
against invisible enemies? Yet there was assur
ance in Lourengo's confident air, and reassurance
in the thought that these tribemen would be
unlikely to assail a band avowedly on its way to
visit their chief. Besides Knowlton smiled
grimly even if the Mayorunas hungered for
THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 149
human flesh it would be more economical of labor
to let the meat travel to the slaughterhouse on its
own legs than to kill it here and carry it home.
Again the mutum whistle drifted away. Again
no answer came. For a short distance farther the
file continued its march. Then, in a small open
ing where the uptorn roots of a tree rose like a
wall at one side, it halted.
"The place of meeting," Pedro said. All
peered around. None saw anything but the up
standing roots, the forest jumble, the misty ser
pentine lianas. None heard any sound but their
own hoarse breathing, the solemn drip of water,
the insect hum, and the occasional melancholy
notes of birds. The place seemed bare of life.
Yet upon McKay came again that feeling of being
watched.
' Slowly, deeply, Lourenc,o spoke. The words
meant nothing to his mates. They were like no
words they knew. His eyes roved about as he
talked, and it was evident that he saw no more
than did the silent men behind him. But they
guessed that he said he and they were there as
agreed, with peace in their hearts, and that he
was telling the men of the wilderness to come
forward without fear. And they guessed rightly.
As quietly as a phantom of the mist a man took
shape at the edge of the tree roots. Tall, straight,
slender, symmetrically proportioned, with un
blemished skin of light- bronze hue, straight black
hair, and deep dark eyes, he was a splendid type
150 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
of savage. Face and body were adorned with
glossy paint scarlet and black rings around the
eyes, two red stripes from temple to chin, wavy
lines on arms and chest. He held a bow longer
than himself, with a five-foot arrow fitted
loosely to the string and pointed downward, but
ready for instant use. Diagonally across his body
ran a cord supporting a quiver, from which the
feathered shafts of several arrows projected above
his left shoulder. Around his waist looped an
other cord from which dangled a small loin mat.
Otherwise he was totally nude a bronze statue
of freedom.
Lourengo spoke again in the same quiet tone.
The savage stepped warily forward. At the
same moment three other naked men appeared
with equal stealth from tree trunks which had
seemed barren of all life. Like the first, each of
these held an arrow ready, but pointing down
ward; and each moved with the slow, velvety
step of a hunting jaguar. Their eyes searched
those of these strange men of another world who,
wearing useless clothing, carrying heavy weapons
of steel, burdening themselves with queer weights
on their backs, now invaded the wilderness which
they and their fathers had roamed untrammeled
for centuries. The invaders in turn studied the
faces of the Mayorunas, of whom so many grue
some tales were told. For long silent minutes
primitive and civilized man probed each other for
signs of treachery and found none.
THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 151
Tim, forgetting the orders of the day, spoke
out abruptly. At the gruff jar of his voice the
wild men started and raised their weapons.
"Say, are those guys cannibals? I was lookin'
to see some ugly mutts with underslung jaws and
mops o' frizzy hair, like them Feejee Islanders ye
see pitchers of. Barrin' the paint, I've seen worse-
lookin' fellers than these back home."
With which he gave the savages a wide, un
mistakably approving grin.
"Shut up!" muttered McKay.
Lourengo, unruffled, made instant capital of
Tim's remarks.
"My comrade of the red hair," he said in the
Indian tongue, " has never before seen the mighty
warriors of the Mayorunas, and is astonished
to find them such handsome men. He says
his own countrymen are not so good to look
upon."
Slowly the menacing arrows sank. As the
savages studied Tim's wholesome grin and
absorbed the broad flattery of Lourengo a slight
smile passed over their faces. They stood more
at ease. The whites sensed at once that, for a
moment, at least, a friendly footing had been
established, and relaxed from their own tension.
Once more Lourengo spoke, motioning toward
the farther distances. The Indian who had first
appeared now replied briefly. Two of the others
stepped back to their trees and lifted long, hollow
tubes.
152 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"What's them?" demanded Tim.
"Blowguns," Pedro answered. "They use
them for small or thin-skinned game. See, the
two blowgun men carry also short darts in their
quivers, and small pouches of poison."
"Uh-huh. They like then* poison a dang
sight better 'n I do. Say, are them guys goin'
to march behind us? I don't want no poison
needles slipped into my back, accidental or
other ways."
Two of the savages were walking toward the
rear of the line. Knowlton, exasperated, snapped
out:
"They'll walk where they like, and you'll do
well to give us more marching and less mouth.
You nearly spilled the beans just now, and if
Louren<jo hadn't said something that pleased
these fellows we all might be in the soup this
minute. Pipe down!"
"Aw, Looey, I only said these guys were good-
lookin'. Ain't no fight in words like that."
"You heard the orders this morning. Let
Lourengo do the talking. That goes! We're
skating on thin ice so thin that if it breaks we
drop plump into hell. Less noise!"
"Right, sir," was the sulky answer. "I'm
deaf and dumb."
"March," added McKay. The head of the
column already was on the move, led by the
tallest Indian and a blowgun man, behind whom
walked the two Brazilians. The whole line took
THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 153
up the step in turn and passed on into the un
known.
Again McKay consulted his compass at inter
vals, finding that now the route led more to the
south, though there still was an easterly trend.
After a tune, however, the telltale needle informed
him that they were proceeding almost due east,
and glances at the surroundings showed that on
their right was a densely matted mass of under
growth. Not long afterward another interwoven
brush wall blocked the way, and this tune the
leader veered to the west. Not until an opening
appeared did he resume his southward course.
It dawned on McKay that the savages, having
no bush knives, were accustomed to follow the
line of least resistance. This obviously increased
the distance traveled.
The men of Coronel Nunes, too, perceived
this. A halt was called, during which Lourengo
talked with the guide, tapped his machete, and
evidently protested against needless detours.
The leader, with a few words, pointed south.
Lourengo nodded and replied. The march
was resumed, and when the next impenetrable
tangle was encountered the Indians in the van
stepped aside, the machetes of the Brazilians
flashed out, and a way was cut straight through.
From that time on the long knives came into
frequent play and a direct course was main
tained.
Suddenly, with a grunt of warning, the tall
154 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
tribesman stopped. The plan of chopping
through instead of going around had brought
the Indians into a part of the forest which they
had not heretofore traversed in their search for
the missing hunter. Now they stood in a small
trough between the knolls, under good-sized
trees around which grew little brush. The
ground was soft, almost watery. In the damp
air, faint but unmistakable, hung the odor of
death.
The savages at the rear came forward at
once. All four of them spread out and, sniffing
the air, advanced up the trough. A cry broke
from one of them. The others, and the white
men, too, hastened to the spot whence the call
had come.
Scattered about hi the soft muck were bones,
two skulls, bits of tawny fur, a long bow, several
big-game arrows. Around them the ground
was marked with many tracks. Most of the
imprints were of the vultures which had stripped
the bones, but there were others those of a
barefoot man, of a great cat, and of a couple
of wild hogs. The peccary tracks went straight
on, but those of the man and the cat showed
that a fierce struggle had occurred. And one
of the two grinning skulls was that of a jaguar.
The story was plain. The hunter, following
fast on the trail of the hogs, had suddenly
met the jaguar. He had shot it; one arrow,
blood stained for more than a foot above the
THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 155
barb, proved that. But in the few seconds of
life left to it the animal had sprung and fatally
torn the man. Then, as usual, had dropped the
black scavengers of the sky to rend them both.
Silently the men of the bush and the men of
the north looked down at the brief history writ
ten in the mud a story only a week old, yet
ancient as human life itself primitive man
and ferocious brute destroying each other as in
the prehistoric days when saber-toothed tiger
and troglodyte hunted and slew for the right
to live. And as it had been then, so it was now.
The living read the tale of tragedy and passed on,
leaving the bones behind them. Only, before
they went, the Mayorunas threw the remnants
of the jaguar aside and piled the bones of their
dead comrade together in one place. Then,
bearing with them his bow and arrows, they
resumed their way without a word.
CHAPTER XIV. A DUEL WITH DEATH
RAIN came and went.
The first night's camp of the strangely
assorted company was a wet one, for
well on in the day the skies poured down the
watery weight which had been troubling them
since morning. Yet even in such miserable
weather the four tribesmen of the Mayorunas
declined to sleep in the same camp with the
whites. They accepted the food tendered them,
but when it was eaten they withdrew to some
covert of their own to spend the night. Whereby
the whites knew that, though their guides now
could no longer suspect them of killing the lone
hunter, they still were not accepted as friends.
"Did ye say them guys had a trick o' jabbin'
men in then* hammicks at night, Renzo?" was
Tim's significant question after the Indians had
departed.
"Have no fear," Lourengo assured him. "They
have promised to take us safely to their chief."
"How much is the word of a cannibal worth?"
asked Knowlton.
"Worth everything, so long as you do nothing
to make them forget it, senhor. Being uncivi
lized, they are not liars."
The lieutenant eyed him sharply, half minded
to regard the answer as insolent. But there
A DUEL WITH DEATH 157
was no insolence in the Brazilian's straight
forward gaze, and McKay laughed approvingly.
"Well spoken!" was the captain's comment.
"Among those people there are but two great
crimes," Lourengo added. "They are, to speak
falsely or to be a coward."
"Wherein a goodly portion of the so-called
civilized world would fail to measure up to the
standards of these cannibals," McKay said.
"By the way, have you asked them about the
Raposa?"
"No, Capitao. It is as well not to put into
their heads the idea that we are hunting any
one here. I shall say nothing of that matter
until we reach the chief who knows me."
"Good idea."
With that the talk ended and all sought
their hammocks, dog tired from the day's travel.
No watch was kept, for, as Pedro quaintly
phrased it, "We now are in the hands of God
and the cannibals." Nor was any watch needed.
Daybreak brought sunlight. While the break
fast coffee was being boiled the four wild men
appeared silently and simultaneously, one bring
ing a red howling monkey and another a large
green parrot as their contributions to the morn
ing meal. Neither bird nor animal showed any
wound except a slightly discolored spot sur
rounding a skin puncture no larger than if
made by a woman's hatpin the marks left by
poisoned darts from the ten-foot blowguns.
158 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
When the meat was cooked they offered por
tions to the whites, of whom Tim alone refused.
"I'd as quick eat a rat killed with Paris
green," he growled. "No poisoned meat gits
into my stummick if I know it."
"Bosh!" scoffed McKay. "It's perfectly
wholesome though it's tough as a rubber boot."
"And I might tell you, senhores, that among
these people it is an insult to refuse any food
offered you," added Lourengo. "I advise you
to forget about the poison hereafter and eat
what is put before you, even if it stinks."
His advice was emphasized by the evident
displeasure of the tribesmen, who, though say
ing nothing, looked rather grimly at the man
who had despised their provisions. But Lou
rengo then smoothed over the matter by telling
them that the red-haired man was sick at the
stomach that morning which, at that par
ticular moment, was not far from the truth.
Soon the triglot column was once more on its
way across the hill country, which hourly grew
higher and rougher a constant succession of
ridges and ravines. Lourengo, pointing out the
absence of water marks on the trees of the up
lands, said that now the land of the great annual
floods had been left behind; for even the sixty-
foot rise of waters in the rainy season could not
reach to these hilltops. With the entry into this
terra firma the travelers had also found the
sun again, the dank mist of yesterday having
A DUEL WITH DEATH 159
vanished. Nevertheless, the going was fully
as hard as on the previous day, because of
the density of the bush and of the labor of
crossing the narrow but deep streams flowing
at the bottom of nearly every clove. Few words
were exchanged, every man needing his breath
for the work of walking.
As before, the keen machetes of the Brazilians
opened a direct route through all opposing
undergrowth. When a brief halt was called
at noon the Mayorunas, who seemed to know
exactly where they were despite the fact that
they had never before followed this straight
course, informed Lourengo that much circuitous
traveling had already been saved, and that by
tramping hard until sundown they might suc
ceed in reaching the tribal maloca that night.
But McKay vetoed the idea of a forced march.
"This gait is fast enough and hard enough,"
he declared. "No sense in exhausting our
selves to save a few hours' time. Also, we don't
want to go staggering into the Mayoruna vil
lage with our tongues hanging out and our knees
wabbling. First impressions are lasting with
such people, and they might get an idea we
were weaklings."
To which all except the savages, who did not
understand the language of the white man,
assented approvingly.
Yet it was the Mayorunas themselves who
delayed arrival at their maloca the Mayorunas
160 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
and a monkey. When the sinking sun was still
two hours high, and while the leader was forcing
the pace as it determined to reach home that
night whether the rest liked it or not, the
monkey upset any such plan.
He was a big gray monkey, and he was high up
in the branches of a tall matamata tree, where he
deemed himself safe from the many creatures
laboring along the ground below. Wherefore he
chattered impudently down at them and, as the
tall Indian guide halted, showed his teeth de
risively. The savage grunted. The man behind
hun also grunted and lifted his blowgun. But
the leader growled at him and the blowgun sank.
With a swift sweep of the hand the guide drew
from his quiver one of those long, poisoned arrows
and fitted it to the bow cord, which he had laid on
the ground. With two toes of each foot he held
the cord firmly on the soil. His right hand
lightly grasped the arrow and aimed it up at the
insolent primate. His left drew the bow up, up,
into an arc.
Twang! the cord thrummed as his lifted toes
released it. The arrow whirred aloft. Then a
snarl of chagrin from the marksman blended
with the grunts of his mates. The arrow had
failed to reach the quarry.
It had missed, however, by a mere hand's
breadth missed only because it struck the limb
directly under the monkey, where it hung by the
tip from the bark. Muttering something which
A DUEL WITH DEATH 161
may have been a Mayor-Una malediction, the
savage moved aside a step or two, drew another
arrow, and set it to the cord with more care than
before. But while he did this the monkey was
not idle.
Chattering hi rage, the annual leaned down,
worked the arrow loose from the bark, and
threw it aside. The deadly shaft turned hi air,
then plunged aimlessly earthward. At that
instant all below were watching the guide, who
in turn was looking at his toes and placing the
new arrow in position. Unseen, the other missile
hurtled down and ripped across the back of the
marksman's left hand.
For an instant the tall cannibal stood as if
petrified, staring at his cut hand and the shaft
now sticking upright in the ground beside him.
Then, in simple symbolism, he reversed the new
arrow and stabbed it also into the dirt. Dropping
his bow, he lay down on his back.
"Yuara will draw bow no more. Yuara goes
to join the spirits of the dead," he said, calmly.
Mechanically Lourengo translated the words.
McKay sprang forward.
"No!" he disputed. "Not without a try for
life, anyhow! Merry, sling a tourniquet! Quick!"
Knowlton jumped to the side of Yuara, tied a
handkerchief above the elbow, twisted it tight.
McKay whipped from a pocket a keen-bladed
knife. In one swift ruthless slash he laid open the
arm from elbow to knuckles.
162 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Keep that tourniquet tight!" he snapped.
"If the blood once gets past it he's gone. Tim,
get out the salt bag! Lourengo, tell this fellow
to breathe deep and keep it up!"
While Tim burrowed into his pack for the salt,
Lourenco spoke, as much for the benefit of the
other tribesmen as for that of Yuara; for the three
Mayorunas stood in ominous silence, watching
the outrush of blood caused by the knife of the
white man.
"The white man. of the black beard, who is
very wise, will save Yuara to draw many a good
bow if Yuara will do as he says. Let Yuara
breathe deeply, that the spirit of life remain in
him to fight against the demon of death. Even
now the poison rushes out of the arm of Yuara."
"Yuara cannot live," was Yuara' s cool reply.
"Where once the poison has entered, there fol
lows death."
"Is Yuara then a coward, that he will die
without a fight? Then he is no Mayoruna, for no
Mayoruna is a coward. Let Yuara die if he will.
His comrades shall carry to their maloca the tale
that, although the white man would have saved
him, he died like an old woman, because he had
not the will to live!"
Fire shot into the eyes of the prostrate man.
He ground his teeth and struggled to rise and
throttle the insulting Brazilian.
"No, not that way," Lourenco went on at
once. "Yuara can fight the death demon only by
A DUEL WITH DEATH 163
drawing into himself the air in which is the spirit
of life. The wise white man has stopped the
poison at the place where the cloth is tied, and he
knows the air spirits will help Yuara if Yuara will
breathe deep and long. If he will not, then the
white man's medicine cannot save him. Yuara's
life or death is in his own hands."
In his heart Lourengo had faint hope that the
injured man would live. But he knew the rest
of the cannibal tribe must soon hear the tale of
this incident from the three now present, and he
was preparing an excellent excuse for the failure
of McKay to save him. Whether Yuara lived or
not, the Mayorunas now would know that the
whites had done their utmost for him, and that
very fact might make a vast difference.
Yuara, though his eyes still flamed, sank back
under McKay's restraining weight and obeyed
orders. After the first couple of breaths he
settled into his task and his chest rose and fell
rhythmically.
"Here's yer salt, Cap. What '11 1 do with it?"
"You come here and hold this tourniquet.
Don't let it slip! Merry, fill this chap's mouth
with salt. Lourengo, tell him to hold it as long
as possible, then swallow it. Now, Merry, fix
up a good strong salt poultice. The rest of you
make camp. We've got a stiff fight on our hands,
and we can't go farther until we've either won
or lost."
The Brazilians glanced at the sun shadows and
164 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
remained where they were. According to their
experience, Yuara should be dead within ten
minutes at most. Time enough to make camp
when they knew how this venture would result.
The Mayorunas also stood fast and watched for
the shadow of death to blanch the face of their
stricken mate.
But the minutes dragged past and Yuara's eyes
did not grow dim. His first resignation over and
his fighting blood aroused, he was battling grimly
against fate. At tunes his deep respirations were
broken by sudden gasps, and spasmodic quivers
shook his whole body. But he breathed on,
paying no heed to the burning pain of his ripped
and salted arm.
"By cripes! he's puttin' up a man's scrap!"
blurted Tim. "Stay with it, old feUer. Ye'll
win out yet!"
And as more minutes passed and the wounded
man still breathed, a murmur of wonderment
passed among the cannibals and the men of
Nunes. Yuara should be dead, yet he was not
even paralyzed. Such a thing had never before
been known in this bush.
LourenQO touched Pedro's arm.
"Find a spot where we can make camp," he
said. "I must stay here to speak to the wild
men if words are needed."
Reluctantly Pedro went away. Soon he was
back with news of a suitable place. He found
all bending closer over Yuara, whose breathing
A DUEL WITH DEATH 165
had become stertorous and whose eyes seemed
fixed.
"Going!" was the bushman's thought. But
the others would not have it so.
"How 'bout a shot o' booze to jolt his heart,
Cap?" suggested Tim, whose whole soul was in
the fight.
McKay nodded. Knowlton quickly produced
brandy and poured a stiff dose down Yuara's
throat. It took hold at once, and light came back
into the Indian's eyes.
"Got a good chance yet," McKay asserted.
"Don't loosen that tourniquet. Let the arm
mortify, if necessary, but hold that blood away
from the heart at all costs. I'll chop his arm off at
the shoulder before I'll give in."
His hard-set face showed he meant it.
Lourengo spoke to the Mayorunas, urging
that camp be made at once. He and Pedro
strode away, and all three of the Indians followed.
"Really think he'll pull through, Rod?"
Knowlton asked, then. "If he does you're a
miracle worker."
"It's an experiment," McKay confessed,
watching Yuara with unswerving intentness.
"Never saw this done, but it's worth a try and
I honestly believe it will work. I saved an Indian
over in Guiana once by cutting off his arm as
soon as he was hit, but I want to keep this fel
low's arm for him if possible. Feed him some
more salt."
12
166 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 1
Time passed unheeded. Sounds of labor not
far off told that camp was being built. Presently
the absent five returned, two of the Mayorunas
carrying a crude but strong litter constructed
from saplings and giant-fern leaves. McKay rose
stiffly on cramped legs.
"All right. You can move him," he consented.
Carefully Yuara was lifted to the litter and
transported to the new camp. There the Amer
icans found not only the open shed, or tarribo,
usually constructed by the Brazilians, but also
a somewhat similar shelter erected by the
Indians. In the latter stood two stout crotched
stakes, firmly braced the handiwork of Pedro
and Lourengo. And to these, with tough bush
rope, the Indians fastened the litter of Yuara,
thus forming a rude but effective hammock.
While McKay and Knowlton continued their
ministrations to the stricken man the rest of the
camp work was completed, the Mayorunas mak
ing hanging beds for themselves from withes,
leaves, and bush cord, and the Brazilians slinging
the hammocks of their own party and opening
packs.
Night fell and the wounded man lived on.
Supper was eaten, pipes smoked, the regular
activities of the early hours of darkness gone
through and Yuara lived on. His deep breath
ing had become automatic, and his eyes stared
straight up in concentration on his battle with
the death demon.
A DUEL WITH DEATH 167
At length he was seized with violent nausea
which convulsed him for a time. But when the
spasms passed he lay back more easily, and a
faint smile flitted over his face as he looked at the
white men.
' ' Been expecting that, ' ' said McKay. ' ' Might
loosen that ligature now just a few seconds. . . .
Tighten it! All right." After watching the sick
man a little longer he added : l ' Now I'm going to
eat and smoke. Feel like taking a drink, too, but
guess I won't. The Indian will pull through now,
I think."
When he had returned to the Indian hut with
pipe aglow, Knowlton asked him, "Now tell us
how you doped out this cure."
"Combination of various things. Salt is a
partial antidote to venom in the blood, and I got
it into him in three ways by mouth absorption,
by the stomach, and by the salt poultice, which
drew out some of the poison from the forearm
and helped neutralize what remained. Ripping
his arm of course let out a lot of bad blood.
Ligature above the elbow stopped most of the
rest though some sneaked past that point, I'm
pretty sure.
"Big thing, though, was the deep breathing.
Remember I told you about the experiments that
killed mules and an ox? Another experiment was
this opening the windpipe of a poisoned mule
after the heart stopped, inserting a pair of bel
lows, and starting artificial respiration. After
168 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
four hours of this the mule came to life and
stayed alive though he was a wreck for a year
afterward.
"I just put all these together, made the Indian
do his own breathing and here he is. I'm going
to sit up awhile longer and watch him, but the
critical period is over. You chaps can turn in."
But none turned hi until midnight, when no
doubt remained that Lourengo's prophecy would
come true that Yuara would live to draw bow
again. Then, when the slashed arm had been
thoroughly cleansed and bound, Lourengo spoke
once more to the savages.
"The medicine of the wise white man and the
air spirits have saved Yuara from the death
demon. Yuara has fought as a man of his tribe
should fight, and so has lived when he would
have died. To-morrow Yuara shall once more
see his people, the first man of the Mayorunas to
come back from the death of poison. And he
and his comrades shall tell of the white man's
wisdom, without which he now would lie cold on
the ground."
"So shall it be," Yuara himself faintly an
swered. "Yuara, son of Rana, second chief of
the men of Suba, will not forget."
"Par Dens!" exclaimed Lourengo. "Com
rades, this man is no common hunter, but son
of a subchief. Capitao, you have done good
work to-day."
CHAPTER XV. THE CANNIBALS
THROUGH the long, dim shadows of early
morning the little column passed on the last
leg of its journey to themaloca of Suba, chief
of this outlying tribe of the Mayorunas. At its
head marched Yuara, his left arm incased hi
bandages, his face drawn and pallid, his stride
stiff and springless, but still carrying his weapons
and stoically setting the pace as befitted the son
of a subchief . He had had no sleep ; he had lain
in the gates of death; his arm ached cruelly; yet a
warm glow shone in his hollow eyes as he reflected
on the fact that in all the unwritten history of his
people he was the first man to survive the inex
orable power of the wurali. As long as he lived
this fact would lift him above the level of all his
fellows. Even the chief could not boast of such a
superhuman feat.
The undergrowth this morning was not so
thick as it had been, and the machetes of Lou-
rengo and Pedro stayed in their sheaths. The
ground, too, was more level and the footing more
firm. After some three hours of walking the
Americans found that they had come into a faint
path.
Somewhat to the bewilderment of the white
men, who expected the Indians to increase their
speed now that the way home lay under their
170 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
feet, the leading pair slowed their gait. More
over, they scanned the trail with intent care and
watched the trees along the way. At length,
with a warning grunt, Yuara stepped out of the
path and began a detour. His comrade and the
Brazilians followed. The Americans stopped.
"What's the idea?" demanded McKay, look
ing along the innocent-appearing path.
"Probably a man trap, Capitao," answered
Pedro. "Follow us."
"Let's see the trap first."
Lourengo called to Yuara, who stopped and
grunted two words.
"Si, it is a trap. A pit, Yuara says."
Yuara spoke again, and Loureno added : "He
says we must not touch it. It is there just before
you, covered so cunningly that it looks exactly
like the rest of the ground. The cover is a frame
work of sticks balanced on a pole, and the instant
a man steps on it it gives way. He falls into a
nine-foot hole whose sides are dug inward, so that
they overhang above him. There the cannibals
find him and kill him. I fell into one of those
holes when I first came into this Mayoruna
country, so I know just how they are made."
"So? How did you get out?"
"There were two of us, and I stood on the
other man's shoulders while he lifted me high
enough to jump out. Then I tied bush rope to a
tree and he climbed up the rope. Come. Yuara
waits."
THE CANNIBALS 171
After a short circuit around the danger point
the party returned to the path, and as they went
on Laurengo explained further concerning the
pit:
"Every approach to the malocas has this kind
of trap hidden in it, and others also. The Indians
recognize the places by some secret signal known
only to themselves a certain kind of stick or
vine or something of the kind, placed where it can
be seen by those who understand. The traps are
made to stop any enemies who try to sneak up on
the malocas and catch these people unawares.
Another kind of trap is a spring bow or a blowgun
shot by a vine stretched across the path. Still
another is a piece of ground studded with poi
soned araya bones which pierce the bare feet
of anyone walking on them. It is well for us that
we now have friendly guides."
"Quite so," McKay agreed, dryly.
Some distance farther on the leader again left
the path, and this tune all filed after him without
comment. Pedro pointed significantly at a thin,
tight-drawn bush cord stretched across the path
at the height of a man's ankle the trigger which
would discharge hidden death at anything
touching it. At another point, perhaps a hundred
feet farther along, a third and last detour was
made, and this time the nature of the trap was
not revealed by anything on the ground. No
questions were asked.
, With the passing of these three menaces Yuara
172 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
resumed his former pace and abandoned his cir
cumspection. Before long came sounds of com
munal life the barking of a dog and shouts of
children. Then suddenly the forest thinned,
and after a few more strides the marchers found
themselves in a clearing.
Before them rose a big round house, about
forty feet high and a hundred feet in diameter,
its sides composed of palm logs, and its roof a
thick thatch of palm leaves, whence smoke oozed
lazily through an opening at the peak. A single
low door, not more than four feet high, opened
toward a creek a few rods away at the right.
Near this doorway a couple of naked children,
boy and girl, were playing with the dog, while
beyond them a number of women, also nude,
were busy at some kind of work.
As Yuara and his fellow-tribesmen entered the
open space the boy shouted a greeting and
started running toward them. Then, seeing the
white men filing from the bush behind the war
riors, the youngster stood as if shocked motion
less. After one long stare he screamed and bolted
for the shelter of the maloca. Other screams
echoed his as the women also saw the bearded
outlanders. They, too, dived through the
doorway.
Out from behind the house leaped three war
riors, two of whom already had fitted arrows to
their bows, while the third a powerful fellow
clutched a four-foot war club. Weapons raised,
THE CANNIBALS 173
faces contracted into fighting masks, they stared
speechless at the spectacle of the subchief's son
calmly leading gun-bearing whites among them.
Knowlton, though his attention was riveted on
the astonished warriors, caught the quiet snick
of Tim's safe-lock being turned off.
"None of that, Tim!" he warned. "Put that
safety on again. And don't hold your gun as if
you intended to use it."
"Aw, I was jest tryin' her to make sure she was
all right."
"Put it on!" snapped the lieutenant. Another
tiny click told him the order was obeyed.
Out from the doorway darted another warrior,
stooping low to avoid hitting his head. Others
followed instantly, all armed and ready for
action. The opening was still vomiting tribes
men when Yuara and the rest reached it. But
none made a hostile move when it was seen that
the son of the subchief was in command and that
the strangers seemed friendly. Yuara spoke,
briefly but authoritatively, and the weapons
sank. Then, with a word to his three com
panions, he ducked through the doorway. The
other three remained where they were.
"We shall have to wait now, comrades, until
Yuara tells his father and the chief about us,"
Lourengo said. "So let us take off our packs and
rest."
He set the example by laying his rifle on the
ground, unslinging his pack, squatting beside it,
174 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
and coolly rolling a cigarette. Apparently he was
paying no attention whatever to the savages, who
watched his every move. But McKay, glancing
at him as he followed suit, saw that, for all his
seeming unconcern, the Brazilian bush rover was
keenly watchful and that his gun lay within
reach of his hand.
From within the tribal house sounded the
monotonous voice of Yuara. After listening a
moment Lourengo quietly addressed the nearest
warrior. A slightly surprised looked passed over
the cannibal's face. He replied, and a slow con
versation ensued.
Meanwhile the others looked over the array of
savage fighting men. Except for difference of
stature, build, and expression, they were as like
as brothers. All were light skinned hardly
darker than the river-tanned whites themselves;
all had straight-set eyes, with no hint of the
slant often found among the Indians of the
Amazon headwaters; and the cheek bones of all
were fairly low. Their average stature was a
little under six feet, and most of them had an
athletic symmetry of physique. Their feet,
McKay noticed, were small and shapely.
All wore tall feather headdresses of parrot and
mutum plumes. All had the scarlet and black
rings around the eyes, the streaks from temple
to chin, the wavy design on their bodies. And
each wore in the cartilage of his nose a pair of
small feathers slanting outward. At another
THE CANNIBALS 175
time and under other circumstances the white
men might have smiled at those nose feathers,
which resembled odd mustaches; but as they
studied the austere faces around them they
found no occasion for merriment. Nor was the
tension lessened by the sight of the weapons
grasped in the strong hands of the warriors.
Great bows and arrows, such as the hunters
had borne, were supplemented here by the long
clubs of heavy wood and by ugly spears. The
clubs terminated in balls studded with jaguar
teeth. The spears were triple pronged, each
prong ending in a saw-toothed araya bone and
each bone darkened by the fatal wurali. Fright
ful weapons they were the one designed to
smash skulls and tear out brains, the other to
stab and poison at the same thrust.
Lourengo stopped talking, and the others
observed that now the wild men stood more
easily, their holds on their weapons loosened.
"I have shown them, Capitao, that I can
speak their tongue, and told them we go to visit
the chief Monitaya as friend," he explained.
"They tell me Monitaya has grown great since
last I saw him. Another tribe which lost its
chief and sub chiefs by a swift sickness has joined
his own, and he now rules two big malocas to
gether. He is a powerful fighter, and if he is
friendly to us we have a good chance of success.
Ah! here is Yuara."
The son of the subchief came through the
176 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
doorway as he spoke, followed by an older man
whose facial resemblance and ornaments in
dicated that he was the subchief himself. His
headgear was more elaborate than that of his men,
and around his shoulders and down his chest
hung a brilliant feather dress, while a wide belt
of green, blue, and black plumes encircled his hips.
Yuara himself had inserted feathers in his nose
and donned a headband of tall parrot plumes a
trifle more ornate than those worn by the or
dinary fighters, and somehow the simple addition
seemed to transform him into a bigger, fiercer
man. Also, his eyes now held a smoldering light
which had not been there before.
The older man, Rana, the subchief, glanced
swiftly along the line of new faces. Then his gaze
returned to McKay. His mouth set and his
countenance turned hard. He spoke curtly to
Yuara, who replied with one word. After an
other long, unpleasant look at McKay, who stared
coldly back at him, Rana grunted a few words
and re-entered the house.
Lourengo, nonplused by the frigidity of the
subchief where he had expected gratitude or at
least hospitality, glanced questioningly at Yuara.
But the young man stood mute, looking straight
ahead.
"The subchief says we shall enter and see the
chief. We must leave our guns outside."
"Don't like that," muttered McKay. "That
subchief looks ugly."
THE CANNIBALS 177
"But we must obey or provoke a fight, Cap-
itao. Besides, our rifles would be useless inside,
as they would be instantly seized if we lifted
them. So let us make the best of it. But I
think you can carry your pistols with you; they
are covered by the holsters, and I do not believe
these people know what they are. And since
Rana spoke only of guns, we will keep our
machetes. Come."
"Wait a second."
McKay dived a hand into his haversack and
brought forth a heavy hunting knife with a
gaudy red-and-white bone handle, sheathed and
attached to a leather belt.
"Brought this along as a present for some
Indian who might do us a good turn," he ex
plained. "Been thinking of giving it to Yuara,
but now I'll pass it to the chief. Might make a
difference. All right, let's go."
With confident tread, but with some mis
giving, the five advanced, leaving guns and
packs on the ground. One by one they bent low
and got through the doorway. Yuara, with a
word to a clubman and a motion to the equip
ment, followed the whites, trailed in turn by his
three companions of the forest. The clubman,
after a curious inspection of the packs, stood on
guard among them, his bludgeon grasped loosely
but suggestively, ready to prevent any undue
inquisitiveness by the rest. But soon he found
himself alone, for the other tribesmen transferred
178 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
their attention and themselves to the interior of
the maloca.
Within the house the soldiers of fortune halted
a moment, adjusting their vision to the sudden
diminution of light. Except for the sunshine
pouring in at the smoke hole above and at the
tiny door behind, the only light in the big room
came from small cooking fires scattered about
the place, and for the moment details were with
held from the newcomers' sight. Then they
found themselves in what seemed a labyrinth of
poles and hammocks.
Through this confusion Yuara passed with
familiar step, and in his wake the travelers went
to a central fire around which was a compara
tively clear space. Beyond, in a big hammock
dyed with the symbolic scarlet and black and
tasseled with many squirrel tails, sat a fat, small-
eyed, heavy-jawed man whose elaborate feather
dress and authoritative air proclaimed him chief.
Beside him stood Rana and another subchief , lean
and somber-faced. Behind this bulwark of
tribal might huddled the women and children,
staring wide-eyed. As the visitors stopped and
returned the chief's unwinking regard the war
riors packed themselves at their backs, blocking
all chance of exit.
When the shuffle of feet had died and no sound
was audible, Yuara began to talk. In his de
liberate way he told the complete narrative of
his journey, which previously he had sketched
THE CANNIBALS 179
only in outline. His three companions corrob
orated his tale from time to time by nods, and
when the discovery of the slain hunter's bones
was described one of those three stepped forward
and laid the dead man's weapons on the ground
before the chief. As Yuara went on he touched
his bandaged arm and pointed to McKay and
Knowlton. And as he concluded he motioned
toward Lourengo.
Ignorant of the Indian language, but guessing
the nature of his talk from his motions, the
Americans stood patiently awaiting the next
move. For a time all three of the chiefs remained
silent; but all of them studied McKay, standing
bolt upright with arms folded and the belt-
wrapped knife partly concealed in the hollow
of one elbow. Though it was evident that Yuara
had given the captain full credit for saving his
life, the faces of the head men showed no sign of
friendliness. In fact, their expressions were dis
tinctly ominous.
At length the chief turned his eyes to Lourengo.
The veteran bushman promptly stepped forward
and said his say. At the end he turned, took from
McKay the knife, unrolled the belt, and dangled
the weapon before the eyes of the rulers. They
stared at it in obvious ignorance of its character.
Not until the Brazilian drew the blade from its
sheath and the glint of steel struck then* vision did
they show recognition. Then Chief Suba grunted,
his little eyes lit up, and he reached for it.
180 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
v
For a few minutes he sat gloating over the gift,
admiring the bone handle, hefting the weight of
the long blade, while the subchiefs gazed in envy.
When he looked up his face was beaming. But
then the sour-faced subchief at his left hand
muttered something, and Suba's visage darkened.
His eyes rested again on McKay, went to the
bandaged arm of Yuara, dropped to his knife
the first steel knife ever owned by him or any man
of the Suba tribe and rose again to the black-
bearded captain. Abruptly then he spoke out.
Lourengo stared in blank astonishment. After
a puzzled moment he shook his head as if unable
to believe he had heard aright. Suba, scowling,
repeated what he had said. Lourengo shook his
head again, this time in vehement denial, and
began to talk. But Suba, rising with surprising
agility for a man of his weight, stopped him im
periously and spoke with finality. Slowly the
Brazilian nodded and turned to his captain.
"I do not undertand this, Capitao. But these
are the words of the chief:
"'The white man with the black beard tries
a trick, but it does not deceive the free men of
the forest. The thing which he thinks to be
hidden in his own heart is known to Suba and his
chiefs. It is known also to the chief Monitaya,
and to his chiefs, and to his men also. The white
man is bold. And now his own boldness shall be
his death.
" 'Since the white man has said he goes to visit
THE CANNIBALS 181
the chief Monitaya, and since by some demon's
power the white man has saved the life of Yuara,
who is a man of Suba, the men of Suba will allow
him to go in peace from this place. But Suba will
see that he and his companions go to Monitaya,
who will know how to deal with his visitors. The
men of Suba will take the strangers at once to the
canoes and carry them to Monitaya.
" 'If the white man of the black beard and
the black mind thought the men of the jungle
blind to the foulness he would do here, he is a
fool. It is useless for him or his men to lie and say
they know not what Suba means. Let him look
into his own heart and he will know well.
"'Suba has spoken.'
"Something is wrong, Capitao, but I do not
know what it is. It will do no good to argue.
Let us go at once."
Suba snarled commands to the warriors. They
trooped toward the door. Without another word
or glance at the three chiefs Lourengo stalked
after the Indians, and his comrades followed with
stiff dignity.
Outside, the savages picked up the rifles and
packs and carried them to the creek, where small
canoes lay. The five strangers were allowed to
crowd themselves together in a four-man canoe,
but their guns and packs were distributed among
four other dugouts, into which armed paddlers
entered. Other Indians brought provisions to the
outgoing craft. In a very short time the leading
182 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
canoe started off downstream, followed by the
boat of the white men, behind which the other
craft pressed close and vigilant.
They swung in among the trees, and the maloca
of Suba was blotted out.
CHAPTER XVI. BLACKBEARD
"T"TTELL," said Knowlton, after a period of
V V silent paddling, ' ' we have met the enemy
and we are hisn. No harm done so far,
though, and if old man Calisaya, or whatever his
name is, wants to act nasty we can send him and
a few others along the road to glory with our
gats. We'll travel the same road, of course, but
we'll take company with us."
"Si, senhor," Pedro agreed. "And besides
your pistols we still have our machetes. Yet I
believe Lourengo's words to the chief Monitaya
will make all well. But I cannot help won
dering " He glanced at McKay.
"I'm wondering, too, Pedro," said the captain.
"It's hardly possible that these people know why
we're here, and hardly likely that they have any
interest in the Raposa. Lord knows I've nothing
else up my sleeve. It's a riddle to me."
It remained a riddle to the rest, for no explana
tion could be gleaned from the Mayorunas. At
the first halt, which did not come until nearly
sundown, the Americans discovered that one of
the men in the fore canoe was Yuara, who had
been lying in the bottom of the craft and sleep
ing all the afternoon. From him Lourengo at
tempted to get imformation as to the reason for
Suba's enmity but in vain. The tall fellow
184 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
spoke not a word in reply, and his face remained
unreadable.
Camp was made, and by Yuara's direction the
packs of the adventurers were restored to them.
The rifles, however, remained under guard of
savages appointed by the subchief's son. When
the night meal was out of the way nothing re
mained but to seek hammocks and sleep, for
further attempts at conversation by Lourengo
met with the same silent rebuff from every
cannibal addressed. None showed active hos
tility by either look or manner, but it was plain
that between wild and civilized men stood a wall
a wall not too high for the jungle dwellers to
leap over in deadly action if occasion should be
given. Wherefore the whites held themselves
aloof, said little, and slept early.
"I am glad Yuara is with us," Laurengo said.
"As he promised, he does not forget what was
done for him. He will keep this band in control,
and unless I am much mistaken he will tell
Monitaya all he knows of us, which surely will
not do us any harm. At any rate, we can sleep in
safety to-night. And since it does no good to
puzzle about what is gone by or to worry about
what has not yet to come to pass, let us sleep
now."
"Ho-hum!" yawned Tun. "Renzo, ye spill
more solid sense to the square inch than any feller
I seen in a long time. We're here because we're
here; to-day's dead and to-morrer ain't bora
BLACKBEARD 185
yet, and liT Timmy Ryan hits the hay right now.
Night, gents."
| So, surrounded by man eaters, the trailers of
the Raposa slept far more securely than on any
night down the river when their companions had
been supposedly civilized Peruvians. Whether a
watch was kept by their guards during the night
they neither knew nor cared, since they had no
intention of attempting escape.
They awoke to find the men of Suba diminished
in number by half. Yuara, deigning to speak for
the first time since leaving the maloca, explained
that the absent men had gone hunting for their
breakfasts. Before long the hunters came
straggling back, bearing monkeys and birds,
which were divided among their companions.
None of this meat was offered to the prisoners,
who ate unconcernedly from their pack rations.
Tim, after watching the Indians sink their sharp-
filed teeth into broiled monkey haunches and tear
the meat from the bones, snorted and turned his
back to them.
"Look like a gang o' bloody-faced devils
gobblin' babies," he muttered. "I'll believe now
they're cannibals, all right."
So uncomfortably apt was his simile that the
others grimaced and turned their eyes elsewhere
until the savage meal was finished. Then their
attention became riveted on a queer proceed
ing at the canoe wherein Yuara had journeyed
yesterday.
186 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
To the gunwales amidships two of the men
fastened a couple of small crotched posts. In the
forks was laid a pole, crosswise of the boat, and
from this, by slender fiber cords, four slabs of
wood were hung. Strolling down to the canoe,
the travelers found that athwart its bottom had
been laid a crosspiece supporting two shorter
crotched posts, between which stretched another
transverse pole; and from this pole in turn the
lower ends of the four slabs had been suspended.
Now the savages joined the tips of each pair of
slabs by carved end sections, and the contrivance
seemed to be complete a sort of grate, its bars
sloping at an angle of forty-five degrees.
As the Americans eyed the arrangement in
perplexity, one of the crew picked up from the
bow of the canoe a pair of mallets the heads of
which were wrapped in hide. With these he
struck the slabs in rapid succession. Out rolled
four notes of astonishing volume the first four
notes of the musical scale. Again and again
he ran them over, then stopped. The deep
tones thrummed away along the creek and
died.
"By George! a big xylophone!" Knowlton ex
claimed, admiringly.
" It sure talks right out loud," said Tim. " Lot
o' class to these guys, at that. Bet this is their
brass band, and we'll go rip-snortin' into the
next town like we was on parade. Oughter have
some flags to hang up in the boats, and mebbe a
BLACKBEARD 187
drum corps to help out. Wisht I had a tin
whistle or somethin' and I'd join the orchester.
I can toot a whistle fine."
"My favorite instrument is the old-fashioned
dinner horn," laughed Knowlton. "But I think
you're wrong this is some kind of signaling
apparatus."
"You have it right, senhor," Lourengo af
firmed. "I have heard this sort of thing used,
though I never before saw the instrument itself.
Those notes will carry at least five miles, and the
cannibals send messages by striking the bars hi
different order. This run which we have just
heard is always used first, and no message is sent
until a reply is received."
"Bush telegraph," nodded McKay. "First
call your operator and then shoot the message hi
code. Pretty ingenious for a bunch of absolute
savages."
Lourengo turned to Yuara and asked a ques
tion. Yuara curtly replied.
" He says, Capitao, that this is to tell Monitaya
we come. But we now are too far off for Moni-
taya's men to hear. The bars are made ready
before starting so that they can be used as soon
as we are within hearing. He says also that we
start now."
The Mayorunas already were entering their
canoes. With cool deliberation the whites
gathered up their equipment and settled them
selves for the journey at whose end lay either life
188 THE PATHLESS TRAIL"'
or death. The boat of Yuara started, and once
more the flotilla was on its way.
For an hour or more it swung on among the
forested hills before the telegraph instrument was
put to use. Then it paused, and the sonorous
voice of the xylophone spoke to the jungle. A
period of waiting brought no reply.
The canoe moved on for a mile. Again the
mallets beat the wood in the ascending scale of
the call. And then, faint, mellow, far off, sounded
the answer.
While every man sat silent the bars boomed out
their fateful news. Slow, brief, deep as a bell
tolling a dirge, a reply rolled back. And with
the solemnity of a funeral cortege the canoes
once more moved on, unhurried, inexorable, the
measured swing of the paddles beating like a
pulse of doom.
At length the crew of Yuara held their paddles.
Yuara himself turned toward the second canoe
and talked a minute. A signal to his men, and
his boat proceeded. All the others remained
where they were.
"He goes to Monitaya to speak of us/' said
Lourenco. "He will return. We have only to
wait."
"Yeah," grunted Tim, disgustedly. "We'll
wait till night if he takes as long to go through his
rigmarole as he done yesterday. If I got to fight
I want to hop to it, not set round in the shade o'
the shelterin' palm while them guys are heatin'
BLACKBEARD 189
up the stewpot. This waitin' stuff gits my
goat."
"You might sing us a song, senhor, to pass
the time," Pedro suggested, with a tight-lipped
smile.
"Say, I'll do that, jest to show these guys I
don't give a rip. And while their ears are dazzled
by me melody I'm goin' to git me holster un-
bottoned and me masheet kinder limbered up.
Git set. Here it comes:
"Ol' Hindyburg thought he was swell,
Para-arley- voo !
He made the kids in Belgium yell,
Pa-a-arley-voo!
But the Yanks come over with shot and shell
And Hindyburg he run like hell,
Rinkydinky-parley-voo !"
Under cover of his outbreak, which made the
savages clutch their weapons and glare at him in
mingled suspicion and amazement, there pro
ceeded a furtive loosening of pistols and machetes.
"A noble sentiment, and more or less appro
priate," grinned Knowlton. "But don't give
them another spasm for a few minutes, or they
may rise up and kill us all in self-defense. They're
on the ragged edge now."
"Aw, them guys dunno how to appreciate
good singin'. But I should worry; I got me gat
fixed now like I want it."
Time dragged past. The Americans and
Brazilians smoked and exchanged casual com-
190 THE PATHLESS TEAIL
ments on subjects far removed from their present
environment. The Mayorunas watched them
with unceasing vigilance, as if expecting a sudden
break for life and liberty. Their chief had inti
mated that Monitaya would kill these men; and
now was their last chance to try to dodge death.
But neither the black-bearded McKay nor any of
his mates manifested the slightest concern. And
at last the canoe of Yuara came back.
It came, however, without Yuara himself. The
son of Rana had remained at the malocas ahead,
whence he sent the command to advance. Close
ly hemmed in by the men of Suba, the white
men's boat surged onward at a brisk pace.
Around a bend in the creek it went, and at once
the domain of Monitaya leaped into view.
Two big tribal houses, each considerably larger
than the one of Suba, rose pompously in a wide
cleared space beside the stream. Before them,
ranged in a semicircle, stood hundreds of Mayo
runas men, women, children all silently watch
ing the canoes of the newcomers. In the center
of the arc, like the hub of a human half wheel, a
small knot of men waited in aloof dignity, four of
them adorned with the ornate feather dresses of
subchiefs, backed by a dozen tall, muscular
savages, each armed with a huge war club. Before
all stood a powerful, magnificently proportioned
savage belted with a wide girdle of squirrel tails,
decked with necklaces of jaguar teeth and ebony
nuts, crowned by plumes which in loftiness and
BLACKBEARD 191
splendor surpassed all other headgear present
the great chief Monitaya.
At the shore, beside a row of empty canoes,
Yuara was waiting. He mentioned for his men
to bring their dugouts to the regular landing
place, and when they obeyed he gave com
mands. Then he turned and walked toward
Monitaya.
"I go," stated Lourengo, rising. "You stay
here until called. Yuara has told his men to leave
all weapons in the canoes."
He walked away after the son of Rana, and if
any misgiving was in his heart it did not show in
his confident step. Halting before the big chief,
he began talking as coolly as if there were not the
least doubt of welcome for himself and those with
him. Monitaya gave no sign of recognition, of
friendliness, or of enmity. Proud, statuesque, he
stood motionless, his deep eyes resting on those of
the Brazilian.
"Sultry weather," remarked McKay.
"Just so, Capitao," agreed Pedro, narrow
eyed. "We shall soon know whether we shall
have storm."
"Indications are for violent thunder and light
ning soon," Knowlton contributed. "See those
husky clubmen awaiting? Looks as if a public
execution were about to be pulled off."
"Yeah. But say, ain't that chief a reg'lar he-
man, though! No pot-bellied fathead like that
there, now, Suby guy. Hope I don't have to drill
192 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
him. I bet I won't, neither. He looks like he had
brains."
Hoping Tun was right, but dubious, all watched
the progress of the parley. Lourengo evidently
was stating his case in logical sequence, recalling
to the chief's mind the time when he had led him
to revenge against the Peccaries of Peru, then
going on to tell of the arrival of the strangers and
the object of their search. Yuara's sudden,
quick glance at him showed that the Raposa
had been mentioned for the first time. A little
later his face became slightly sullen, and the
watchers guessed that Lourengo was now re
ferring in somewhat uncomplimentary terms to
the treatment received in the maloca of Suba.
Soon after that the Brazilian ended his speech.
In a deep, quiet tone Monitaya spoke first to
Lourengo, then to one of his subchiefs. The
bushman beckoned to his waiting companions.
At the same time the subchief stepped out and
called two names. As McKay, Knowlton, Tun,
and Pedro arose and stepped ashore with the
weaponless men of Suba, out from the great
human arc came two men. All advanced toward
the chief. And though the Americans were
studying the central figures as they walked, they
also noticed that the pair of Mayorunas who
had been summoned were lame. One walked
with a stiff knee, the other as if a whole leg was
paralyzed.
"Squad halt!" muttered McKay. A step
BLACKBEARD 193
and a half and the four stood aligned and alert,
two strides from Monitaya.
The eyes of the chief dwelt long on McKay, and
they were hard eyes. Without shifting his gaze
he grunted a few words. The two crippled
Indians stumped forward and stared into McKay's
face. Through a long minute the Americans felt
a sinister tension grow in the air about them.
Then, slowly, the cripples turned about and faced
their ruler. In the tones of men sure of them
selves, they spoke one word.
With the utterance of that word the tension
broke. Through the long line of watching tribes
men ran a murmur. The clubmen relaxed from
their ready poise. The subchiefs glanced at one
another as if disappointed. And the stern face of
Monitaya himself was transformed by a wide,
friendly smile.
A sweeping gesture and the cordial timbre of
the chief's voice told the Americans plainly what
Lourengo translated a moment later.
"We are welcome, comrades. We shall sleep
in the maloca of Monitaya himself and a feast
shall be made for us. Our lives have just hung
on one word, but now that the word is spoken
we are safe. I cannot tell you more now, for I
do not wholly understand this matter myself
as yet but I shall learn. Now is the time,
Capitao to give presents, if you have any for the
chief."
"I have. But our packs are in the canoe, and
194 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
I'll be hanged if I'll make a beast of burden of
myself at this stage of the game."
"I will have all the packs brought up, Capitao.
The men of Suba took them from us at their
maloca; now they shall restore them before all
these people."
He addressed Monitaya affably, then spoke
more brusquely to Yuara. That young man,
whose previous austerity now had dissolved
into open friendliness, uttered four words. Im
mediately his men returned to the canoes and
brought up not only the packs, but the rifles.
From his blanket roll McKay brought forth a
cloth-wrapped package out of which he drew a
half-ax, its blade gleaming dully under a pro
tective coating of grease, which he swiftly
swabbed off. From his haversack he produced
a heavy chain of ruby-red beads. Under the
bright sun the beads glowed like living things,
and the glittering steel flashed back a dazzling
beam. The two gifts together had cost consider
ably less than ten dollars in New York, but to the
chief tain they were priceless treasures; and as
McKay, with a formal bow, extended them to
him, his face shone with delight. Yet he made
no such greedy grab for them as had been dis
played by Suba when tendered the knife. His
acceptance was achieved with a calm dignity
which brought a twinkle of approval to the eyes
of the white men.
In the same dignified manner he led the way
BLACKBEABD 195
to the maloca which evidently was the older of the
two and which had always been his home. The
semicircle of his subjects broke up into a dis
orderly crowd which streamed after him and his
guests or surrounded the men of Suba with
holiday greetings. Within the tribal house the
adventurers proceeded to the central space where
burned the chief's fire. There Monitaya ordered
certain hammocks removed to make room for
those of the visitors. Soon the travelers were
seated at ease in their hanging beds, their packs
and rifles lying on the ground beneath them,
while near at hand clustered groups of Mayo-
runas, staring at them in naive curiosity.
Pedro drew a long breath.
"Senhores, that was a very close call," he de
clared. "As Lourengo says, our lives have hung
on one word. What was that word, comrade? "
"The word was, 'No,'" answered Lourengo.
"Monitaya asked those two crippled men, 'Is
this the man?' As you saw, they looked at the
capitao, giving no attention to the rest of us.
Then they said, 'No.' You will remember that
the capitao was the one whom Suba also picked
upon. As soon as Monitaya finishes talking with
those men I shall ask him what all this means."
The big chief was giving directions to a score
of young fellows, who presently scattered to
various parts of the house and accoutered them
selves for hunting. Thereupon Lourenco ap
proached Monitaya with the familiarity of former
196 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
acquaintance, being received with a good-
humored smile. For a time the two conversed.
As they talked the smile of the ruler faded and
his face grew dark, while into the Brazilian's
voice came a wrathful growl. Finally both
nodded. Lourengo returned to his hammock,
frowning.
"Capitao, it is all because of your black hah*
and beard. Through all the malocas of the
Mayorunas, far and near, has gone the word to
watch for a big, black-bearded man who is
neither a Brazilian nor a Peruvian, but of some
country unknown to these people; and when
such a man is caught, to kill him and his com
panions without mercy. And the reason for such
a command is this:
"For many moons the Mayorunas, especially
those of the smaller and weaker malocas, have
been losing women. From time to time sudden
raids have been made by gangs of gun-carrying
Peruvian Indians and mestizos half-breeds
who shot down the defenders of the houses before
they could reach their weapons, and carried off
girls. This, of course, is nothing new here, for
such things have happened occasionally for
many years. But within the past five years
there has been a difference in these attacks which
has made them much more deadly.
"These raids used to be made always at night,
and they were few and far between. But of late
they have come about also in the day, at times
BLACKBEARD 197
when almost all the men of the small malocas
were far out in the forest hunting meat and the
women had little protection. Several chiefs
have been killed by the raiders, who seemed to be
acting according to an agreed plan, to be or
ganized for this work, and to know when to
strike and how to get away quickly. And what
is more, the men who did this were not chance
parties who came only to get women for them
selves and then stayed away. The same men
came back time after time.
"A few of these were killed, but only a few;
and all the dead were Peruvians. Being dead,
they could tell nothing. But the Mayorunas
felt that all these raids were directed by one
mind. And they became sure of this when
one captured girl escaped by killing a Peruvian
with his own knife and returned to her own
maloca. She said the raiders took her and the
other girls to the big man with the black beard,
who waited at a safe place a day's march from
the tribal house.
"A few weeks later another small maloca
several miles from here was attacked at night
while two men of Monitaya were there, having
stayed out too late on a hunting trip and taken
refuge with their neighbors until day. Both these
men were hit and crippled by bullets in the wild
shooting that opened the attack. One was
struck in the knee, the other in the lower part of
the back. But both caught a glimpse of the
14
198 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
leader's face and saw that he was the black-
bearded man himself.
"So you see, Capitao, why we have been
near death. Suba and Monitaya both thought
you were the man. We were lucky to escape
alive from Suba, and still more lucky that here
were two men who knew the face of the black-
beard."
"Schwandorf!" barked McKay.
"Yes, Capitao, it must be the German "
"I know it's Schwandorf! And I know his
game! He's a slaver!"
"A slaver?"
"That's it. Knew I'd seen that sneak before.
He worked the same game in British Guiana
eight years ago on a small scale. Had a gang of
tough bush niggers from over in Dutch Guiana
to do his dirty work. Stole Macusi girls they're
the best-looking Indians in B. G. and sold them
like cattle to gold miners. Cleaned up quite a pot
before the English got on to him, but had to get
out of the country on the hot foot didn't have
tune to take his gold with him. His name wasn't
Schwandorf over there, and he had no beard; he
was thinner, too, and posed as a Russian; but he's
the man. Must have made his get-away by the
back door down the Branco to the Amazon.
Now he's running Mayoruna girls into Peru.
He could sell them to rubber men or miners and
make good money, eh, Lourengo?"
"Si."
BLACKBEARD 199
"Sure. And that's why he wanted to kill off
his Peruvians they knew too much; probably
were trying to bleed him for hush money. He
must have a regular slave route and a gang of
border cutthroats to do his raiding men who
don't go downriver. Murderer, slaver wonder
how many other crimes are on his soul."
' ' Them two are enough, ' ' growled Tun. ' ' And
he 'ain't got no soul."
"No soul," echoed Pedro. "You have said it,
Senhor Tun. And if ever these people capture
him he soon will have no body."
CHAPTER XVII. FEVER
TT N the maloca of Monitaya a feast was in the
making.
Fires glowed all about the great room.
Hunters came in, bearing birds or beasts which
were placed before the tribal ruler for inspection
and approval. Fishermen armed with tridents or
crude harpoons arrived with sizable trophies of
their skill. And at length two young bowmen ad
vanced proudly with a freshly killed wild hog.
After glancing at this the chief added to his usual
nod a few words of praise which made the hunts
men grin with all their pointed teeth.
Lourengo, squatting comfortably on a jaguar
skin beside the lavishly decorated hammock of
Monitaya, carried on a lazy-toned monologue
which probably dealt with his various experiences
since his last meeting with these people and which
appeared to interest and amuse the chief. The
others, lolling back in mingled fatigue and relief
from tension, studied the interior of the place and
watched the activities around them.
As hi the maloca of Suba, the small forest of
poles and hammocks seemed a higgledy-piggledy
maze wherein was neither beginning nor end.
Yet, as the newcomers took tune to observe it,
they presently found that the confusion was only
apparent and that there existed an efficient and
FEVER 201
orderly arrangement. The hammocks, seemingly
slung from any available pair of poles in utter
disregard of one another, really were arranged in
triangles. On the ground under the hanging
beds lay woven grass mats and hides of the sloth
and the jaguar; and in the space inclosed by each
trio of hammocks burned a small fire. The
hammocks were the beds of men, the mats and
furs the couches of women and children, and
each fire was the focal point of the family residing
in that triangle.
Above the hammocks, from transverse poles,
were suspended the weapons of the men: the
great bows, the long blowguns, the fighting
spears whose deadly points now were sheathed in
thick scabbards of grass, the unpoisoned fish
spears and harpoons. From these poles also
hung the quivers of arrows and darts and the
small rubber-covered pouches wherein a little
fresh poison was carried by warrior or hunter.
Thus both the ground and the air were utilized,
and by the compactness of the arrangement an
entire family with its worldly goods, was enabled
to live in a comparatively small space. Looking
around the wide room and remembering the big
half circle of Indians who had stood outside, the
two ex-officers estimated that in this tribal house
and its twin dwelt seven hundred people.
Tun and Pedro, less interested in the Mayoruna
domestic economy than in the Mayorunas
themselves, were scanning the figures moving
202 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
about in the reddish haze of smoke. Most of
them were women, all nude and naively un
conscious of any need of clothing. Like the men
of the tribe, they bore the red and black rings and
streaks on face and body; but, unlike the males,
each wore a facial ornament hi the shape of an
oval piece of wood thrust through the lower lip.
From tune to tune those near by glanced up from
their work and gave the new men unmistakably
friendly looks particularly several young but
well-grown girls who obviously were still un-
mated. In fact, these last smiled openly at the
lithe, handsome Pedro, and red Tim was by no
means overlooked.
"I got me orders," said Tun, sotto voce, "and
I'm danged if I crack a smile back at them girls.
But I sure feel like grinnin'. Watch yourself,
old-tuner; they're tryin' to flirt with ye."
Pedro, mindful of watchful eyes, turned his
gaze to Tun's face before allowing himself to
smile. Then he laughed.
"Do not fear," he said. "My heart is still my
own."
"Same here. Specially when I remember these
females would grin jest the same if them club
swingers had spattered our brains all over the
front yard awhile back. But I wisht sombody'd
give the girls a nightie or somethin' to wear. I
been around some and I seen quite a lot, but I
ain't used to bein' vamped by a bunch of un
dressed kids with goo-goo eyes the size of a plate
FEVER 203
o' fish balls. I'm only a bashful country kid
from N'Yawk."
"Live and learn," chuckled Pedro. "And
clothes really have nothing to do with modesty."
"True for ye. Clothes is mostly a disguise,
anyhow, specially with women, and an awful
expense, besides. These guys are lucky, I'll say;
they 'ain't got to buy their wives no fur coats
or silk stockin's or no thin'. All the same, I got
all I can do to hold me face straight when I see
these li'F owl- eyes givin' us the glad look. I'd
oughter stayed back in Remate de Males, where
a feller can wink at a woman without gittin'
all his pardners massacreed."
"Perhaps it would not be fatal, now that we
are guests of the chief. But it is best to take no
chances."
"Safety first. That's us. Grin at one of 'em
and another might git sore because she missed
out, and first thing ye know ye've started some-
thin' without meanin' to. Let's look at some-
thin' harmless one o' them poisoned spears, f'r
instance."
At that moment Monitaya and Lourengo both
arose, the chief to inspect in person the progress
of the arrangements for the feast, the bush-
man to return to his companions with additional
news.
"Monitaya tells me," he said, "that his people
have lost girls hi other ways than by the mur
derous attacks of the gunmen. A number of
204 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
young women who have gone into the bush near
their malocas to get urucu and genipapa, which
they use to make the red and black body dyes,
have disappeared. So have several who went
to the creeks for their daily baths. Warriors
who tried to trail them have found the footprints
of a few men, but always lost them at water.
The girls had been taken away in canoes. Even
this tribe of Monitaya, which never has been
attacked by night raiders because it is too strong,
has not been safe from these stealthy woman
stealings by daylight. Three girls have been
taken from here within the past two moons, and
others have disappeared from other malocas."
"Hm! And Schwandorf hasn't been here re
cently," said Knowlton.
"No. It must be that he has agents who work
when he is not here, or else this is done without
his knowledge. I have told Monitaya what I
know of Schwandorf, and he agrees that the
women are taken as slaves. I have also told him
that when we return down the river we shall see
that Schwandorf troubles the Mayorunas no
more."
"Excellent," McKay approved. "Have you
asked him about the Raposa?"
"Not yet. It does not pay to hurry business
with these people. After the feast is out of the
way I will talk further with him."
No more was said for a time. The five lounged
at ease, sniffing the savory odors arising from the
FEVER 205
v,
reddish clay pots and pans in which fruit, fish, or
fowl was frying in tapir lard, or meat was stewing.
At length a number of tall, shapely women, ap
parently the handsomest of their sex in the tribe,
laid a number of small mats in a semicircle on
the ground before the chief, and placed thereon a
steaming array of edibles. Furs were placed out
side the line of mats. From somewhere appeared
all four of the subchiefs, accompanied by Yuara.
Thereupon Monitaya, with a smiling nod to his
guests, squatted within the arc. Forthwith the
visitors advanced in a body, disposed themselves
comfortably on the furs, and assailed the viands
with a vigor that brought a delighted grin to
the face of their barbaric host.
Fried bananas, tender fish, broiled parrot which
was not so tender, a thick stew of somewhat
odorous meat seasoned with tart-tasting herbs,
roast wild hog, and other things at whose identity
the whites could not even guess, all were chewed
and washed down with generous draughts of a
rather sour liquid resembling beer. Remember
ing Louren<jo's previous warning, each man took
care not to slight any portion of the meal or to
show distaste with anything, whether it pleased
the palate or not. Throughout the feast the tall
women hovered near, bringing fresh supplies
whenever a dearth of any edible appeared to
threaten. And when at last the feasters were full
to repletion Monitaya himself designated what
he considered titbits to tempt them further.
206 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Gosh! if I eat any more I'll bust, and I'm
danged if I'll bust jest to satisfy this guy,"
asserted Tim. Wherewith he put one hand under
his jaw and patted his stomach with the other,
signifying that he was filled to the throat. Pedro
lifted his elbows, dropped his jaw, and made
motions as if gasping for ah-. The chieftain
grinned widely. The grin became a chuckling
when Tim, after a vain attempt to rise, lay back
at full length on his rug and begged some one to
make a cigarette.
"Guess I'll have to follow Tim's example,"
confessed Knowlton. And he too stretched out.
Pedro and Lourengo also sprawled back. McKay,
after glancing around, compromised with his
dignity by leaning on one elbow. The subchiefs
and Yuara, with slight smiles, relaxed in various
postures. Monitaya alone arose not without
some difficulty and got into his hammock,
where he beamed down at them.
"Suppose this is a compliment to the chief,"
smiled McKay. "He thinks he has eaten us
helpless."
"Speakin' for liT old Tun Ryan, that ain't no
joke, neither. Lookit all the girls givin' us the
laff. Who are them tall ones that's been rushin'
the grub? Waitresses or somethin'?"
" Those are the chief's wives," Lourengo ex
plained.
"Huh? Gosh! he's one brave guy, that feller!
Two four six eight nine of 'em! Swell
FEVER 207
lookers, too. I s'pose he has his pick o' the
whole crowd here."
"He does not have to pick them Senhor Tim.
They pick him. He and the subchiefs are the
only ones who can take more than one wife.
When a girl wishes to become the wife of the
great chief or of a subchief , she works for months
making feather dresses and necklaces and ham
mocks, and when these are done she gives them
all to him. If he likes her well enough he accepts
the gifts and allows her to be a wife to him."
"Yeah? And she's flattered to death, I s'pose.
Wisht they'd start somethin' like that up home,
or, anyways, fix it so's a feller could get an even
break. Way it is now, a feller blows in every
dollar he's got, and then when he's fixin' to git the
ring the girl leaves him flat for some other guy
that 'ain't spent his dough yet. Yo-ho-hum!
I'm goin' to take a snooze right there on the
table. Wake me up, somebody, when the next
mess call blows."
And with no further ado he shut his eyes and
drowsed.
His companions lolled for some time, smoking
and watching the family life of the ordinary
members of the tribe, nodding now and then to
some friendly-looking young fellow, but ignoring
the mischievous glances of the girls. Monitaya
himself lay back in his hammock and dozed.
His wives, stepping nonchalantly among the
strangers, cleared . away the remnants of the
208 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
feast by the simple process of eating them. Then
they carried off the clay vessels.
For another hour all hands rested. Then
Monitaya sat up, stretched his big arms, looked
casually around the house to see that all was well,
and smiled down at his guests. Lourengo, rising
to a squat, began a new conversation. After a
while he turned to McKay.
"The Red Bones and the Mayorunas are
neither friendly nor hostile toward each other,
and there is little communication between them,"
he reported. "From those malocas to the town
of the Red Bones is a journey of five long days, so
the men of Monitaya hardly ever go there.
"The Raposa whom we seek is known to the
men of Monitaya, but he never has come here to
the tribal houses. Hunters from this place have
met him at times roving the wild forests, and
some of the younger men fear him as the bad
spirit of the jungle. The Mayorunas believe in
two spirits or demons, one good and one bad, and
the bad one is said to roam the wilderness, seeking
lone wanderers, whom he kills and eats; the people
sometimes hear this demon howling at night hi
the dark of the moon. So the young men have
thought the Raposa might be this demon and
have avoided him it would do no good to try to
kill a demon, and it would only make their own
deaths more sure and horrible.
"But the older men do not believe this. They
say the wild man is of the Red Bone people, and
FEVER 209
that the reason why his bones are marked in red
on his living body is that he is neither alive nor
dead. If he were dead his body would be thrown
into the water and left there until his bones were
stripped by those cannibal fish, the piranhas, and
then the bones would be dyed red and hung up in
his hut, as is the custom among those people. If
he were alive like other men he would not have
those marks on his body, but would wear only
the tribal face paint. The bone paint on him is a
sign to all the Ossos Vermelhos that he is alive,
but dead, and is not to be treated like other men."
"Crazy!" exclaimed Knowlton.
"Yes. I think that is it. His body lives, but
his mind is dead. Death in life."
"Has he been seen lately?"
The Brazilian repeated the question in the
Indian tongue. The chief looked toward a cer
tain hammock some distance off, called a name,
raised an imperative hand. A slender savage
came forward. To him the chief spoke, then to
Lourengo, who, as usual, relayed his information.
"This young hunter saw him six days ago while
following a wild-hog trail far out in the bush
toward the Red Bone region. He came on the
fresh track of a man who was following the same
hogs, and later he caught up with that man. It
was the red-boned wild man, and the wild man
was very lame, having a hurt foot. They stood
and looked at each other, and then the wild man
walked away, watching him closely and ready to
210 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
shoot with his bow. After he disappeared in the
forest this hunter heard a long, shrill laugh and
words that sounded like 'Podavi.' "
"Podavi Poor Davy!" ejaculated Knowl-
ton. "That's he, sure enough! Then he's near
his own town now he won't go far with a bad
foot. We'd better move as soon as we can. Ask
about an escort.'*
Once more the bushman conversed with Moni-
taya. The ruler's smile disappeared. For some
time he sat gazing out over the heads of all,
evidently weighing matters in his mind. When
he responded, however, it was without hesitation.
"There is neither friendliness nor enmity
between the two peoples, as has been said,"
Lourengo stated. "Our business among the Red
Bones is our own affair, not that of Monitaya,
and Monitaya will make no requests for us. But
in order that we may go safely and return without
harm he will send with us twenty of his best men.
These men will have orders to protect us at all
tunes, unless fighting is caused by our making a
needless attack on the Red Bones. Injthat case
the Mayorunas will do nothing to help us. They
will only defend themselves."
"Fair enough!" nodded McKay. "Tell him
we'll start no fight. If any trouble comes it
will be from the other fellows. We'll leave here
to-morrow morning."
Lourengo translated the promise into Mayo-
runa. But the chief seemed not to hear. His
FEVER 211
eyes had narrowed and were fixed on the face of
Tim, who still lay on his back and was giving no
attention to what went on. Following his look,
the bushman gazed critically at the red-haired
man.
Tim's florid face had paled. His mouth was
drawn and his eyes stared straight up, wide and
glassy. Slowly he rolled his head from side to
side.
"Gee! Cap," he whispered, hoarsely, "I et
too much. My head aches so I'm fair blind, and
I'm burnin' up. Gimme some water."
With a swift, simultaneous movement McKay
and Knowlton put their hands on his forehead.
Lourengo and Pedro leaned closer and peered
into his face. All four glanced at one another.
Pedro nodded. His lips silently formed one dread
word:
"Fever!"
CHAPTER XVIII. FRUIT OF THE TRAP
HEAVY hypodermic doses of quinine, aided
by Tim's rugged constitution and the
fact that this was his first attack of the
ravaging sickness of the swamp lands, pulled
him back to safety within the next two days.
To safety, but not to strength. Despite his
stout-hearted assertions that he was ready to
hit the trail and "walk the legs off the whole
danged outfit," he was obviously in no con
dition to stand up under the grueling pack
work that lay ahead. Wherefore, McKay, after
consultation with the others of the party, and,
through Lourengo, with Monitaya, gave him
inflexible orders.
"You'll stay here. Stick in your hammock
until you're in fighting trim. Then watch your
self. Don't pull any bonehead plays that '11 get
these people down on you. Take quinine daily
according to Knowlton's directions he's written
them on the box. If we're not back in a fort
night Monitaya will send men to find out why.
If they find that we're not coming back you
will be guided to the river, where you can get
down to the Nunes place."
"But, Cap"
"No argument!"
"But listen here, for the love o' Mike! I ain't
FRUIT OF THE TRAP 213
no old woman! I can stand the gaff! I'm goin'
with the gang!"
"You hear the orders!" McKay snapped, with
assumed severity. "Think we want to be
bothered with having you go sick again? You're
out of shape and we've no room for lame ducks.
You'll stay here!"
Tun tried another tack.
"Aw, but listen! Ye ain't goin' to desert a
comrade amongst a lot o' man eaters right hi
the place where I got sick, too. Soon's I git away
from here I'll be all right "
"That stuff's no good," the captain contra
dicted, with a tight smile. "You didn't get fever
here. It's been in your system for days. You
got it back on the river. These people don't
have it, or any other kind of sickness. I've
looked around and I know. As for the man
eaters, they're mighty decent folks toward
friends. We're friends. You'll be under the
personal protection of Monitaya, and his word
is good as gold. It's all arranged, and you're
safer here than you would be in New York."
In his heart the stubborn veteran knew McKay
was right, but, like any other good soldier ordered
to remain out of action, he grumbled and growled
regardless. To which the ex-officers paid about
as much attention as officers usually do. They
went ahead with their own preparations.
"Be of good heart, Senhor Tim," Pedro com
forted, mischievously. "You will not lack for
15
214 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
company. The chief has appointed two girls to
wait upon you at all times."
" Huh? Them two tall ones that's been hangin'
round and fetchin' things? Are they mine? "
"Yes. They are quite handsome in their way,
and strong enough to help you about if your legs
remain weak. In that case you will probably be
allowed to put your arms around them for sup
port. I almost wish I could get fever, too."
Tim's voice remained a growl, but his face did
not look so doleful as before.
"Grrrumph! I always seem to draw big fe
males, and I don't like 'em. Gimme somethin'
cute like them liT frog dolls in Paree sort o' pee-
teet and chick. Still, a feller's got to do the best
he can. Mebbe I'll live till you guys git back."
With which he availed himself of the preroga
tive of a sick man and grinned openly at the two
comely young women who stood near at hand,
awaiting any demand for services. They were
not at all backward in reciprocating, and, despite
the tribal paint and their labial ornaments, the
smiles softening their faces made them not half
bad to look upon.
" 'O death, where is thy sting?' : ' laughed
Knowlton. "Be careful not to strain your heart
while we're away, Tim."
"Don't worry. It's a tough old heart been
kicked round so much it's growed a shell like a
turtle. Besides, I seen wild women before I ever
come to the jungle."
FRUIT OF THE TRAP 215
Notwithstanding his apparent resignation,
however, Tim erupted once more when his com
rades shouldered their packs, picked up their
guns, and spoke their thanks and good-by to
Monitaya. He arose on shaky legs and des
perately offered to prove his fitness by a bare
handed six-round bout with his commanding
officer. When McKay, with sympathetic eyes
but gruff tones, peremptorily squelched him he
insisted on at least going to the door to watch his
comrades start the journey from which they
might or might not return. Nor did he take
advantage of his chance to hug the girls on the
way.
With one arm slung over the shoulders of a wiry
young warrior who grinned proudly at the honor
of being selected to help a guest of the great chief,
he followed the departing column out into the
sunshine, where the entire tribe was assembled.
And when the stalwart band had filed into the
shadows of the trees and vanished he stood for a
tune unseeing and gulping at something hi his
throat.
Straight away along a vague path beginning
at the rear of the malocas marched the twenty-
four, the two northerners bending under the
weight of their packs, the pair of Brazilians
sweeping the jungle with practiced eyes, the score
of Mayorunas striding velvet footed, resplendent
in brilliant new paint and headdresses, armed
with the most powerful weapons of their tribe,
216 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
)
and loftily conscious of the fact that they were
chosen as Monitaya's best. Savage and civilized,
each man was fit, alert, formidable. Nowhere
in the loosely joined chain was a weak link.
Before the departure the Americans had been
at some trouble to rid themselves of Yuara, who,
with his men, had tarried at the Monitaya
malocas during Tim's sickness. While Knowlton
was giving his ripped arm a final dressing he had
calmly announced his intention of joining the
expedition into the Red Bone country, and it had
taken some skillful argument by Louren^o to
dissuade him without arousing his anger. All
four of the adventurers would gladly have taken
him along had he not been hampered by his
injury, but, under the ruthless rule barring all
men not in possession of all their strength, he
had to be left.
Now, as on the previous jungle marches, the
way was led by two of the tribesmen, followed by
the Brazilians and the Americans, after whom
the main body of the escort strode in column.
The leader and guide, one Tucu, was a veteran
hunter, fighter, and bushranger, who had been
more than once in the Red Bone region and
withal possessed the cool judgment of mature
years and long experience; a lean, silent man who,
though not a subchief, might have made a good
one if given the opportunity. With him Lourengo
had already arranged that a direct course should
be followed, and that whenever dense under-
FRUIT OF THE TRAP 217
growth blockaded the way the machete men
should take the lead.
For some time no word was spoken. The path
wound on, faintly marked, but easy enough to
follow with Tucu picking it out. It was not one
of the frequently used trails of the Monitaya
people, but a mere picada, or hunter's track; yet
even this had its pitfalls to guard the tribal
house. Soon after leaving the clearing Tucu
turned aside, passed between trees off the trail,
went directly under one tree whose steep-slanting
roots stood up off the ground like great down-
pointing fingers, and returned to the path. All
followed without comment.
A considerable distance was covered before
any further sign of the presence of ambushed
death was shown by the savages. Then it came
with tragic suddenness.
Tucu grunted suddenly, and in one instant
shifted his gait from the easy swing of the march
to the prowl of a hunting animal. Behind him
the line grew tense. The click of rifle hammers
and of safeties being thrown off breech bolts
blended with the faint slither of arrows being
swiftly drawn from quivers. Eyes searched the
bush, spying no enemy.
Two more steps, and Tucu stopped, head
thrust forward, eyes boring into something on
the ground. The rest, taking care not to touch
one another's weapons, crowded around and
looked down at the huddled form of a man.
218 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
A matted mass of black hair, a neck burned
copper brown by sun, tattered cotton shirt and
trousers, big, bare dirty feet, a rusty repeating
rifle of heavy caliber these were what they
saw first. The man lay straight, his face in the
dirt, his hands a little ahead as if he had been
crawling forward at the moment of death. Tucu
turned him on his back, revealing a blanched
yellow-brown face which was proof positive
of his race.
"Peruvian," said Pedro.
"What got him?" demanded Knowlton. "No
wound on him."
LourenQo questioned Tucu. The leader, who
evidently knew just where to look, tore open
the thin shirt at the left side and pointed to a tiny
discoloration surrounding a red dot under the
ribs. He muttered a few laconic words.
' ' A bio wgun trap, ' ' Lourenc. o explained. ' ' The
gun is set a little way beyond here. This man,
sneaking along the path, broke the little cord
which shot the gun. The poisoned dart struck in
his side. He must have pulled out the dart, but he
could not go far before his legs became paralyzed,
and he fell. Then, still trying to crawl, he died."
Pedro picked up the dead man's gun and
worked the lever. The weapon was fully loaded
and showed no sign of recent firing. Pedro coolly
pumped it empty, gathered up the blunt .44
cartridges, and pocketed them for his own use.
Tucu watched the proceeding hi satirical
FRUIT OF THE TRAP 219
approval. Then, leaving the body where it lay,
he went stooping along the path ahead, his keen
eyes searching the undergrowth. In a few min
utes he returned with the blood-stained dart
which, as Lourengo had guessed, the stricken
prowler had pulled from his flesh and dropped.
This he passed to a blowgun man. The latter
carefully opened his poison pouch, redipped the
point of the dart, held it a moment to dry in a
shaft of sunlight, and slipped it into his dart
case among a score of unused missiles.
"No waste of ammunition here," was McKay's
dry comment. "What happens to this corpse
now?"
Through Lourengo's mouth Tucu answered.
"It will be left here until police warriors come
from the malocas. Certain men travel the
paths daily to inspect the traps. When they
find this man they will cut off his hands and feet
with their wooden knives and throw the rest
aside to be eaten by the animals. He has not
been dead long or he would have been devoured
by some wild thing before we came. The trail
travelers will set the trap again and take the
hands and feet to the malocas, where they will
be washed, cooked, and eaten."
The faces of the Americans contracted slightly.
A simultaneous thought made them flash startled
glances at each other.
"Tun ' Knowlton said, and paused. Lou-
rengo smiled.
220 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"No, Senhor Tim will not be expected to eat
man meat," he assured them. "I thought of
that before we left one never knows when these
traps will yield human flesh. So, without letting
Monitaya know why I spoke, I told him you
North Americans believed the flesh of an enemy
to be poisonous, and that you would not eat
it on that account. Monitaya will remember
that."
"By George! you have a head on your shoul
ders, old scout! I was worried for a minute.
If they offered Tim a broiled foot or a stewed
hand he'd go for his gun."
Briefly Tucu spoke. The Mayorunas sepa
rated and went into the forest, seeking any sign
of other enemies.
"Queer that this chap should come here alone
if he was alone," added Knowlton. "Suppose
he's the fellow that's been swiping stray girls?
Or a spy?"
"Neither, I think, senhor. The girls were
captured by more than one man, and I doubt
if this one had been here before. Probably he
was one of those lone prowlers of the bush
whose hand is against every man. He is a half-
breed, as you see, and came, perhaps, to steal a
girl for himself. The jungle is well rid of him."
"Uh-huh. Guess you're right. Say, I'd like
to see how that blowgun trap operates. Can't
understand what blows the dart when nobody is
here."
FRUIT OF THE TRAP 221
"I do not know, either, senhor. Perhaps
Tucu will show us."
The savage guide, after a moment's hesitation,
pointed along the trail and stalked away, the
others at his heels. At a spot some fifteen yards
farther on he turned into the bush at the right,
walked a few paces away from the path, turned
again sharply to the left, advanced once more,
and halted. Before them, not easy to discern
in the masking brush, even though they were
looking for it, hung the long barrel of the blow-
gun, lashed to a couple of small trees and point
ing toward the path.
Tucu stepped to the mouthpiece of the slender
tube and pointed to a sapling, just behind and
in line with it, which had been cut off about
shoulder-high from the ground. From the tip
of this thin trunk dangled a wide strip of bark.
The savage, having indicated this, stood as if
the action of the device were perfectly clear.
"Too deep for me," admitted McKay, after a
puzzled study of the tube and the trunk. The
others nodded agreement. Lourenc,o confessed
to the Indian the blindness of all.
Thereupon Tucu bent the sapling far over and
released it. As it sprang erect the bark strip
slapped the end of the gun. Also, the watchers
saw something hitherto unnoticed a thin, flex
ible vine attached to the top of the thin stump.
Lourengo's face showed understanding.
"See, comrades, this is it: The little tree is
222 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
bent far down and held by the long vine. The
vine passes around a low branch, then up over
other limbs, and out across the path, where it
is fastened to a root near the ground. A man
following the path breaks the vine. The little
tree then flies up and the bark sheet strikes the
wide mouthpiece of the gun. The air forced into
that mouthpiece by the blow of the bark shoots
the little dart. The dart does not fly as hard as
if blown by a man, but it goes swiftly enough to
pierce the skin of anything except a tapir. As
soon as the poison is in the blood the work is
done."
"It sure is done," Knowlton echoed, thinking
of the short distance covered by the dead Peru
vian after passing this spot. "Mighty ingenious
apparatus. These people are no fools, I'll say."
"You say rightly," Pedro muttered. Turning,
they went out to the path, looking askance at the
thin death tube as they passed along it.
The scouting Mayorunas returned, having
found nothing. Tucu resumed his place at the
head of the line. Without a backward glance at
the body sprawling in the trail at the rear, the
column swung into its usual gait.
The Americans, silent before, were silent again.
They had looked for the first time on the work
of the Mayoruna traps; had observed the cold
blooded way in which the Indians handled the
still form on the ground; had visualized the forth
coming mutilation of that body and the resultant
FRUIT OF THE TRAP 223
cannibal rites. More vividly than ever before
they realized that these men and Monitaya him
self were relentless creatures of the jungle, and
that, despite the present existent friendliness,
there yawned between them and their barbarous
allies an impassable gulf.
For the moment the jungle itself seemed a
poisonous green abyss of creeping, crawling,
sneaking death. And though they had faced
death too often in another land to fear it in any
form, though they marched on with unwavering
step, their eyes were somber as in their hearts
echoed the last appeal of the man they had left
behind them:
"Ye ain't goin' to desert a comrade amongst a
lot o' man eaters "
CHAPTER XIX. THE RED BONES
FOUR days the expedition tramped steadily
onward through the rugged labyrinthine
hills. Four nights its members slept in
utter exhaustion. Neither by day nor by night
was any sign of the Raposa seen, nor of any other
human being.
So tired from the constant struggle did the
Americans become that their jaded brains began
to picture the mysterious wild man as a mere
legendary creature, which they never would find
even though they searched the inscrutable forests
until the end of tune. Yet when, on the fifth
day, Tucu informed them that they now were
nearing the principal settlement of the Red
Bones, the announcement cheered them as if they
were about to enter a civilized city and there meet
David Rand safe and sane.
Not that any chance of striking his trail had
been neglected in the meantime. It was thor
oughly understood that if he were met any
where he was to be made prisoner, and that
thereafter the back trail should be taken. Lou-
rengo had impressed on Tucu the fact that the
whole journey had for its object the finding of the
wild man, and that he must not be killed if found.
Since the Indians were not in the habit of hunt
ing so assiduously anyone but a bitterly hated
THE RED BONES 225
foe, it is quite possible that they misunderstood
the spirit of the quest and believed the " dead-
alive" prowler would, if captured, undergo some
extremely unpleasant treatment at the hands of
the white men. But so long as it was made clear
that the Raposa must be caught alive, if caught
at all, Lourengo did not trouble about what the
Mayorunas might surmise.
Now, as the end of the long, pathless trail ap
proached, arose a question of which McKay had
previously thought but had not spoken how he
was to converse with the Red Bone chief. Lou-
rengo asked Tucu whether the Red Bones spoke
the Mayoruna tongue. Tucu replied that they
did not. He added, however, that the languages
were not so dissimilar as to prevent some sort of
understanding being reached between members
of the two tribes. The veteran bushman nodded
carelessly.
"When the tongue fails, Capitao, the hands
still can talk," he said. "It takes more time and
work, that is all. Ah, here is a path!"
It was so. For the first time since leaving the
Monitaya region a path lay under their feet.
And for the first tune Tucu and his fellow Mayo
runas, glancing along that fault track, showed
hesitation.
"Why the delay?" snapped McKay.
"They suspect traps. I will go ahead and feel
out the way. I have done it before on other
paths."
226 THE PATHLESS TEAIL
After a few words to Tucu, Lourengo cut a long,
slim pole. With this in hand he preceded the
column, walking slowly, pausing sometimes,
continually prodding the path, studying it with
unswerving gaze as he progressed. The thin but
rigid feeler, strong enough to tip the cover of any
pit or to spring any concealed bow or blowgun,
was at least ten feet long, and between the scout
and the head of the line Tucu preserved another
ten-foot interval. Progress was necessarily slow,
but it was sure.
In this fashion they advanced perhaps half a
mile. Not once did they have to leave the path,
but Lourengo's caution did not diminish. Rather,
it increased as they neared the Red Bone town.
At length another path joined the one on which
they were traveling. Here Lourengo paused for
minutes, inspecting with extreme care the
ground and the bush.
Suddenly he cocked his head as if listening.
Then, with a backward motion of the hand to
enjoin silence, he faced down the branch path
and stood calmly waiting.
To those behind came a light rustle of leaves
and a scuffle of moving feet; a sudden cessation;
then Lourengo's voice speaking to some one
concealed behind the intervening undergrowth.
His tone was slow, quiet, easy the tone which,
even if the words were not understood, would
soothe suspicious and abruptly alarmed minds.
After another short silence he resumed talking,
THE RED BONES 227
pointing carelessly to the place behind him where
stood the silent file of Mayorunas. A guttural
voice replied. A head peered cautiously from
the edge of the bush, stared fixedly at Tucu, and
withdrew. The voice sounded again. Imme
diately three Indians stepped into view, poised
for action. Another interval of staring, and they
relaxed.
"Come forward, comrades," said Lourengo.
They came, halting again at the junction of the
trails. Tucu spoke to one of the newcomers, who
scowled as if only partly understanding, but
grunted some sort of answer. Those behind the
Mayoruna leader craned their necks and scanned
the Red Bone men, who continued to eye with
evident misgiving the tall-bonneted cannibals
and the broad-hatted pah- of whites.
Man for man, these Red Bones were in every
way inferior to the emissaries of Monitaya. Their
bodies were more gaunt, their skins more coppery,
their foreheads lower, and their expressions
much less intelligent. Furthermore, they wore
not even the bark-cloth clouts which formed
the sole . body covering of the Mayorunas they
were totally naked. The one point of similarity
between the two tribes was that the faces of the
Red Bone men were streaked with red dye. But
the facial design was much different: two short
transverse stripes on the forehead, and three lines
on each cheek, running from the eyes, the end of
the nose, and the corners of the mouth, straight
228 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
back to the ears. Studying those visages,
Knowlton and McKay recalled Schwandorf's
statement that these people not only ate human
flesh, but tortured prisoners of war. It was easy
to believe that he had told truth.
McKay, standing behind Pedro, shifted his
position a bit. At once the eyes of the three
Red Bones widened and riveted on his face.
Heretofore they had seen only his hat and eyes,
the rest being hidden from them by Pedro's
neck and an intervening palm tip. Now that
they saw his black-bearded jaw, they started
slightly and peered intently at him.
" I think, Capitao, you would do well to shave,"
Pedro suggested, with a smile.
"'Fraid so," the captain granted. "Black
beards evidently are de trop in the jungle social
set at present."
But then one of the Red Bone men came for
ward, still squintng narrowly, and his expression
was not hostile. In fact, it was more friendly
than it had yet been. After a closer scrutiny,
however, his face turned blank. Slowly he
stepped back and muttered something to his
companions.
At this Pedro's eyes narrowed speculatively.
But his expression did not change, and he said
nothing.
A lengthy conference took place between Lou-
rengo and Tucu on the one hand and the three
Red Bone tribesmen on the other; a difficult
THE RED BONES 229
*s ^
talk in which words and sign language both were
used and frequently repeated. Eventually an
understanding was reached. The three stepped
back, picked up some small game which they
had dropped on beholding Lourengo, returned,
and led the way along the path. Lourengo cast
aside his poke stick and resumed his usual place
hi the column. The whole line moved ahead at
a much smarter gait than before.
"Note this path is not mined,", thought
Knowlton.
This proved true. Moreover, the way now
was more broad and firm, so that travel on it
was much easier. After twenty minutes of
rapid tramping it debouched abruptly into a
cleared space. Here all halted.
Before them lay a town of small, low huts,
crowded closely together in two parallel rows
which curved together at one end. The other
end lay open, giving access to a sizable creek
whereon floated canoes. At the water's edge,
along the crude street studded with charred
stumps, and among the damp-looking huts
moved naked figures of men and women occupied
with various sluggish activities. Some of the
men already had spied the invading party and
were standing at gaze.
"Comrades, we have reached the end of our
trail," said Lourengo, running a cool eye over the
place. "Now all we have to do is to find your
Raposa and get him and ourselves away alive."
16
230 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"That's all," Knowlton echoed, unsmiling.
"The reception committee is forming now."
And with the words he unbuttoned his holster.
A shrill yell had run along the double line of
houses, and out into the stumpy street now
swarmed men armed with hastily seized weapons.
Hands pointed, confused exclamations sounded,
and a compact detachment of warriors came
jogging toward the newcomers. The three
guides drew away from the Mayorunas. The
latter promptly fitted arrows to their bows,
inserted darts in their blowguns, lifted spears or
clubs, and with eyes glittering awaited whatever
might befall.
A couple of rods away the Red Bones halted,
bows ready. A hatchet-faced savage who seemed
to be in command rasped something at the
three hunters, who quickened their pace toward
him. Tucu strode out four paces beyond his
own men and stopped. Then both parties
waited while the hunters reported what they
knew to the hatchet-face.
"What did you tell them, LourenQo?" asked
McKay.
"That we came on a friendly visit to the
chief, for whom we had important words."
"Nothing of the Raposa?"
"No. They wasted much time arguing that
we must tell them all our business and let
them inform the chief, while we were to stay
back on the path until permitted to enter the
THE RED BONES 231
town. We told them our talk was for the chief
alone, and that we should come here whether
they liked it or not. So, having no choice, they
led us in."
McKay made no comment. None was nec
essary. Furthermore, his steady eyes had caught
a simultaneous head movement of the Red
Bones a peering movement, as if all were seek
ing some one man among the new arrivals. Pedro
observed this. He spoke softly to Lourengo.
"Lourengo, tell Tucu to say to the Red Bones
that we come led by a black-bearded white
man; that this blackboard comes from the far-
off country where all men wear black beards;
that the blackboard will speak with the chief
only."
The Americans looked queerly at the young
Brazilian, as did Lourengo himself. But with
out question Lourengo obeyed. Calling to Tucu,
he gave the message. Tucu moved his head
slightly, but gave no other sign of having heard.
"Now, Capitao, step forward a little and show
yourself more clearly," prompted Pedro.
With another puzzled glance McKay did so.
He saw that the brown eyes of the younger man
held a dancing gleam, but he could not read the
thought behind those eyes. Yet he noticed that
as soon as he stepped out the Red Bones all
focused their gaze on him. More than that, the
spokesman of the three hunters pointed at him
and said something to the sharp-featured leader.
232 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Now that leader came forward alone. Six
feet from Tucu he halted again and talked in a
growling tone. The Mayoruna leader, cool and
dignified, made answer. After a somewhat pro
tracted exchange Tucu turned his head and mo
tioned to Lourengo, who went forward, listened,
replied shortly, and came back. Meanwhile
the first detachment of Red Bones had been
strongly reinforced by others who had come up
singly or in small parties. Now the expedition
was outnumbered at least four to one by hard-
faced, brute-mouthed, naked men ready, if not
eager, for trouble.
"The Red Bone says we shall see the chief,"
Lourengo stated. "At first he said only you,
Capitao, should go to him. Then he insisted
that we all lay down our arms. Tucu has told
him we lay down our arms for no man or men
that we come in peace otherwise there would
be many more of us; that we leave hi peace
unless the Red Bones themselves bring on a
fight. In that case, though we are few, there
lies behind us the power of Monitaya, and
behind Monitaya the power of the Mayoruna
chiefs, all strong enough to wipe the Red Bone
nation off the face of the ground."
"Strong stuff, that," said Knowlton.
"Strong, yes. But no stronger than is needed
to impress these people. Tucu intends to pre
vent trouble if he can; and often the best way to
prevent trouble is to make the other man realize
THE RED BONES 233
what may happen to him if he starts it. Also
he has his orders from Monitaya to stay with us
at all times, and he will follow that order even
if you, Capitao, try to change it. Now we go
together to the chief."
He nodded to Tucu, who grunted to the Red
Bone leader. The hatchet-face in turn shouted
something to the men behind. Slowly they
drew apart into two groups.
"You are the leader, Capitao," suggested
Lourengo. Promptly McKay marched forward,
head up, eyes front, face bleak. The rest fol
lowed, Tucu falling in behind McKay when the
captain passed him. Preceded by the Red Bone
spokesman, the line advanced between the two
bodies of copper-skins and swung along the
evil-smelling avenue to its upper end.
There, hi the very center of the loop joining
the two rows of huts, was a house twice as big
as any other. From its doorway the inhabitant
of that house could watch the whole life of the
Red Bone town. Obviously it was the home of
the chief. At its door a pair of warriors stood
guard, but of the ruler himself there was no sign.
Ten paces from it the thin-featured leader
stopped and motioned to McKay to halt. As
the captain and the line behind him did so he
stalked onward, passed through the doorway,
and faded from sight in the dimness beyond.
With one accord the members of the visiting
party looked around them.
234 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
The street behind now was filled with the mass
of Red Bone warriors who had trooped after
the column. All exit in that direction was
blockaded. But the ex-officers noted that be
tween the houses were spaces each wide enough
to hold a couple of men, and in an undertone
McKay gave defensive instructions to Lourengo.
"If fighting starts, have the Mayorunas take
cover along these houses on each side. We
who have guns will use the chief's house. We
can sweep the whole street from there. You
two fellows capture the chief alive if possible.
He'll be more useful as a hostage than as a
corpse."
Pedro beamed approval of this swiftly formed
plan. Lourengo muttered to Tucu, who in turn
passed the word down the line. Then all stood
waiting.
Presently the Red Bone man came out. He
shouted a name. From the doorway near at
hand, where he had been standing and peering
at the small but formidable body of newcomers,
an old man now stepped forth and advanced,
limping a little, to the hatchet-face. The latter
talked briefly to him, then to Tucu. The
Mayoruna leader pointed to Lourengo. The
old man spoke to the Brazilian, who answered
at once. Thereupon the wizened old fellow
entered the chief's house.
"That old man speaks the Mayoruna tongue
quite well, Capitao," said Lourengo. "He says
THE RED BONES 235
you and I shall enter and talk through his mouth
with the chief. All others remain outside, and
we must leave our rifles here."
"All right. Glad we can leave Tucu out here
to control these fellows. Here, Merry." He
passed his rifle to Knowlton. Pedro took
Lourengo's gun. With packs still on their backs
the chosen men proceeded to the doorway and
entered the house where waited the ruler of the
Red Bone tribe.
Behind them the line settled into easier pos
tures of waiting. The Red Bones, though so
compactly ranged as to cut off any chance of
escape, held their distance, obviously neither
inclined to fraternize nor ready to precipitate
conflict by crowding. Thus, while keeping their
ears open for any sound of a concerted move
ment from behind, the visitors could use their
eyes to inspect the huts nearest them.
In some of these, women stood near the door
ways, staring with unwinking absorption at the
light-skinned, athletic men outside who were
so much better to look upon than their own
mates. The Mayorunas returned the stares
with the brief glances of men accustomed to
noticing everything but totally uninterested as
well they might be, for these poorly shaped,
heavy-mouthed, mud-skinned females were not
to be compared with their own women. Knowl
ton and Pedro, too, looked them over, but with
the same expression as if inspecting a family of
236 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
lizards. Then they glanced into other huts now
empty of life, and in a couple of these they saw
rigid red-hued objects hanging from the roofs.
"The red bones of the dead, senhor," Pedro
muttered, and his blond companion, peering
again at the sinister decorations, nodded without
reply.
Voices came to them from the chief's house,
talking with droning deliberation. Evidently
no cause for friction had yet arisen. They let
their eyes rove on beyond the guarded doorway,
to pause at a house a short distance away at
the right. There stood a clubman, who leaned
idly on his weapon, but showed no intention of
moving from his place. The door of that house
was closed. Not only closed, but barred on the
outside.
"Hm! Looks like a jail," said Knowlton.
Pedro smiled, but an intent look came into his
face and he studied the closed house.
Suddenly both started. At one corner of
the house, unseen by the clubman, a head had
cautiously slipped forth. For only an instant
it hung there before dodging back out of sight.
But both the watching men had seen that the
face, though half masked by long dark hair
and a thick beard, was much lighter than that
of any Red Bone savage. And in the hair
above one ear was a white streak.
CHAPTER XX. THE RAPOSA
MCKAY and Lourenco, in a broad, low,
musty-smelling room, faced a man who
stood and a man who sat. The man who
stood was the old savage who could talk in the
Mayoruna language. The man who sat was
the chief of the Red Bones.
In his first words to the visitors the old inter
preter revealed that the name of the Red Bone
ruler was Umanuh. Later on Lourengo informed
McKay that in the Tupi lengoa geral of the
Amazonian Indians (which, however, was not
spoken by this tribe) the word "umanuh" meant
" corpse." And whatever the name may have
signified in the language of the Red Bones, its
Tupi definition fitted with disagreeable precision.
For Umanuh was a living cadaver.
Gaunt, gray skinned, lank haired, hollow of
cheek and eye, with thin, cruel lips so tight
drawn that the teeth behind seemed to show
through, ribs projecting, clawlike hands resting
on bony knees, his whole frame motionless as that
of a man long dead, the head man of the bone-
dyeing tribe was the antithesis of both the pig
gish Suba and the herculean Monitaya. Only
his eyes lived; and those eyes were cold and
merciless as those of a snake or a vulture. A
man who ruled by ruthless cunning, who would
238 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
gaze unmoved on the most ghastly tortures, who
would devour human flesh with ghoulish relish
such was the creature who sat in a red-dyed
hammock and contemplated the impassive face
of McKay.
"Umanuh, great chief, eater of his enemies,
with fangs of the jaguar and wisdom of the great
snake, awaits the greeting of the one-whose-hair
grows-from-his-mouth," droned the old mouth
piece of the chief.
"Makkay, leader of the fighting men of the
Blackbeards, whose voice is the thunder and
whose hand spits lightning and death, gives
greeting to Umanuh," responded Lourengo in a
like droning tone.
A pause. Umanuh gave no sign of life. McKay,
straight and cold, met the unwinking stare of the
chief with his own chill gray gaze. Between the
two who spoke not was a testing of wills.
"Makkay brings with him none of the Black-
beard warriors," pointed out the interpreter,
who seemed to know his master's thought. "He
comes with only the jungle men of light skins."
"Makkay needs none of his own warriors when
he comes in peace. If he came in war the terrible
Blackbeards with him would cause the whole
forest to fly apart in smoke and flame. Since he
walks in peace to visit his friend Umanuh, of
whose wisdom he has heard, he brings only his
friends the Mayorunas, who are friends also to the
men of the Red Bones."
THE RAPOSA 239
Another pause. The old man now seemed
somewhat uncertain of himself. The silent duel
between McKay and Umanuh went on. At
length the chief's eyes flickered a trifle. In a
hissing whisper he said something.
"The men of the Mayorunas never come to
this country unless seeking something," the inter
preter promptly spoke up. "What do they
seek?"
"Only that which Makkay seeks."
Then, turning to the captain, the Brazilian
added: "Capitao, we now have reached the point
to talk business. Have you any presents? And
is it your wish to give them now or later?"
"I have a few things. But I'll give them
later if at all. This chief is hostile. Tell him
what we're here for and see how he acts."
"It has come to the ears of Makkay," Lourengo
informed the man of Umanuh, "that a man of the
Blackbeards lives among the men of the Red
Bones. Makkay would see that man."
Again the interpreter awaited his master's
voice before answering.
"No man of the Blackbeards is among the men
of Umanuh," he then denied.
"If he is not among them he is near them,"
was Lourengo's certain reply. "He has been
seen both by other Blackbeards and by the
Mayorunas. I, too, have seen him. He bears
on his bones the sign that his mind is out of his
skull. His eyes are green and his hair touched
240 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
with white. Umanuh and his men know well
that I speak true."
The pause this tune was longer than before.
"There was such a man, but he is gone."
"Then Makkay asks his friend Umanuh to
find that one. A chief so wise can easily find him
where others would see only water and mud."
"If he could be found what would the great
Blackbeard leader do with him?"
Lourengo thought swiftly. To say the Raposa
was McKay's friend would do little good.
Friendship meant nothing to this unfeeling
brute. Therefore the bushman insinuated some
thing which his cruel mind could comprehend.
"If a Red Bone man abandoned his people
and went to another tribe, what would Umanuh
do to him when he was found?"
A cold glimmer in the chief's eyes showed that
he thought he understood. Moreover, he would
much like to see what sort of torture this hard-
faced Blackbeard would use on a fugitive. It
might be something even more fiendish than
his own pastimes. So the next reply came
promptly.
"If that man is found the blackbeard will pay
for him?"
"There are gifts of friendship for Umanuh,"
Lourengo nodded.
"The Blackbeard leader will pay more than the
other Blackbeard?"
Lourenc.o almost blinked. What other Black-
THE RAPOSA 241
beard? The Raposa himself? But the Brazilian
repressed his bewilderment.
"Makkay will first see the man to make sure
he is the Blackboard whom Makkay wants," he
dodged. "Then he will pay well."
"Umanuh will see the gifts now."
"The gifts cannot be shown now. They are
packed away. When Makkay has looked on the
man Umanuh shall look on the gifts."
Another eye duel between the chief and
McKay. As before, the captain's eye proved the
harder.
"Umanuh will think of the matter. Night
comes. The man hunted by the Blackboard is
not here. The Blackboard and his men may stay
to-night across the water. When the sun rises
again Umanuh will talk further."
"It is well. Let Umanuh tell his men to stay
on this side of the water, that we may not mis
take them in the night for enemies."
When Umanuh had hissed assent the old man
stepped to the doorway and summoned the
hatchet-faced warrior. To him instructions were
given. He turned and carried the commands
to the tribesmen.
"Makkay wishes Umanuh peaceful rest," said
Lourengo. With which he flicked his eyes
toward the door. McKay, with stiff stride,
stalked out. Lourengo followed. Both felt the
snake eyes of the cadaverous chief dwelling on
their backs.
242 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
To the waiting Knowlton, Pedro, and Tucu it
was briefly explained that preliminary negotia
tions had been concluded and that camp now
would be made on the farther side of the creek.
Tucu, observing that the Red Bone mass behind
was dividing again to let the visitors pass through,
gave the word to his men. The column began to
move out, marching in reverse order. Pedro
muttered swiftly to his partner.
"Loureno, see that house with the barred
door where the clubman stands guard. Remem
ber where it is."
The other swept the loop in one quick glance,
located the house, and fell into step without a
word, the guarded structure fixed on his brain as
clearly as if he had studied it for an hour.
Walking down the malodorous street, he said,
quietly, "There will be a small moon to-night."
"You are becoming a reader of the mind,
comrade," Pedro grinned. No more was said.
Down to the shore of the creek trooped the
party, followed closely by the hatchet-face and a
score of tribesmen. The whites and the Mayo-
runas got into half a dozen of the waiting canoes
and paddled across. In other dugouts the Red
Bone men also crossed, but they did not land.
As soon as the borrowed boats were empty the
tribesmen took them in tow and returned to
their own bank. The visitors were left on a partly
cleared shore, separated from their uncordial
hosts by some twenty yards of deep water. Not
THE RAPOSA 243
one canoe was left them. Furthermore, the Red
Bones now began activities indicating an inten
tion to establish a night-longwatch on the irside
of the stream.
"Taking no chances of our raiding them to
night, or even snooping around town," said
Knowlton. "Keeping everything in their own
hands. Reckon we'd better post sentries to
night, Rod, just to keep an eye on that outpost
of theirs."
McKay nodded.
"We four will take it hi turn," he agreed.
"Lourengo -Pedro you I. Three-hour tours."
"Pardon, Capitao," interposed Pedro. "It
would be well to change that. You two senhores
take the first two watches."
"Why?" frowned McKay.
"Because Lourengo and I wish to go visiting.
We are much smitten with the charms of the
ladies here."
The captain's frown deepened, but he studied
Pedro's devil-may-care face keenly before an
swering.
"Humph! What's up your sleeve? Out with
it!"
Pedro glanced around him and across the
water. The tribesmen, both of the Mayoruna
force and of the Red Bones, were watching the
colloquy.
"We are watched, Capitao. Let us make
camp now and talk later. These men do not
244 J THE PATHLESS TRAIL
understand our words, but we cannot tell what
they may see in our faces. Now speak harshly,
as if I had been insolent."
McKay did. He thundered at the young
bushman as if about to do him bodily injury.
Pedro retreated a step, as if taken aback by the
storm he had unleashed. When McKay stopped
he replied: "Excellent, Capitao. Now I go to
start work on the tambo."
He trudged away with a sullen gait. On both
sides of the stream the Indians muttered and
looked at the tall commander with increased
respect. Truly, the Blackbeard was a fierce ruler
and one who must not be angered; he had the
voice of a great gun and the temper of a jaguar.
That other man was lucky to have his head still
on his shoulders!
When the camp was made at the edge of the
bush and the four comrades were grouped in
their hammocks, Lourengo narrated in detail the
conversation with Umanuh. Knowlton recipro
cated with news of what he and Pedro had seen
at the corner of the barred house.
"I almost jumped after him, Rod," he ad
mitted. ' ' Had all I could do to hold myself. But
I knew anything sudden like that might start
war right there, and we wouldn't have a China
man's chance of getting away with him, so I
stood fast. But he's here, and old Umanuh's a
liar by the clock if he says otherwise."
"He is the same man we saw in the forest,
THE RAPOSA 245
Lourengo, or my eyes are twisted," added Pedro.
"Hm! Something very fishy here," com
mented McKay.
"Very fishy indeed, Capitao," Lourenc,o
echoed. "The man is within call, yet Umamih
says he is not here. And Umanuh wants us to
buy the man. What is more, he asks if we will
pay more than the other Blackbeard. What other
Blackbeard? The man himself has a dark beard,
and since we left headquarters Pedro and I have
grown black whiskers, too. Yet Umanuh can
not mean the crazy man would pay him to stay
here, or that either of us Brazilians would try to
buy him. There are no other men with black
beards except the German woman - stealer;
and of course he cannot be the one."
"No?" Pedro asked, softly.
"No, certainly. Why? Of what were you
thinking?"
Pedro's brown eyes twinkled, but he made no
answer. He only inhaled a long puff from his
cigarette and looked across the water at the
hairpin-shaped town.
"What about that visiting trip of yours to
night?" McKay asked.
"I wish to see what is in that house with the
barred door, Capitao. When I am curious about
such a matter LourenQo always becomes curious,
too, so I shall have to take him with me. If I did
not he would say I was making love to the chief's
wives."
17
246 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"For Deus! That may be all the barred house
holds the wives of the chief," guessed Lourengo.
"Why waste time and risk death to look into that
place?"
"Quern nao arrisca nao ganha, as the coronel
would say he who risks nothing gains nothing.
I feel that we should visit that house. Some
thing calls me back to it."
Lourengo studied his partner a moment, then
nodded slowly. But McKay interposed decided
objection.
"Too dangerous. Also unnecessary. We'll
get Rand if the man is Rand through the
chief. Your night spying might ruin everything
and get you killed into the bargain. Nothing
to gain and all to lose. Stay here."
Pedro's eyes hardened. But it was Lourengo
who answered.
"Capitao, I think we had best do as Pedro
says. It is a queer thing and I cannot explain it,
but I have known him to have such ideas in the
past and they have always worked out for the
best. He himself does not know why he does
some things things which look totally foolish
and which often are very dangerous except that
he feels like doing them. Yet I have never known
this foolishness to fail to turn out well. He and I
will go over to-night and see what we may see."
The captain's brows drew together. Flat
insubordination! Then he remembered that
these men were not subordinates at all; remem-
THE RAPOSA 247
bered also what Coronel Nunes said concerning
their ability to get into and out of dangerous
situations. When Knowlton sided with them
he capitulated.
"Up in the States we'd say Pedro was ' riding
his hunch," was [the lieutenant's remark.
"And I've known a hunch to bring all kinds of
good luck. Gee! I'd like to go across with
you lads myself! But I'm no jungle expert,
especially after dark, and I'd only be in the
way. Besides, we'll sure have to stick here and
keep up appearances while you're gone. How
will you get over? There's no way but swim
ming, and this creek's probably inhabited by
the usual 'gators and snakes and things."
"When one can travel only by swimming, one
swims," Pedro smiled. "Leave that to us,
senhores. Now the sun sinks fast and I have
hunger. Let us eat."
Night was at hand. While the whites talked
some of the Mayorunas had quietly slipped
away into the bush, seeking whatever fresh meat
might be obtainable without straying too far
from camp. Naturally, the hunting was poor
so near an inhabited place, but now the absent
men came stealing back with a few small birds
and one monkey. Though the savages asked
nothing and evidently expected nothing from the
whites to eke out this scant provision, the latter
opened their meager larders to Tucu, ordering
him to see that every man had at least a few
248 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
mouthfuls to eat. Tucu, like a good commander,
made no bones of accepting the invitation for
the good of his men. When all hands had stowed
away the last meal of the day the rations were
reduced almost to the vanishing point.
"Those miserable whelps over there might
have had the decency to give us a few bites,"
Knowlton growled, looking at the Red Bone men
on the other bank, who were gorging themselves
on meat brought by then: women.
"It is quite possible that they intend to give
us several bites later on," Pedro suggested, with
a mirthless smile.
"Uh-huh. Shouldn't wonder. But it's also
possible that they'll have to assimilate a few lead
pills before chewing us up. Rod, we'll have our
work cut out standing guard to-night. I
wouldn't put it past that lying old Umanuh to
try rubbing us out before morning."
"Nor I," concurred McKay. "Only ques
tion is whether he dares take a chance against
our guns and against the likelihood that Moni-
taya will send other men to investigate our
disappearance. Better keep well out of sight."
As he spoke the last light of day vanished.
Stars and a quarter moon leaped out in the
swiftly darkening sky. The small fire of the
-' expedition threw dim shadows against the poles
of the night shelters. Lights glimmered in the
Red Bone huts, and other lights began to streak
across the gloom the bright little lanterns of
THE RAPOSA 249
fireflies coasting along the stream. But at the
point where the Red Bone night guard lurked
no light shone. They had built no fire, and now
they were almost invisible in the faint moon
shine sinister shadows which even now might
be meditating murder or worse.
Lourenyo lounged over to Tucu, who was
watching those shadows with a fixed cat stare,
and informed him that until morning a man with
a gun would be always on guard while the rest
slept. The Indian grunted approval. By way
of precaution against being killed by his own men,
the Brazilian added the information that later
on he and his comrade would leave the camp
and go upstream for a time. At this Tucu's
eyes dwelt on his, veered to the lights of the
town, and returned. In them was a plain,
though unspoken, question. The bushman ig
nored it and strolled back to his tambo.
The moon sailed higher. The animal uproar
of early night began to diminish. The fire,
almost buried under slow-burning wood whose
acrid smoke alleviated the insect pests, smoldered
dull red. McKay and Knowlton drew lots for
the first sleep, the captain winning and promptly
getting under his net. In the Mayoruna shelter
all was dark and silent, each man sleeping lightly
with one hand on a weapon. The two Bra
zilians also were out of sight in their hut.
Up and down, a barely distinguishable figure,
Knowlton passed slowly with holster unbut-
250 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
toned and rifle cocked, eyes turning periodically
to the Red Bone outpost and ears intent to pick
any unusual sound out of the night noise. Grad
ually the small lights of the town faded out.
To all appearance, sleep had whelmed it for the
night. The watchers on the farther shore stirred
a little at tunes, but the blot they made in the
moonshine remained fixed in the same spot.
The only moving things were the khaki-clad
sentinel and the blazing fireflies.
Another hour rolled slowly by. The sentinel
stopped and stood at a corner of the tawibo.
Now was as good a time as any for the Brazilians
to start their perilous reconnaissance. Per
haps they had gone to sleep. He squinted at
their hammocks. Yes, they were occupied.
Stepping softly to the hammock of Pedro, he
lifted the net to whisper to the occupant. Then
he stared, dropped the net, and lifted Lourenyo's
curtain. A soft, self-derisive chuckle sounded
in his throat as he stole out again.
The hammocks were occupied, yes; but only
by packs and rifles. Armed only with machetes,
the two bushmen now were where? He did
not even know when or which way they had
gone. Fine sentinel, wasn't he, to let two full-
grown men sneak away right under his nose?
And if they could get out so slick, why couldn't
somebody else a murderous Red Bone, for
instance get in with equal facility?
Wherefore he became all the more alert.
THE RAPOSA 251
Instead of resuming his slow pace, he stood quiet
at a corner, scrutinizing everything within his
range of vision, listening more intently than
ever. Two or three times he leaned forward
and lifted his piece as some splashing noise in
the creek came to him; but each time the canni
bal guards on the other bank also sprang to see
what caused the sound, then grunted to one
another and relaxed, so he knew it was made by
piscatory or reptilian life. Near him nothing
moved. And the moon sailed on westward,
smoothly, steadily measuring off the silent hours
of the night watch.
Then all at once every nerve in him strained
toward the back of the tambo. Something was
there! He had not heard it seen it smelled
it but he felt it; a nameless thing that did
not belong there. With smooth speed he piv
oted, looked, listened. Nothing there.
Motionless, feeling slightly creepy, concealed
under the roof corner, he waited. A sound
came a stealthy sound. Something was creep
ing in. Lourengo and Pedro, perhaps? Stoop
ing low, he peered along the ground under the
hammocks.
A man was coming coming on all-fours like
an animal. He was too stealthy to be either of
the Brazilians. Knowlton glimpsed him only
dimly, but he was sure this was no man who
belonged here. And now, as on a previous occa
sion almost identical in its circumstances, the
252 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
watchman acted in accordance with Tim Ryan's
General Order Number Thirteen.
In three jumps he was upon the invader.
His gun butt crashed down on the rising head.
The other collapsed on the ground.
Swiftly Knowlton snapped a match with his
thumb-nail. The sudden flare half blinded him,
but what he saw made him suck in his breath.
When the match went out he turned the sense
less body over, drew his pocket flashlight,
stabbed its white ray downward. Then he com
mitted the unpardonable sin of the army he
dropped his rifle.
Dark haired, dark bearded, streaked with red
dye and bleeding slightly at the nose, at his feet
lay the man for whom the indomitable trio had
traveled thousands of miles and dared all the
deaths of the jungle the Raposa.
CHAPTER XXI. SHADOWS OF THE
NIGHT
OD! Wake up!"
The tense whisper aroused McKay
instantly. With one sweep of the arm
his net was torn aside and he leaped out with
pistol drawn.
" Right, Merry. What is it?"
"We've got him! Look!"
The electric ray again streaked the gloom.
The astounded captain did not drop his gun,
but he came near it. For a long minute he
stood as in a trance. When he attempted to
holster his weapon he fumbled three times
for the sheath before he found it.
"Whew!" he breathed. "Have you killed him?"
"Nope don't think so. Lord! I hope not!
Now that I think of it, I did give him a mighty
solid smash. Used the butt. He was crawling
in here, and naturally I didn't stop to ask for
his card. Feel his head."
McKay complied. His exploring fingers found
only a huge bump under the thick hair.
"No, his skull's whole. Didn't even split the
scalp. You crowned him hard, but unless he
got concussion he's still useful. His nosebleed
comes from hitting the ground, I think. Turn
off the light. Are you still on guard?"
254 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Yes. The Brazilians are out."
"Take a turn and see that all's clear. Can't
tell what might break any minute now. Leave
your flash here."
Passing the flat, nickel light-box to the captain,
Knowlton retrieved his gun from the ground and
resumed his patrol. Slight as the disturbance had
been, uneasiness was in the air. The savages on
the far shore were up, peering at the tambo and
muttering to one another. Measuring the dis
tance, the lieutenant saw that, though they had
undoubtedly seen the flashlight switched on and
off and made out the movements of men, they
could not have discerned what lay on the ground
beyond the hammocks. Nearer at hand, Tucu
and a couple of the Mayorunas were awake and
looking out. But the sight of the sentinel
strolling up and down in apparent unconcern and
the absence of light in the tambo gradually quieted
the suspicions on both sides of the water. Soon
the Red Bones squatted again and the Mayo
runas lay back with minds at ease.
Then a dim sheen of light showed for a time at
the back of the white men's shelter, fading out
after a few minutes into the usual gloom. McKay
had pulled a blanket over himself and the un
conscious man, masking his torch glare from
any watching eye while he studied the face
and form of the invader. After the faint radi
ance vanished certain sounds came to the sen
try's ears. Then McKay's tall figure loomed
SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 255
in the vague moonshine. Knowlton stopped
beside him.
"It's Rand," the captain vouchsafed in an
undertone. "No question of it. Features iden
tical, though face is drawn. White hair mark,
broken nose, green eyes. I opened one eye. Got
a bad foot, partly healed; looks as if he'd torn it
on a stub. Poor devil seems nearly starved."
"So? Then that's why he sneaked in like
that wanted to steal some grub. Those mutts
over yonder probably haven't fed him since he
got hurt."
"That's it. He's had to do his own foraging,
and his foot has given him mighty little chance.
Damn those brutes!"
"Right! But now what? Look out that he
doesn't sneak away again."
"He won't. I tied his feet. He's in Pedro's
hammock, still dead to the world. If he wakes
up and starts to yell I'll gag him. We've got to
get away now as soon as we can."
"How?"
"Don't know. By water, perhaps. Wish those
bushman were here. Haven't heard any noise
over there, have you?"
"All quiet. They're safe or dead."
"Hm! Confounded foolishness, anyway. But
we've no means of getting out until they're back.
Couldn't desert them, besides. What time is it?"
" Ten-thirty. You go on watch at midnight."
"I'm on watch now, inside. They may be
256 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
back any time. If they don't show up in the
next couple of hours I'll send Tucu to find out
why. We'll have to get those canoes over here,
too. Water leaves no trail."
He turned back into the hut, leaving Knowlton
figuring chances. To obtain those canoes was a
man-sized job. To put the Red Bone guards out
of action without arousing the whole tribe was an
even bigger job. But no boats could be brought
over until the outpost was silenced, that was sure.
Another half-hour crept past. Still no noise
from the town, no suspicious move on the other
shore. Then from the tambo itself came a low
mumble of voices. Knowlton stepped swiftly into
it. As noiselessly as they had gone the two bush-
men had returned.
In his usual concise phrases McKay was in
forming them of the capture of the Raposa. With
his back to the stream and the flashlight held
close to his body, he played the light for an instant
on the face of the still unconscious man. Then,
once more in darkness, he asserted :
"Now that we have him, we must get out of
here. Only chance to do that is to get the canoes.
With them we can at least be away from this town
by sunrise, and it will take the Red Bones just so
much longer to find our trail where we take to
the bush. We'll get a flying start that way.
Anything else to suggest?"
"That is the best plan, Capitao," Lourengo
agreed. For the first time since the Americans
SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 257
had known him his voice held a note of suppressed
excitement. "It is the only plan worth while.
And I do not think we shall have to take to our
legs soon if at all. I believe this creek connects
with that which flows past the Monitaya malocas.
We have learned some things. Por Deus! If
only we had known the Raposa was here!"
"Why?"
"Because then we could have brought com
pany with us. Senhores, guess what the barred
house holds."
"Well?"
"Women of the Mayorunas! Girls stolen
from Monitaya and other settlements!"
"Jumping Judas!" ejaculated Knowlton.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure, comrades! These foul Red Bones
are the men who have been lurking around the
Mayoruna tribe houses and capturing girls who
went into the bush. They have taken the pris
oners to the water, where the trails always were
lost and where they could find hiding places
until night, then drive their canoes past the
clearings and get out of that country. So there
must be some water connection by which these
men travel, and by which we too can travel.
If we go downstream we are almost sure to find
it by daylight."
"But why what's the idea of their stealing
the girls? For victims? If so, how are the
girls still alive?"
258 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Do you not see, senhor?" Pedro broke in,
impatiently. "Did not Umamih ask if we would
pay more than the other Blackbeard for the
Raposa? What other Blackbeard?"
"Schwandorf !" the Americans blurted, simul
taneously.
"Not so loud! Schwandorf, of course!
Umanuh works with the German. He catches
girls by stealth and sells them to the German to
add to his slave gangs. While the Mayorunas
all blame the Peruvians for the disappearances,
Umanuh works unsuspected. He is holding
these women until Schwandorf comes again
and it may be that Schwandorf is not far off at
this moment. Now that we have come seeking
the wild man, Umanuh at once thinks of selling
him also; and he wonders whether we or Schwan
dorf will pay the more for him."
"By thunder! I believe you're right!" Knowl-
ton coincided. "He's stalling for tune, holding
us here while Schwandorf comes up, I'll bet.
No wonder he and his men are wary of the
Mayorunas they thought we'd come to snoop
around and catch 'em with the goods. You
fellows must have done a mighty slick job to
find out this stuff without getting caught.
Isn't the house guarded at night?"
"Indeed it is! Two clubmen are there now,
and there is only the one door. Not even a
window. But Lourengo worked a small hole
between two logs at the back while I watched
SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 259
the clubmen, and through the hole he whispered
with one of the women inside. If only we had
known the wild man was here we could have
jumped the guards and tried to bring back the
women. But of course your business about the
Raposa had to be thought of first, so all we
could do was to tell them friends were here."
For a few seconds there was the silence of
thought. Then Knowlton chuckled.
"I'll say we have our hands full this night.
Now we not only have to get ourselves and Rand
out of here, but also rescue the fair damsels
from the clutches of the ogre. 'Twon't do to
leave them here while we go back to Monitaya
and get the rest of his army. By the time we
could come back they'd be gone one way or
another. What's done has to be done now or
never."
"Right!" McKay commended. "We'll have
to save the women, of course. Question is
how?"
Loureno answered at once.
"My idea, Capitao, is this: We two will
return. With us we will take Tucu. The
three of us can handle those guards quietly.
We must have Tucu, because the women do
not know us and might balk at the last moment.
Women are queer creatures, and these might
think themselves safer inside prison walls than
following two strange men through the night;
but Tucu can handle them. When once we
260 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
are clear of the houses Tucu can lead the women
to the bank above here, and we shall try for the
canoes. Then it will be fast work to get away,
but if we have good fortune it can be done."
11 Confound it! You fellows are taking all
the risks! Can't you take more men "
"No. No man but Tucu. He has a cool
head. These others, if they knew, would go
blood-mad and attack the Red Bones to avenge
their lost women, and so would get us all killed.
Now I will talk with Tucu."
He slipped into the Mayoruna shelter and
returned with the cannibal leader, whom he led
to the far side of the tambo before speaking.
Then, in whispers which the other tribesmen
could not overhear, he explained the situation.
Knowlton took another turn or two along his
post, rinding that the Red Bones across the
water were stirring about and evidently aware
that something was going on; but they made no
move either to get into a canoe or to send a man
to the houses beyond. As he stopped again at
the corner near the whispering pair he heard
Tucu grinding his teeth, and as the savage
turned his face toward the Red Bone outpost
it was a mask of murder. But he spoke no word
as he slipped back to his own men.
"He will wake another man and tell him what
to do," LourenO explained. "But only we four
shall know of the women until they are freed.
Will one of you lend Tucu a machete? He may
SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 261
need a weapon, and he cannot carry his big bow
on this trip."
A few minutes later the three crept out behind
the tambo, Tucu gripping McKay's machete.
As a final word Lourengo said: "Our men here
may move about a little after a time, but do not
try to keep them quiet. It is a part of the
plan."
With that he was gone. Listen as they might,
the Americans could hear no sound to indicate
that three men now were traversing the black
tangle beyond.
McKay took up his rifle and assumed the
sentry work. Knowlton sat in his hammock,
grateful for the chance to rest his weary legs.
From the hammock where the Raposa lay no
sound came. With a worried frown the lieu
tenant leaned over him and laid hand on his
heart. After a while he sat up again in relief.
"Lord! I sure knocked him cold!" was his
thought. "But he's still with us, and there's
no use hi reviving him now; the less noise over
here the better. Hope I didn't jar his brains
loose altogether; he might wake up a murderous
maniac. Poor devil! A millionaire, yet half
starved and more than half nutty."
He glanced at the dim scene before the hut.
The moon now had journeyed so far westward
that the creeping shadows of the tall trees had
moved out almost to the creek, and the two crude
shelters and the sentinel were surrounded by
18
262 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
dense gloom. The Red Bone men opposite must
rely on their ears alone hereafter, for they could
not see through this darkness. McKay was
visible enough to his own party, but not to the
enemy. The blond man in the hammock watched
the somber figure of his comrade, followed the
flight of a big firefly whose light floated near,
thought of the two bushmen out hi the dark,
and looked again at the still form of Rand.
"Drifters all," he soliloquized. "The fireflies
and Rod and Tim and I and those Brazilian dare
devils all floating around because we can't
keep still, and never getting anywhere. And
you, you silly-ass Rand, have a mint waiting
for you up home, and we have to come find
you and lead you up there and shove your nose
into it. And if you get your brains back you'll
be a nine days' wonder and a hero of the jungle
and all that, and the girls will all tumble over
you because you've got a couple of millions hi
your sock. And we fellows who yanked you
out of hell by the left hind leg can pocket our
pay and go jump off the dock, for all anybody
cares. Ho-hum! All the same, I'd rather be
me than you, old thing. Free to drift and able
to handle myself. You can have the money
and the moths that hang around it."
With which he yawned, squinted again at
the sinister figure squatting out yonder in the
monshine, arose, and made himself useful.
Working very quietly, he took down three of
SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 263
the hammocks, rolled them up, laid them at the
corner nearest the creek; made up the packs by
sense of touch and placed them and the rifles
of the absent pair in the same place. Then he
lifted the Raposa from the one remaining ham
mock, laid him on the packs, rolled up the
hammock itself, and put it under the unconscious
man's head. If given time when the crisis came,
he meant to save all equipment. If not, Rand
lay where he could be grabbed without delay.
Before he completed the work he became
aware that the Mayorunas all were awake.
Not only awake, but moving stealthily about,
as Lourengo had predicted. McKay also knew
it and stepped back into the hut, where Knowl-
ton told him what he had done. But so softly
did the men of Monitaya move that the Red
Bone watchers showed no sign of alarm. Both
the Americans observed, however, that the can
nibals across the stream had their heads together
and that occasionally one looked up at the little
moon.
"Get that, Rod? They're waiting for the
shadows to crawl over there and cover them and
the water. They know that then we can't see
what they're up to. I'm betting they intend to
pull some dirty work after that."
"Yep. But intention and accomplishment
are two different birds. Wonder what these
Mayorunas are fixing to do. Wish I could talk
their language."
264 THE PATHLESS TRAIL ,
"Tucu evidently left orders for them to get
up at a certain time, but why I don't know.
We'd better let them alone."
The shadow line passed out upon the water,
slipping by infinitesimal gradations across its
mirror surface. The Mayorunas had become
quiet. The whites waited in silent suspense for
they knew not what. Far out in the forest a
jaguar gave his coughing roar at intervals.
Little by little the Red Bone men arose from
their squat until they stood erect. A tense
stillness held both forces. And the shadows
crawled on on and reached the farther bank.
Then a Red Bone man shoved his head for
ward, squinting upstream as if he had heard
something move in the rank grass. He began
to sneak softly in that direction. At that
moment, from the water's edge a little above the
camp, sounded a loud hiss.
Before the sound died a sudden thrum of bow
cords filled the air. A whisper of five-foot shafts
speeding over the water a rapid-fire series of
tiny impacts a couple of short groans the
thumps of falling bodies and the Red Bone
outpost was no more. Shot through and through
by the deadly war arrows of the Mayorunas,
they were dead before they struck the ground.
And from the men of Monitaya sounded one
short, subdued "Hah!" of savage satisfaction.
Up from the ground where that hiss had
sounded rose a tall figure which waved its arms
' SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 265
and danced about in impromptu signals. Then
it ran for the canoes. Out from the gloom
upstream other figures took shape, running fast
for the same point. With one simultaneous
movement Knowlton and McKay seized the
Raposa and rushed with him to the stream.
"Senhores!" sounded Pedro's voice, low but
tense, across the water. "Be ready!"
"Ready and waiting!" snapped McKay.
"Who are those people. Your women?"
: "Si. We are not discovered "
Across his words smote a long shrill yell from
the town.
" Par Delis* We are discovered! Get our
rifles, for the love of Deus Padre. "
He leaped into a canoe, drove it headlong
across, and dived for the tambo. Behind him
the other figures dashed panting up to the
landing. Tucu's voice rasped in swift com
mands. The fugitives swarmed into other dug
outs. The Mayoruna men, still ignorant of the
identity of these people, but assured by Tucu's
voice and manner that they were not enemies,
lowered their weapons and rushed for the water.
Up in the town the yelling swiftly grew into a
roar, and running figures came pelting toward
the creek.
The canoes struck the bank. Some were partly
filled, some empty and in tow. Into Pedro's
canoe the whites bundled the Raposa, while the
Mayorunas got into anything within reach.
26G THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Lourengo appeared from nowhere and urged the
Americans to open fire. As he spoke, arrows
thudded into the ground and the water.
"Take this man and go!" rasped McKay.
"We're losing our equipment, but "
His rifle leaped to his shoulder. Flame spat
from it. From the van of the charging Red
Bones shrilled a death scream.
Again and again the captain's gun cracked.
Knowlton's joined in. Before their rifles grew
silent the blunt roar of Pedro's repeater broke
out. And with the emptying of their long
guns the Americans drew then* short ones, and
in a concerted ripping crash the forty-fives
volleyed death and dismay into the oncoming
cannibals.
The rush was checked. For a few seconds the
Red Bones wavered and milled about. Into
their mass poured a cloud of arrows and blow-
gun darts from the silent but no less deadly
weapons of the Mayorunas. As the whites
paused to reload, Pedro opened a new blast
from Lourengo's rifle, which his comrade had
passed to him on the run. Lourengo was not
shooting, but working madly and alone to save
the equipment. And, thanks to the renewed
deadly fire of the guns, he saved it.
Before the wicked belch of the three rifles
and the two automatics the Red Bones gave
back more and more. Their arrows plunged all
around the fighting men, but they fell at
SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 267
random, for the gunmen and the canoes were
virtually invisible in the deep shadows. Down
stream, Tucu's harsh voice jarred in commands
as he straightened out the line of boats.
At the next lull in the firing Lourengo panted:
"In, comrades! We are loaded. In!"
"Great guns! Are you still here?" snapped
McKay. "I told you"
"In! Talk later. Come!"
The three gun fighters swiftly obeyed. With a
powerful heave Lourengo sent the canoe after the
others. Americans, Brazilians, and the Raposa
hunched up among the packs, all went sliding
down a jungle Styx.
A moment later the Red Bone warriors, taking
heart from the cessation of firing, poured an
avalanche of arrows into the spot where they had
been. And as the canoe, last in the escaping line,
was swallowed up in the impenetrable blackness
of the forest a hair-raising screech of diabolical
fury blended with a swift succession of splashes
back where the cannibals were plunging headlong
into the stream to reach the dead or wounded
men whom they vainly hoped to find on the
farther shore.
"I told you to take this man and go!" McKay
fumed. "By disobeying orders you risked losing
him."
"Oh, pipe down, Rod!" remonstrated Knowl-
ton. "If they had, where'd we be now? This
was the last canoe."
268 THE PATHLESS TRAIL]
"Si. It is so," added Lourengo, his voice
hard edged. "As it is, the man and the equip
ment and you also are here. And let me tell you
this, Capitao Makkay, whether you like it or not :
Pedro and I would see this wild man and a million
others like him in a hotter place than this before
we would abandon righting comrades."
To which McKay, finding no adequate answer,
made none whatever.
CHAPTER XXII. THE SIREN OF WAR
E33 a fleet manned by sightless sailors the
line of boats blundered on through the
blackness. With no guiding light, the
canoes bumped the banks and collided with one
another in perilous confusion. Speed was im
possible, yet speed was imperative. Knowlton
and his little flashlight solved the problem.
"Say, fellows, let's take the lead," he suggested.
"This little light isn't much, but it's something r
and there are some extra batteries in my haver
sack when this burns out. We can see a little
way ahead, and pass back the word to the rest.
What say?"
"Na terra dos cegos quern tern um olho e rei in
blindman's land he who has one eye is king,"
said Pedro. "That little white eye in your box
may save us all. Lourengo, tell those ahead to
let us pass."
Without question the preceding dugouts
swerved, and the boat of the white men slipped
by. At the head of the line they found Tucu
and his crew struggling manfully to make prog
ress without wrecking the whole fleet at the
turns. Vast relief and instant acceptance of the
new leadership followed Lourengo's explanation.
At once the floating column began to pick up
speed. And it was well that it did.
270 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Howls of baffled hate came faintly through the
tree mass from the Red Bone town. Some time
later more yells of rage sounded, much nearer
back at a place on the creek which the last boat
had cleared only a few minutes previously. Some
of the Umanuh men had made torches and run
along one of the Red Bone trails to a bend hi the
stream, only to find the water bare of every
thing but dying ripples.
Whether the enemy attempted to follow in
canoes the escaping party never knew, for none
succeeded in overtaking the rearmost boat. And
after that one snarling uproar on the creek bank
they heard no more of the land pursuit. The
narrow margin of safety gained by the aid of the
flashlight proved enough to give a commanding
lead, and from that time on the only obstacles
to their retreat were those of darkness and wind
ing waters.
Hour after hour Knowlton squatted in the ex
treme bow, picking out the turns and snags just
ahead and passing the word back to Lourengo,
who, in the stern, steered in accordance with his
orders and relayed the course to Tucu, just be
hind. Amidships, Pedro and McKay plied steady
paddles and the Raposa lay all but forgotten on
the baggage. There were no halts. If any boat
back in the blackness got into difficulties it ex
tricated itself as best it could, unaided by the rest,
and fell into a new place in the column.
At last a wan light, which was scarcely a light,
THE SIREN OF WAR 271
but rather a lessening of the density, came about
the stream. The renewed racket of birds and
beasts announced that up overhead the sky had
paled into dawn. Slowly the nearest tree trunks
began to take shape in the void, and presently
the shore line became visible to all eyes. At the
same time Knowlton's tiny lamp dimmed and
faded out.
"Another battery gone," he announced, open
ing the case and dropping its contents into the
creek. "Ho-yo-ho-hum! Gee! I'm all in!
Eyes feel like a couple of burnt holes. Well,
gents, I move that at the first available spot we
go ashore, feed our faces, look at the ladies, and
perform our morning salute to Umanuh said
salute consisting of applying the right thumb to
the end of the nose and snappily twiddling four
fingers."
"Motion carried." McKay's set face relaxed.
Then, his glance dropping to the Raposa, it
tightened again. "Oh, hullo, Rand! How you
feeling?"
The unconscious man was unconscious no
longer. Moreover, his expression was not that
of one just emerging from a stupor and be
wildered as to his surroundings. Though he
had made no movement to change his position,
his eyes indicated that he had been awake for
some time. They dwelt steadily on McKay, then
strayed past the captain to Pedro, Lourengo,
and the first Mayoruna crew following a few
272 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
feet behind. His face was inscrutable, and he
spoke no word.
"You're with friends. Understand? Friends.
You're going home. These Indians are friends,
too. Get that? Friends!"
The green eyes hung on McKay's face again;
but, as before, no answer came in word, move
ment, or expression.
"No good, Rod," said Knowlton, who could
not see the rescued man's face, but watched
McKay's. "'Fraid I knocked his last brains
down his throat. Dead from the neck up."
"I don't know about that. He doesn't look
vacant. See here, Rand. We're going to land
and eat! You hungry? Uh-huh. Thought
you'd understand that. He's alive, Merry.
Maybe not all here, but enough to get us."
"Good!"
The blond man turned his attention down
stream again. Soon he suggested, "How about
landing at that little open space down there at
the left, Lourengo?"
"Very good, senhor. It looks dry."
The canoe swerved and floated down to a spot
on the left shore where bright light poured
down from an opening in the overhead wall of
foliage.
"Now look here, Rand," warned the captain.
"We'll untie you. But if you try to duck into
the bush, now or later, you get shot. Shot!
Understand?"
THE SIREN OF WAR 273
He tapped his pistol, and the gray eyes boring
into the green ones were hard as chilled steel.
For the first time Rand responded a slow, short
nod.
McKay cut the cord around the wild man's
ankles, then stepped ashore and held out a hand.
Rand arose quietly, jumped to the earth un
assisted, lifted his bad foot and stared at it,
then limped onward into a spot where the sun
now shone bright and warm, and sat down to
bask.
"Have to fix that foot, I expect," yawned
Knowlton. "But my eyes right now are one solid
ache, and I'm going to rest them. Watch him, will
you, Rod? Can't tell what he might do. Of
course you wouldn't shoot him, but "
"Wouldn't I? Not to kill, no. But if he makes
one break I'll drill a leg for him. He's going to
the States!"
"Sure. I'm with you all the way. Now beat
it and let me repose myself."
He bathed his eyes, then lay down hi the canoe
with a wet handkerchief across them. Pedro
and Lourengo already were ashore and raiding
the slender packs for food. The Mayorunas were
debarking and watching each new boat as it
drew up, their eyes on the women who had
wielded paddles with them but whose faces they
now saw closely for the first time. In the shaft of
sunlight McKay stood tall and forbidding, rifle
in the crook of one arm, hat pulled low, guarding
274 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
the gaunt man at his feet and viewing the landing
of the expedition.
The women, all young, numbered eleven.
Their skins looked slightly pallid, then* eyes too
big and black, their faces somewhat drawn the
results of close confinement and anxiety; but none
showed any sign of abuse. For commercial rea
sons alone, Umanuh had seen to it that the
woman flesh he held for sale should remain unin
jured. Now, saved from the slave trail or worse,
the girls showed no more emotion than if on a
mere journey after turtles or fish. A few spoke
to men whom they evidently knew. Others
gathered in a dumb cluster and awaited whatever
might come next. With these Tucu talked in
gruff monosyllables.
When all were ashore, a dozen of the men went
into the jungle to hunt. The others sought fire
wood, inspected weapons, talked with one an
other and with the girls, who stared at McKay
and asked who he was. A number of the warriors
looked sourly at Rand, whose face still bore the
Red Bone tribal streaks which now, to Mayo-
rum minds, was the insignia of the enemy. All
knew he was the man who had been sought, all
saw that he was not a Red Bone, but a white
man; yet their mental reaction to the sight of the
sinister red cross on the forehead and the straight
cheek lines was rabidly hostile. McKay, all-see
ing, decided to wash Rand's face for him before
journeying much farther. But Rand himself
THE SIREN OF WAR 275
gave no sign that he either knew or cared what
the feeling of the Mayorunas might be. Utterly
impassive, he stared back at them.
Then one of the women pointed at him and said
something to Tucu. The tall watchdog's jaw
set a little harder as he waited the effect. Some
what to his surprise, Tucu and a couple of the
other men now gave Rand a more friendly look.
Soon afterward Tucu passed Lourenco, who
talked with him a few minutes. Catching the
Brazilian's eye, the captain motioned him nearer
and asked for any news.
"Tucu says, Capitao, that most of these girls
are from malocas other than that of Monitaya,
though some of Monitaya's women also are here.
And one of them says this man, the Raposa, tried
to release them a short time ago and was nearly
killed by the Red Bones for it. They let him live
only because he is crazy, and they fear to kill a
crazy man."
"What! He tried to get them clear?"
"Yes. He opened the door and motioned for
them to run, but before they could escape they
were caught. He was badly beaten. You will
remember that he was hiding behind that same
house when Pedro and Senhor Knowlton saw
him. Perhaps he meant to try again."
"Hm! Crazy and wild, but a white man for
all that. How did you manage to free the
women?"
"Very simple/' was the cool answer. "We
276 THE' PATHLESS TRAIL
stabbed the guards, opened the door, and came
back to the creek with the women."
"Just like that, eh? And the guards made no
resistance, I suppose."
"Not much," grinned the bushman. "They
were not allowed to."
"I see. Very simple, as you say. About as
simple as our calm and unhurried departure."
"Something like that, Capitao. What do you
desire for breakfast salt fish and coffee, or coffee
and salt fish?"
"A little of everything, thanks. Here comes
some monkey meat, too."
The first of the hunters had returned, bringing
two big red howlers. Others drifted in at inter
vals, and not one returned empty handed; for here
in the virgin jungle the game was plentiful, par
ticularly at this early hour. Soon the ah* was
heavy with the odor of broiling meat, and from
the fire of the Brazilians the fragrance of coffee
was wafted to the nostrils of the recumbent
Knowlton. He arose, swallowing fast.
"Gee! I'm half drowned!" was his humorous
complaint. "The smell of eats makes my mouth
water so fast I have to gasp for ah". Must tickle
your nose, too, eh, Rand, old top?"
Rand, famished though he was, gave no sign
of assent or of hunger. In fact, he gave no sign
of anything. Stoically he sat, eyes front.
"By thunder! the man's got pride!" the lieu
tenant added, in a lower tone. " Almost ready to
THE SIREN OF WAR 277
keel over from lack of food, but stiff as a cigar-
store Indian. Darned if I'm not beginning to
respect him!"
Tucu approached, carrying two big monkey
haunches. One he offered to McKay, the other
to Rand. The latter's immobility vanished in a
flash. With a lightning grab he seized the prof
fered meat and sank his teeth in it. As he wolfed
down the tough flesh the three men standing
over exchanged glances. Tucu laid a hand on his
stomach and pressed inward, signifying that
the man had long gone hungry. The others
nodded. Then they split the other haunch
between them and fell to gnawing.
Lourengo, bringing coffee to the captain, asked
Tucu in what direction the Monitaya houses lay.
Without hesitation the Indian pointed off to the
left. The Brazilian glanced at the creek, estimat
ing its general direction and rate of flow, then re
turned to his fire.
Offered coffee, Rand took it and sipped it with
evident relish. Likewise he accepted a cigarette,
which he puffed like a man just learning to
smoke or one who has not smoked for years.
For his meat, his drink, and his smoke he gave no
indication of gratitude. His attitude was as in
different and matter-of-fact as if he were one of
the Mayorunas. When his smoke was ended he
began inspecting his bad foot.
"Let's see that," said Knowlton, dropping on
one knee. "Looks pretty sore. Yes, it's more
19
278 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
than sore; it's infected. How'd you get it, any
way?"
No answer. Knowlton probed his face keenly.
Rand straightened out his legs, wriggled his
toes, and scowled.
"Queer!" muttered the lieutenant, rising.
"He looks as if he actually didn't know how he
got that wound. You'd think he'd remember
that much, anyhow. I sure am afraid his head
is all scrambled up."
He went to the canoe, returned with his
meager medical kit, and knelt again.
"Now listen here, Rand. I don't know how
well you understand me, but I'm taking the
chance. This foot has to be opened up and
cleaned out. Otherwise you're going to have
serious trouble with it. I'm going to hurt you.
If you raise a row you'll get an anesthetic a
swift punch under the ear. Better sit still and
make no fuss."
With which he went to work. He did a thor
ough job, and there was no doubt that it hurt.
But Rand gave no trouble, nor even a sign of
pain except that he dug his fingers into the
dirt.
"Good boy!" the amateur surgeon approved,
when he finished. "You're a Spartan if you
happen to remember what that is. Now we'll
move on. But before we go, wash your face
good and hard. Get that tribe paint off. These
Indians with us don't like it. You're no Indian,
THE SIREN OF WAR 279
anyhow; you're white, like us. Savvy? White
man. Wash off paint!"
He rolled up his kit and returned to the
i canoe. The Mayorunas, men and women, were
entering their own craft. Rand sat motionless
a moment, McKay and the Brazilians watching
him keenly. Slowly then he got up of his own
accord, limped to the water's edge, and began
to scrub his face.
When he desisted the marks still showed, for
the red dye clung stubbornly to his skin; but
they were fainter than before. The other men
eyed him thoughtfully, none speaking. He set
tled himself in his former place, curled up, and
began to doze.
"A queer fish!" Pedro said, softly. "Is he
crazy or not?"
"Hanged if I know," replied McKay. "He's
no maniac, anyhow. I'd give real money to
know just what his mental condition is. But we
can forget him for a while. I'm going to let you
fellows sleep by turns now. I had some sleep last
night; you've had none at all. Merry, your eyes
need rest. You curl up in the bow and snooze
one hour. Then another man, and so on. And
how about letting Tucu lead the parade again?"
"Excellent, Capitao! I was thinking of that."
Lourengo talked to Tucu, who swung out into
the current. The boat of the white men fol
lowed, then the others. At a steady cruising
speed the brigade surged on downstream.
280 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Knowlton's allotted hour passed. Pedro took
his place and was instantly asleep. In turn he
was aroused, and Lourengo laid down his paddle.
But just then Tucu's canoe slowed and floated
in to the left bank.
The others backed water and looked at a
very narrow ravine almost a cleft in a rising
hillside. Through it led a lane of water. From
the third boat, in which were two women of the
Monitaya tribe, now came voices carrying infor
mation to the Indian leader. At once he turned
his boat into the cleft.
"This is the connection we have been seeking,"
Lourengo explained. "The women say the boats
of their captors came through this crack in the hill.
At the end we shall find the creek of Monitaya."
The women spoke truth. After threading
their way along the weedy water-path, which
was barely wide enough to give passage for the
boats, they emerged at a slant into another
stream. Down this, with the sure instinct for
direction of the hereditary jungle-dweller, Tucu
turned his prow without asking the women
whether to go with or against the current. Once
more on the waters of their home creek, the
Mayorunas quickened their strokes and howled
merrily on toward their malocas.
Lourengo took his nap and resumed his place.
Hour after hour the fleet sped on. Noon passed
without a halt, the paddlers munching at what
ever fragments remained from breakfast. By
THE SIREN OF WAR 281
turns the Americans and Brazilians each got
another hour's sleep, McKay consenting to relax
when all his mates had rested. Rand dozed and
awoke at intervals, seeming content and com
fortable despite his cramped position.
By four o'clock even the Mayorunas began
to lag in their strokes. Excluding the halt at
sunrise, they now had been journeying for fif
teen hours, in the last nine of which they had
covered many miles of serpentine water. The
heat of the day and the constant drive of the
paddles had taken their toll, and now the body
of every man fiercely demanded more food.
McKay, knowing that in jungle travel distance
is not a matter of miles, but of hours, had begun
to figure that the journey which had taken
nearly five days of overland work might be com
pleted that night by the swiftly moving canoes.
But now, recognizing the signs of exhaustion,
he realized that without some powerful spur the
Indians would not attempt to reach the home
malocas until the morrow.
Then the spur came. Even as Tucu began
scanning the shores for a good camp site, he and
every other Mayoruna suddenly ceased paddling
and threw up his head. Faint and far, a xylo-
phonic call of beaten wooden bars rapped across
the jungle, rising and falling in swift, regular
cadence a sirenical flow and ebb of sound
waves. Over and over it undulated, rapid,
incessant, imperative.
282 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
A chorus of excited grunts broke from the
canoe brigade. The dugout of Tucu leaped away
like a roweled horse. Lourenc.o and Pedro
buried their paddles in mighty strokes, hurling
their boat ahead to keep from being run down
by those behind.
Lourengo barked at Tucu, who flung back an
answer.
"Paddle hard, Capitao! If we do not keep
up we shall be wrecked. That message is the
war call of the Mayorunas calling in the
hunters from the forest to take arms against an
enemy. We must race now with these madmen
around us, or we go under. Paddle!"
CHAPTER XXIII. STRATEGY
IN the last light of the fast-fading day the
canoes darted from the forest into the
clearing where stood the Monitaya malocas.
Long before their arrival the siren call had
ceased, but there had been no lessening of speed
by the racing dugouts. On the contrary, the
last long mile had been covered in a final des
perate spurt, the paddles swinging in swift
unison to the accompaniment of a ferocious
chant of one syllable : ' ' Hough ! Hough ! Hough ! ' '
This explosive cadence had echoed down the
stream ahead of them; and now, as the panting
crews emerged from the jungle, they found them
selves flanked by a long line of their fellow-
warriors, bristling with drawn arrows and ready
spear points. But of the enemy whose presence
that great xylophone had betokened there was
no sign.
At sight of the familiar feather bonnets of
their own men the tense Monitayans let their
weapons slowly sink. And when Tucu, leaping
ashore, gaspingly demanded news of the fight,
the line dissolved into a mob which rushed to
welcome him and his mates. In the first few
breaths it was learned that no fight had yet
taken place, but that all the warriors had been
brought in and ordered to prepare to march at
284 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
the next sunrise; and that the sudden war call
had been sent out as the result of the arrival of
a stranger.
Then the crowd parted, and through it came
striding two men whose appearance caused the
white men to erupt into hoarse shouts of greeting.
One, whose hard face swiftly relaxed into a half
smile of relief, was the great chief himself. The
other, whose jutting jaw suddenly dropped and
whose blue eyes opened in incredulity, was Tim
Tun, once more strong and florid and aggres
sive, gripping his rifle, astounded at the sight of
his comrades standing there alive and alert.
They soon learned why.
Dropping his gun, he sprang at them with an
inarticulate roar of welcome. He wrung their
hands, pounded their shoulders, laughed, cried,
swore, all at once. Then he burst out:
"Glory be! Ye're alive, homelier 'n ever and
tough as tripe! We thought ye was wiped out
sure! We was all set to start in the mornin'
and pull them Red Bones to pieces. Mebbe
we'll do it yet, too. How'd ye break through?
Did ye kill Sworn-off and his gang?"
"Schwandorf? Gang? Haven't seen any
body but Red Bones though we sure saw
plenty of them," replied Knowlton. "What are
you talking about?"
"Then ye missed him by about one point
windage. When'd ye leave? Last night? I bet
he's there by now. Gee! Where'd ye git them
STRATEGY 285
girls? And who's this guy? Great gosh! Is
he the Raposy? Wai, for the love o' Mike
"Tim!" broke in McKay. "What's all this
about? Now wait. This is the Raposa. These
girls are Mayoruna women held prisoners by
the Red Bones. We got them last night and lit
out in the middle of a general engagement. Now
open up with your news."
"Right, Cap. We got a visitor to-day old
friend of ourn li'l' old Hozy, the only white guy
in that Peruvian crew we had. He's all dolled up
like an Injun shaved face, tribe paint, and so on.
He come through the Injun country that way
I dunno yet how he done it, him bein' a Peruvian
and all, but he got through, and he says Sworn-off
and a whole gang of bad eggs is back here to git
this Raposy guy and all the girls they can lay
hands on. He says Sworn-off's got them Red
Bones workin' for him, and you fellers must be
massacreed sure by now.
"Good thing I was here when he come, or he'd
be cut up and in the stewpot. Monitaya's a good
skate, but he sure is poison to anything Peruvian,
and soon as Hozy begun to try to talk he got
wise and dang near bumped him off. I got him
to cool down some, and he believes Hozy's tellin'
the truth, but even at that they got Hozy tied up
like a dog. Come look at him."
But it was necessary to wait awhile for Tucu
and Lourengo to tell Monitaya the tale of what
had taken place; for the chief demanded im-
286 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
mediate and full details, and not until he had
them would he return to his maloca and his
hammock throne. By that time the little moon
was again ruler of the sky and the keen hunger of
the voyagers had grown ravenous. Followed by
the rescued and the rescuers, he then stalked into
the tribal house and to his usual place, where he
commanded that food be brought.
On the ground, directly Jn front of the chief's
hammock, sat a gaunt, painted Indian around
whose neck was a stout noose, the other end of
the cord being held by a muscular savage whose
skull-smashing club was gripped loosely in his
other fist. As the whites reached them the
noosed man's face cracked in a grin.
"Greetings, senores," said the voice of Jose".
"You will pardon me for remaining seated, yes?
The man behind me is itching for an excuse to
crush my head."
"Jose!" exclaimed both Knowlton and McKay.
Though Tim had said Jos was "tied like a dog,"
they had not thought to find the expression
literal truth. The sight angered them and they
turned to Lourengo.
"Tell Monitaya we want this man freed!"
McKay snapped. At his peremptory tone the
cannibal chieftain looked oddly at him, and when
Lourengo translated the demand though in a
more diplomatic manner he scowled. But he
gave the clubman the word and the rope was
lifted from the prisoner's neck.
STRATEGY 287
" Gracias, amigos," he bowed. " If I still remain
seated, it is because I am very weary and I
have not eaten since yesterday."
His thin face and his projecting ribs not only
corroborated his simple announcement, but in
dicated that for more than one day his food and
rest had been almost nil. Naked, painted, minus
his fierce mustache and flamboyant headkerchief ,
he appeared a far different man than the dom
ineering puntero of a short time back. But his
bold black eyes, his reckless grin, and his
mocking tone proved him the same swashbuckling
Jose", undaunted by hunger, exhaustion, or his
position as prisoner of man eaters whose enmity
was implacable.
"Well, you're going to eat now, or we'll know
why not!" vowed Knowlton. "We understand
that you brought a warning to Monitaya. Is this
his way of treating men who risk their lives to
befriend him?"
Jose" shrugged.
"Once an enemy, always an enemy. That is
their rule. And do not think that I traveled the
bush and threw myself into this snake heap from
love of Monitaya. I do not care if he and all his
race are blown to hell. I am here because, as I
once told you, Jose" Martinez never forgets.
Thank you, sefior, I will eat now and talk later."
Deftly he extracted a chunk of meat from a clay
pot which had been placed before Knowlton and
in turn tendered to him. Monitaya watched him
288 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
eat, but gave no sign of disapproval; and the
Americans, and even the Brazilians, made an
aggressive show of friendship toward the lone
Peruvian for the express benefit of the chief. They
knew well that by their rescue of the Mayoruna
women they had made their own position among
these people virtually impregnable, and that their
recognition of Jos6 as a friend probably would be
his only bulwark. Wherefore they left no doubt
in the minds of the watchers as to where he stood
in their regard.
Monitaya, sitting in regal dignity, looked
down upon two parties of seven feasting with
famished speed the rescued women who were
not members of his own tribe, and the four
Americans, two Brazilians, and one Peruvian.
All the others had scattered Tucu and his band
to theu* own family triangles, and the four Moni
taya girls to become the nuclei of feminine groups
which demanded intimate accounts of their cap
ture and treatment by the captors.
To the strange women at his feet the chief paid
scant attention now, though he meant to inter
rogate them after their hunger was satisfied.
His eyes dwelt on Rand, the strange combination
of white man, Indian, and jungle demon of whom
he had heard so much and on whose tanned skin
the red skeleton streaks told the tale of a "mind
out of the skull." Jos and Tim stared in frank
curiosity at the dead-alive newcomer, whose
silent composure remained totally unperturbed.
STRATEGY 289
But the seven new girls, though ignored by the
chief and his guests, were by no means neglected
by the other men of the maloca, being thoroughly
stared at by most of the young bucks and, it
must be confessed, by a goodly proportion of the
married men also.
When at length the meal was finished Moni-
taya commanded the girls to stand before him and
narrate their experiences. The men lit smokes,
Jose* seizing the proffered cigarette with avidity,
Rand accepting his with the usual odd delibera
tion.
"Wai, Hozy, old feller, ye're in right with the
chief now/' asserted Tim. "Ye got all our gang
with ye, and she's some li'l' old gang, I'll tell the
world. This feller Renzo can talk cannibal so
good he makes Monitaya hunt for the dictionary,
and he'll tell the chief in ten seconds what I tried
half an hour to say this afternoon that ye
belong. I 'ain't been here long enough to learn
much o' their lingo, ye understand. If I could
spout it like French, now, there wouldn't been no
trouble."
McKay and Knowlton snickered. They knew
Tim's French was several degrees worse than the
usual American doughboy's "frog" talk.
"Good thing you couldn't," derided Knowlton.
"You'd have had Jose" crucified before we got
here."
"That's right, gimme the razz! Course, I did
have a li'l' trouble makin' some o' them frogs
290 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
understand, but that was because they was so
ignorant they didn't know their own language
when they heard it spoke right. Anyways, ye
got to admit Hozy's still with us and sassy as
ever, and he wouldn't been if Timmy Ryan
hadn't been round to powwow for him."
"You have it right, senor," Jose* agreed,
gravely. "Without you I should now be dead. I
can speak the Mayoruna tongue quite well, but
of what use is it to talk any language when men
will not listen? It was you and your gun that
saved me."
"Gun? Good Lord! Did you pull a gun on
Monitaya?" ejaculated the lieutenant.
"Aw, no. That is I guess mebbe I did wave
me piece around while I was arguin' I can al
ways convince a guy better if I got somethin' in
me hand. But I didn't git real rough."
"You are lucky to be still alive, Senhor Tim,"
said Lourengo. "If Monitaya were not the man
he is you would not be alive. I am glad we have
returned."
"Meanin' I need a guardeen? Say, lookit
here now "
"As you were!" clipped McKay. "We're all
wasting tune. Jose", let's hear your report. I
thought you were going to put Schwandorf out
of action for good?"
"And I am, Capitan! That is why I now am
here. If I had reached him immediately after
leaving the Nunes place it would have been done
STRATEGY 291
at once. But a man travels slowly when he is
alone and has lost much blood, and before I met
Schwandorf again I had time to think coolly.
Then when I saw him I changed my plans.
"Some days down the river I met him traveling
fast in a canoe paddled by hard men whom I
know. He pretended to be greatly grieved when
I told him you all were dead. Oh yes, senores, I
told him that! I was playing with him, and it
amused me to see how he thought he was deceiv
ing me when I was really fooling him. I said we
were attacked by Indians a short way above the
Nunes place and that I alone escaped. Then he
said something that made me decide not to kill
him for a time.
"He told me he had learned that this man
here his name is Rand, yes? that the man
Rand was a bank thief who had run away from
North America, and that a reward would be paid
for him. He said your real reason for coming
here was that you were detectives trying to earn
the reward. That is false, is it not, senores?"
"We're no detectives. Rand's no thief."
"Ah, so I thought. But Schwandorf often tells
truth to conceal his lies, so that it is sometimes
hard to know which is true and which untrue.
He went on to say he had warned you not to
come into this Indian country, and he was sorry
you had been killed the snake but since you
were dead we might get the money for ourselves.
If we succeeded in catching the man Rand and
292 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
taking him out alive I should get half the reward,
or five hundred dollars.
"I saw plainly what his plan was. I might be
useful to him in catching Rand if Rand was out
in the bush, for I have traveled this country
alone more than once and am a far better bush-
man than the German. But whether I got Rand
or not, I never should live to demand my part
of the money. I know too much about Schwan-
dorf things which I shall not tell now. So when
the right time should come, Jose* would meet
with a fatal accident, such as a bullet in the
back, or a knife in the throat while sleeping.
But I did not let him know I saw this. I pre
tended to fall in with his plan like the fool he
thought me to be.
"It was not Rand alone that brought him
here. You have brought back Mayoruna women
from the Red Bone country, so you know the
Red Bones are women stealers. And they steal
for Schwandorf. You may believe me or not,
senores, but I did not know this until the German
told me. Oh yes, I knew he dealt in women,
but of the Red Bone part of his business I was
ignorant. As soon as I learned it I saw how I
could put the illustrious Senor Schwandorf out
of action, as you say, and at the same time try-
to save you.
"I sharpened my knife to a razor edge, deserted
the German when we reached the right place,
shaved with my knife, painted myself with the
STRATEGY 293
red and black plant dyes, and came overland
to this place, thinking you would be here if still
alive. But you had traveled faster than I
expected and had gone into the Red Bone
country, so my chance to save you seemed to
have passed. I could only try to tell this chief
the Red Bones were stealers of his women and
that the German was with them, knowing that
if he believed me he would go on the war trail
against them and kill them all. But if Senor
Tim had not befriended me I should have died
too soon to tell my tale. That is all, senores.
Now can you spare a little more tobacco?"
They could and they promptly did. With a
new cigarette glowing he lay back and looked
quizzically at the women lined up before Moni-
taya.
"How many men has Schwandorf?" asked
McKay.
"About twenty in all, Capitan. There were
eight in his crew, and they were to meet a
dozen more at a place on the Peruvian side."
"All riflemen?"
"Si. He brought many cartridges for them.
They are to raid tribe houses of these people."
"Capture women and run them into Peru?"
"Si." Jose* yawned as if speaking of a deal in
salt fish.
The Americans looked thoughtfully around
the big house. They saw that every man near
them was inspecting some kind of weapon
294 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
making sure that bow cords were unfrayed, that
arrow heads and spear points were firm, that
the long blowguns had received no cast from sus
pension, and that darts were absolutely straight
and true. The strong but cruel faces of the
warriors were stamped with malignant hatred
of the Red Bone tribe and the Blackbeard who
enslaved their women. The command to pre
pare for a march at dawn had not been with
drawn.
"We'll be expected to go, too, and I'd sure like
another crack at Umanuh, not to mention
the Schwandorf outfit," said Knowlton, "but
we have friend Rand on our hands now, and
our first duty is to get him out of here safely."
"Aw, Looey, have a heart! I 'ain't had no
action since that liT scrap down the river, and
I got to have some excitement before we blow.
What's more, we can't beat it now, with Moni-
taya dependin' on us to fight on his side. He'd
git sore, and I don't blame him."
His superior officers and the Brazilians
frowned. Every man of them itched to close
with the enemy in one final decisive battle.
Yet
"What '11 we do with Rand?" Knowlton
voiced the general thought.
The green eyes of the Raposa turned to him,
rested long on his, traveled deliberately along
the other faces. And then, to the utter astonish
ment of all, the dumb spoke.
STRATEGY 295
"I'll fight," said Rand.
Speechless, the men around him stared. His
face was inscrutable as ever, his eyes fathomless,
his voice flat and toneless. But slowly he
raised his hands as if holding a bow; twitched
his right thumb and forefinger in the motion of
loosing a shaft; let the hands sink. His gaze
calmly lifted from theirs and dwelt on the
farthest wall. Not another word did he speak.
"Begorry! there's yer answer!" triumphed
Tim. "He says, 'Fight!' And I bet he can
sling a wicked bow and arrer, at that. Don't ye
s'pose he wants a crack at them Red Bones,
after the way they used him?"
"I think, comrades, that the man has settled
the matter for us," Pedro seconded. "None of
us wants to run away; and, as Tim says, we are
expected to help Monitaya. We should be con
sidered cowards, worse than dogs, if we refused.
If we do not fight the Red Bones we may have
to fight these Mayorunas, who now are our
friends. We must stay."
McKay nodded, still studying the expression
less countenance of Rand.
"That's settled," he announced, crisply.
"Now, Lourenc.o, find out Monitaya's plan of
battle."
The chief had finished his examination of the
women and Lourengo promptly put the ques
tion. Monitaya laconically replied.
"His purpose is not changed by our arrival,
296 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Capitao. He and his men go to-morrow to attack
and destroy the Red Bones. Yfhen they reach
the town of Umanuh they will surround it, and
all will rush in when the chief gives his yell of
war."
"About what I expected. An Indian has a
single-track mind always. But his strategy is
rotten. Might be good enough if he had only
Umanuh to deal with, but with Schwandorf in
the game it's different. Ask him how he expects
to protect his women while he's gone."
"He says," Lourengo reported, "that there
will be no danger to the women, because his
warriors will be between the women and their
enemies until those enemies are dead."
"Very simple. So simple that it's foolish.
He doesn't figure on the other fellow's mind at
all; doesn't realize that a man like Schwandorf
is bound to outguess him on such straightaway
tactics and isn't at all likely to play into his
hands. But that's the exact situation. The
German will outguess him, and it's up to him to
outguess the German in turn. We'll do his
guessing for him.
"Schwandorf goes into Umanuh's town, learns
what's happened, finds the Red Bones frothing
at the mouth, and is sore himself. He figures
that we've returned here with the women, that
Monitaya's men are blood-mad against the Red
Bones, and that they'll do just what they are
planning to do march on Red Bone town and
STRATEGY 297
leave their women unprotected except by the
old men, whose defensive power is negligible.
He is in this country for the express purpose of
getting girls, and with Monitaya's men away
from their malocas he has a wide-open chance
to make the biggest slave haul of his life. So
he plans to outmaneuver Monitaya, attack this
place, capture all the young women, allow the
Red Bones to massacre everyone else and burn
the houses, and then move on without the loss
of a man. After that perhaps he intends to find
us and get Rand, or perhaps to attack other
Mayoruna malocas. At any rate, his first
objective is this place. Am I right so far?"
"Dead right," Knowlton nodded.
"Very well. Now he may figure that, having
found the water connection between the two
creeks, the Mayorunas will come against Umanuh
by the canoe route. Or he may think they'll
make the overland trip. In either case, the Red
Bones have to come through the bush, for the
simple reason that they haven't boats enough to
carry all their force. Their canoes were rather
few when we were there, and we commandeered
several of them for our own use. If they decide
to come part of the way hi canoes they'll have
to work a come-and-go transport service, bring
ing the fighting men down in batches to some
rendezvous from which they must finish the
journey on foot. Chances are that they'll
disregard the canoes and all march overland by
298 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
some route that would dodge the Mayoruna
line of march. But in either case they're coming
here. And it's here, in the place where he's not
expected to be, that Monitaya should meet them.
Let him fortify himself and await the assault.
It will come."
"And we shall be saved many weary miles
of leg work/' Jos6 smiled. "Capitan, your
strategy is magnificent."
"Begorry! it ain't so bad at that!" Tim
approved. "Hozy, me and you will have our
hammicks slung out front here when the show
starts and do our shootin' prone. Suits me fine.
Put it up to the chief, Renzo."
Lourenc.o did. Very carefully he explained it
all to Monitaya, dwelling on the fact that
McKay himself was a warrior chieftain and
familiar with the fighting methods of such men
as the atrocious Blackboard, and depicting
graphically the horror of an attack by the
barbarous Red Bones on the defenseless women.
It took him some time to divert the chief's
stubborn mind from the original plan, but in
the end he succeeded.
To the vast astonishment and disappointment
of the vengeful warriors, Monitaya curtly an
nounced that the projected march would not
take place. They stared as if disbelieving their
ears, and more than one black look was given
Lourengo. But not a man questioned the
countermanding of orders, not a mutter waa
STRATEGY 299
heard. The great chief had spoken, and his word
was final.
Reluctantly they laid aside the weapons on
which they had been toiling with such purposeful
zeal. The chief watched them with a little smile
of pride pride in their zest for war, pride in their
unquestioning acceptance of his dampening order.
Then he coolly told them to continue their work;
told them, further, that the next morning all the
streams were to be poisoned, new traps set, and
scouts stationed far out on every trail to await
and report the approach of foes. Instantly their
faces flamed again and from every quarter of
the wide house rose an excited hum. They were
to fight, after all!
"Tough eggs, these lads, if ye ask me," yawned
Tim. "Bet ye we'll see a row worth lookin' at
when she does break."
He forebore to mention the fact that in rule
power their assailants would outnumber them
four to one.
CHAPTER XXIV. THE BATTLE OF THE
TRIBES
THE next four days, though they were days
of waiting, were busy enough to satisfy
the most impatient Mayoruna warrior.
Outposts were established on every route by
which the attacking force would be likely to ap
proach the twin malocas, the watchmen being
given the strictest commands not to fight, nor
even to allow themselves to be seen, but to run
at top speed with the warning.
Poison detachments went forth to collect the
ingredients for making deadly the water and the
weapons. Those detailed to the work of polluting
the streams gathered quantities of blue-blossomed,
short-podded plants with yellow roots, the roots
being pulped and thrown into the slow currents,
which straightway became fatal to man or beast.
The wurali squad procured their favorite ma
terials and, in a flimsy shed well away from the
houses, prepared a plentiful supply of the
venomed brew.
New traps were set at points where a man or
two might be picked off, though it was realized
that these would have little effect on the final
result. And inside the big houses men especially
skilled in the manufacture of arrows and darts
THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 301
toiled swiftly and steadily from dawn till far into
the night.
These activities, however, were only the usual
defensive preparations made by the warriors
whenever they knew a sizable body of foes was
somewhere in the vicinity. It remained for the
brains of the white men to devise additional
features, simple enough in themselves, but
astounding to the savages, who were accustomed
only to the primitive battle tactics of their
ancestors. For the first time in their lives the
cannibals found themselves digging hi and also
digging out.
After a survey of the terrain and a catechism of
Loureno and Monitaya as to the usual methods
of attack and defense, the two officers broached
an idea born of the exigencies of the situation.
As they expected, the great chief was somewhat
slow to approve it, for it involved a literal under
mining of the walls of his fortresses. But despite
the natural inflexibility of his mental processes he
was an unusually intelligent savage, and even
tually the patient reiteration of the advantages
of the scheme won him first to assent and then
almost to enthusiasm. Wherefore the amazed
tribesmen were set to work, armed with crude
wooden shovels, in digging holes under the logs
which sheltered them from man, beast, and jungle
demon.
All along the walls, at intervals marked by
McKay and Knowlton, the tunnels were dug. At
302 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
the same time another large gang excavated
before each of the malocas a deep, curving trench,
the two long pits being separated by a ten-foot
space of solid earth affording free passage from
the houses to the creek. Meanwhile the women
and the older children were weaving flimsy covers
from withes and vines. As soon as a tunnel was
completed it was masked outside the walls by
one of these covers, on which a thin layer of earth
and grass was laid. The two trenches were like
wise concealed, and the loose earth was carried
inside the house and packed solidly against the
walls flanking the doors.
At sundown of the fourth day the work was
ended. And so well was it done that when the
great chief, his subchiefs, and his foreign allies
went on a final tour of inspection they could find
no sign that the houses were honeycombed with
exits or that the ground in front of the little
entrances was not solid at all points.
"Rod and I took the idea from those pit traps
out on the trails," Knowlton explained for the
dozenth tune. ' ' Holes are covered to look exactly
like the rest of the ground. Every man of us has
to be inside when the enemy arrives, but we have
to get out quick when the right time comes, so
we go under the walls. And can't you see those
brave women stealers go kerplunk down into the
trenches? Oh boy!"
Whereat Lourengo and Jose* smiled as if en
joying a secret joke. They were. For they
THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 303
knew something of which the Americans were
not aware that Monitaya had improved on the
trench-trap idea of the whites by studding the
bottom of those trenches with barbed araya
bones smeared with wurali.
"Yeah, and I figger them guys '11 git some jolt
when these houses, which 'ain't got nobody in 'em
but women and kids, begin to spit lead out o'
loopholes and spew screechin' cannibals up out
o' the ground. Gosh! I wouldn't miss seein'
Sworn-off's face for a keg o' beer and that's
sayin' somethin'."
Wherein Tim expressed the general sentiment.
So ended the fourth day. When the fifth broke
no man showed himself outside the walls. Except
the few outposts, every male of the Monitaya
malocas bided within, awaiting with growing
tension the arrival of the enemy. It was more
than likely, McKay had pointed out, that
the main body of the barbarous force led by
Schwandorf would be preceded by a handful of
scouts, and quite possible that one or more of
these would slip past the outguards and spy on
the tribal houses. The sight of even one warrior
would instantly apprise any such spy that the
others must be near, and the word would go back
at all speed to the Red Bones. Wherefore the
only Monitayans to pass through the tiny door
ways that morning were a few young women sent
out as bait. These, naturally, took good care
to stay near the entrances.
304 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Within, the men waited at their appointed
places. Each tunnel had its quota of warriors,
the number being divided evenly to assure a
speedy and simultaneous exit. The Americans
had elected to fight from the maloca of the great
chief, while the Brazilians and Jose* were to
garrison the doorway of the other house as soon
as the warning came. Rand, wordless and im
perturbable as ever, now was armed with a strong
bow and plenty of new arrows with unpoisoned
heads; and he, of course, would remain with his
own countrymen. Thus, preparations completed,
all settled themselves to the interminable hours
of waiting.
Up on the heaped earth near the doorway,
which made the walls practically bullet-proof
to a height of six feet and thus would protect
the women and children, one or more of the
Americans was constantly on the lookout through
some inconspicuous loophole. Hour after hour
dragged past, and no unusual movement or sound
came to reward their vigilance. Under the glare
of the sun the roof and walls grew hot; under
the silent strain of endless anticipation the
impatience of the fighting men became a ferment.
At length Pedro, unable to keep still, mounted
to a peephole near Knowlton. Scarcely had he
put his eye to the opening when both men
sucked in their breath.
At the edge of the bush a man's head peered
from behind a tree. And at the same moment a
THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 305
single canoe came creeping out of the bush and
up to the landing place. The head behind the
tree was that of a Red Bone spy. The two in
the small canoe were Yuara and a companion
from the Suba tribe.
' ' Lourengo ! ' ' hoarsely whispered Pedro. ' ' Yu
ara comes. Tell girls to run to welcome him
and guide him between the pits. A spy is watch
ing. If Yuara walks on the pits he dies and our
trap is revealed. Por amor de Deus, send girls
quickly!"
Lourengo acted instantly. Seizing two young
women, he propelled them doorward, talking
swiftly the while. Yuara and his mate were
already advancing innocently toward the few
girls outside, none of whom had wit enough to
warn him. But the two whom the Brazilian had
grasped happened to be of quick intelligence,
and now they darted out. Before the visiting
pair could reach the death trap the girls were
upon them, laughing as if delighted to see a man
once more, and deftly turning them aside to the
point where two unobtrusive stubs marked the
bridge of safety.
Vastly astonished by such effusive welcome
from two girls whom they did not know, but by
no means displeased thereby, the young warriors
of the Suba clan were piloted to the door and
inside. As they disappeared, the head of the
spy also vanished.
"Woof!" muttered Knowlton, wiping sweat
306 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
from his brow. "That was close! Here's hoping
we have no more visitors."
Yuara and his companion meanwhile were
being interrogated by both Lourengo and Moni-
taya, who in turn enlightened them as to the
present state of affairs. At the promise of war
the faces of the Suba men lit up.
"Yuara comes only on a visit to learn news,"
Lourengo told the rest. "You remember that
the day after our return a canoe was sent down
stream to a point where the wooden bars could
be beaten and heard by Suba's men, and that a
warning against the Red Bones and Schwandorf
was given in that way. Yuara has become
anxious to know more, so he is here."
"If he sticks around he'll learn a lot," pre
dicted Tun.
With no waste of words or motion Yuara
coolly attached himself and his fellow-tribesman
to McKay. Monitaya and his subchiefs were
informed of the arrival and departure of the
enemy scout. The word passed among the
warriors, who, despite their innate equanimity,
began to grit their pointed teeth and quiver
like dogs held in leash. But another hour
passed, and yet another; and still no word from
the outposts arrived.
Suddenly a chorus of screams shrilled from
the women outside. In a frenzy of fear they
plunged through the doorways. Blending with
their outcries, a hoarse yell of ferocity rose
THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 30t
raucously from the direction of the creek. At
once a louder ululation burst forth at the rear
and sides of the clearing. Monitaya's outguards
had failed and the malocas were surrounded.
Loping from the bush fringing the stream
came a score of yellow-faced, shirtless, barefooted
brutes crisscrossed with cartridge belts and
gripping rifles. At their head loomed a burly
black-whiskered creature with a revolver in
each hand the malignant Schwandorf himself.
Grinning like a pack of yellow-fanged wolves,
they doubled toward the low entrances, their
guns spouting wantonly at the upper walls
a ragged volley meant to terrorize the defenseless
women within, none of whom were to be killed
until the handsomest had been cut out and set
aside for slavery. Some of the heavy bullets
bored through between logs and thudded wick
edly into rafters and roof poles within. But
from the loopholes where the defending rifles
lurked no shot cracked in reply.
The fiendish howling of the Red Bones,
sweeping in from all sides to the butchery,
swelled into a f eline screech that almost drowned
the roar of the rifles. Into the view of the
watchers at the loopholes streamed hideous
faces and naked brown bodies swerving inward
from left and right to follow at the heels of the
Blackboard and his gunmen. In a few seconds
more the trotting line of Peruvians was backed
and flanked by a horde of demons hungering
308 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
for the "taste of women and babes. On they
came
With the suddenness of a cataclysm the ground
opened. Riflemen vanished in midstride. Sav
ages screaming triumphant hate were gone
in the flick of an eye. Others, instinctively dig
ging their heels into the ground the instant
those ahead of them disappeared, were hurled
forward and down by the momentum of the
following mass. Before the rush could be checked
the trenches were packed with men struggling
in frenzy to get out, wounding themselves and
one another with the deadly points of their poi
soned weapons.
Of the twenty gunmen only four remained.
They were the four immediately behind Schwan-
dorf . By blind chance the German had set foot
on the narrow isthmus separating the twin
trenches, saving himself and the henchmen at
his heels from being engulfed. Now, as the Red
Bones fought back from the trap yawning before
them, he and the surviving Peruvians stood
staring in momentary stupefaction at the welter
of death on their flanks. The malevolent yells
of the savages had been cut short by the catas
trophe, and for the moment no sound was heard
but the grunts and snarls of struggling men.
Then into the semisilence burst a mighty
voice the battlefield voice of McKay.
"Now! Fire at will!"
I The walls spat flame and lead. A scythe of
THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 309
death swept above the ground where stood
Schwandorf and his riflemen. The Peruvian
half-breeds collapsed and lay still. But Schwan
dorf, shocked into activity by the impact of
that first word, dodged death by an infinitesimal
fraction of a second. Hurling himself back
ward, he struck the earth just as the bullets
sped through the air over him. With a light
ning rebound he was up while fresh cartridges
were jumping into the rifle barrels menacing
him. Headlong he dived into the mass of Red
Bones just behind. And the next bullets dart
ing after him killed the savages, leaving him
unharmed.
The command of McKay and the crack of
the rifles sent the quivering Mayorunas into
the fight. In a flash every masking tunnel
cover was thrown bodily into the air. Before
the thunderstruck Red Bones had recovered
from the shock of finding their gun-armed
leaders annihilated and their mass being swept
by swift-shooting rifles hidden hi the walls,
they beheld a horde of vindictive foes erupting
from under those walls like warrior ants rushing
from subterranean galleries. A blood-chilling
yell of concentrated fury smote their ears; a
hastily loosed storm of war arrows and short
throwing-spears ripped into their flesh; a swift-
running arc of light-skinned men swerved around
them, shooting and stabbing as they went.
They, who had so exultantly surrounded the
310 THE PATHLESS TEAIL
homes of women and children, now were sur
rounded in turn.
From the doorway of Monitaya's maloca the
two Brazilians and Jose* now leaped forth and,
firing as they ran, dashed to hold the entrance
of the other big house. A few arrows whirred
around them during their transit, but the
shafts were shot hurriedly and missed. Mean
while the three bushmen were striking down
enemies at every flash of their guns, firing with
the swift surety of veterans of many a running
fight. They reached their objective unwounded;
and when they reached it a fringe of dead foes
marked their passage along the face of the hostile
array. Once within the door, they rapidly
reloaded and sprayed lead along the trenches,
which, though now nearly full, had become a
dead-line past which no Red Bone sought to go.
Up on the earth embankments within the
chief's house the four Americans fought steadily
on; the soldiers shooting as coolly as if engaged
merely in rapid-fire target practice, the silent
Rand methodically driving arrows in swift suc
cession from his wall-slit. Arrows thudded
thickly into the logs masking them. Bullets,
too, slammed into their rampart bullets from
the heavy revolvers of Schwandorf, who, ever
keeping himself protected by the bodies of his
cannibal allies, shot with both hands as the chance
came. And the German could shoot. With
only the small gun muzzles as targets, he planted
THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 311
bullets so close as to knock dirt more than once
into the eyes of the riflemen and render them
momentarily useless. After a time he got a
bullet fair into a loophole.
Knowlton grunted suddenly, swayed back,
toppled, fell down the parapet. For a few
seconds he lay still.
"Looey!" howled Tim. "How ye fixed? Hurt
bad?"
The lieutenant heaved himself into a sitting
position, stared around, clapped a hand to his
right shoulder, looked at the red smear his palm
brought away, reeled up, and scrambled back
to his rifle. Schwandorf's bullet had drilled clear
through the shoulder, and in falling his head had
struck one of the upright poles. Without a word
he got his gun into action once more, shooting
now from the left shoulder. Tim, with a tight
grin of relief, devoted himself once more to trying
to shoot down the dodging German.
The encircling Mayorunas, their first paroxysm
of fury vented, now settled in cold hate to their
work. On all sides their clubmen and spearmen
were bludgeoning and stabbing at the close-
packed Red Bones, leaping in, killing, springing
back and onward with terrible efficiency. Be
yond these a thin but deadly line of bowmen
poured arrows in high-looping curves over the
heads of the hand-to-hand combatants, the shafts
whizzing far up, turning, and plunging down
unerringly into the center of the enemy force.
312 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Each of those arrows could, and many did, end
the lives of two or three adversaries by gouging
their skins and letting the fearful wurali into their
blood. The blowgun men too were darting into
every opening, handling their clumsy weapons
like feathers and constantly moving to spy out
fresh targets.
But the men of Monitaya were by no means
escaping unscathed. The Red Bones, assailed
from every quarter and milling about in hopeless
disorder, were fighting now with desperate
frenzy. Their own clubbers and stabbers were
charging out and smashing skulls or piercing ab
domens, their arrows rose in all directions at
once, and some into whose veins the wurali had
struck sprang in the last moments of life on near
by foes and bit like mad dogs. With a leader
and a chance to form into any sort of flying wedge
they might have broken through with compara
tive ease and taken a far heavier toll. But they
had no leader: for Umanuh, whose name meant
"corpse," now was a corpse in truth, his merciless
brain oozing from a skull shattered by a Mayo-
runa clubman; and Schwandorf was very busy
looking out for Schwandorf. So it was every man
for himself, with the devil rapidly taking not
only the hindmost, but the foremost as well. .
^ Thicker and thicker fell the dead. The
trenches now not only were filled to the level of
the ground, but piled with a windrow of bullet-torn
bodies knocked down by the ever-spitting rifles
THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 313
Jose", Pedro, and Lourengo abandoned all shelter
and knelt in plain sight before the door which
they had kept clear of all close attack. Moni-
taya, until now a field general who strode up and
down roaring commands and encouragement,
suddenly cast away his regal role and, seizing a
club from one of his bodyguard, hurled himself on
the nearest Red Bones a raving, ravening
demon of destructiveness whose glaring eyes
smote terror into those fronting him and whose
weapon swung like the club of Hercules. His
bowmen and blowgun men, at last out of mis
siles, came charging in with bare hands or
weapons seized from fallen warriors. Maneuver
ing had ended. Henceforth the fight was a grap
pling mel^e.
Then the gunfire dwindled and died. The rule
cartridges were spent.
CHAPTER XXV. THE PASSING OF
SCHWANDORF
THE three soldiers flung down their hot,
empty guns.
"Nothin' left but the gats and the
steel," rumbled Tim. "Me, I'm goin' out and
git some fresh air."
With which he drew pistol and machete,
leaped down, and lunged through the door.
McKay bounded at his heels.
"Merry! Rand! Stay here!" he commanded.
Then he was outside, his pistol roaring in uni
son with Tim's.
Knowlton and Rand looked at each other.
The lieutenant fumbled his pistol from its holster,
got it firmly hi his left hand, slid down the em
bankment, and staggered out. Rand coolly
walked over to Tun's discarded gun, picked it
up, and followed.
Over at the other doorway the bushmen threw
aside their useless guns and drew their machetes.
Jose, grinning like a death's-head, whirled the
bush knife aloft and mockingly dared the Red
Bones still fronting him to come and take it from
him. Pedro and Lourengo indulged in no such
bravado, but leaped like jaguars at their foes.
Whereupon Jose*, muttering a curse on them for
THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 315
getting the jump on him, dashed forward with
furious abandon.
Their pistols emptied, the Americans also drew
machetes all except Rand, who had no weapon
but the bulletless rifle and waited. Few un-
wounded Red Bones now were left; but among
those few Schwandorf still lived.
"Schwandorf !" bellowed McKay. "You yel
low cur you Schweinhund! Come and fight!"
"Yeah!" taunted Tim. "The women and
kids are inside. Come and git 'em!"
Schwandorf came. He came not because he
wanted to, however, for his guns, too, were
empty. He came because the Red Bones, sens
ing the challenge and loathing the Blackbeard
who had shielded himself so long among them,
threw him out bodily. They had no tune to
stand and watch what might happen to him,
but they took time to cast him out where he
must stand on his own legs. Then, snarling, they
resumed their now hopeless battle against their
encompassing executioners.
For a moment the German stood glowering at
McKay. Then, with a dramatic gesture, he
threw aside his useless revolvers and advanced
empty handed.
"Man to man?" he growled.
"Man to man!" echoed McKay, passing his
pistol to Tim and sheathing his machete. Fists
clenched, he sprang forward.
Schwandorf halted. His hands remained
316 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
empty until the captain was within eight feet
of him. Then he leaped back, his machete
jumped into his fist, and its point stabbed for
his antagonist's abdomen.
An instantaneous side-step and twist of the
body saved the captain from evisceration. The
blade ripped through breeches and shirt and
scraped the skin. As Schwandorf yanked it
back for another thrust McKay struck it away
with one hand and, without drawing his own
steel, jumped again at his assailant. An instant
later the two blackboards were clenched in a
death grapple.
Schwandorf found his long knife useless and
dropped it. He strove for a back-breaking hold,
but found it blocked. McKay, though an indif
ferent swordsman, was a formidable wrestler
and fist fighter, and the German's advantage
in weight was more than offset by the Ameri
can's quickness and wiry strength. Science was
thrown to the winds. A heaving, choking,
wrenching man -fight it was, stumbling over
bodies, each straining every muscle, trying every
hold to twist and break the other and batter
him down to death.
Smashing fist blows brought blood dripping
from their faces. Bone-wringing grips forced
gasps from their lungs and superhuman spasms
of resistance from their outraged nerve centers.
They fell across a corpse, rolled on the ground,
throttled, kicked, struck, and tore. Finally, hi
THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 317
a furious outburst of energy, the American
fought his enemy down under him, clamped his
body with iron knees, and crashed a terrific
punch squarely between the German's glaring
eyes. Schwandorf went limp.
At that instant a backward eddy of the battle
surged over the pair. The maniacal Red Bones,
fighting to the last bitter drop of doom, found
two white men under their feet. Screeching,
snarling, they fell on them like wild beasts, tearing
with tooth and nail. Their arrows were gone,
their darts exhausted, and no spearman was
among them; they fought with nature's weapons,
while above them one lone clubman struggled
to swing down his lethal bludgeon without
killing his fellows.
McKay, wrenching his machete loose and
gripping it with both hands, got its point upward
and jabbed blindly at the weight of flesh bearing
him down. Faintly to his ears came yells of
rage and the impact of blows the battle roars
of Tim and Knowlton, who with their machetes
were cleaving a way to their captain. But the
beastly demons over him still crushed him down
on Schwandorf, smothering him under the bur
den of bodies dead and alive. His stabs grew
weak. Exhaustion and lack of air were killing
him more surely than the savages.
Pedro, Lourengo, Jose" and the inexplicable
Rand came slashing and clubbing a path of their
own to the beleaguered Scot the Brazilians
318 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
cutting straight ahead with deadly surety, the
painted Peruvian chopping and thrusting with
a fixed grin, Rand swinging the gun butt down
on head after head. From still another direction
Yuara and his satellite came boring in with
spears snatched from dead hands. The three
rescue parties reached the squirming heap at
almost the same moment. But Yuara was the
one whose arrival counted most.
In one last convulsive struggle McKay heaved
himself up until he was once more on his knees.
His head came out of the welter, his mouth
wide and gulping for breath. The lone clubman
grunted, swung his weapon high, and with all
the power of his muscular body drove it down
at that upturned, unprotected face.
With a mighty plunge Yuara threw himself
over the captain. His spear sank into the
stomach of the clubman. But the heavy wooden
war hammer fell with crushing force. As the
Red Bone collapsed with the spear head buried
in his middle, his slayer also dropped under that
terrible stroke with head mangled beyond recog
nition.
Yuara, son of Rana, warrior of Suba, who
owed his life to McKay's rough surgery, had
paid his debt.
Under the impact of his body McKay also
slumped forward, senseless.
Over them now burst the bloodiest berserk
battle of that bloody day. The soldiers, the
THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 319
bushmen, and the reclaimed Raposa, already
smeared from head to foot with red stains from
their own veins and those of foemen, went stark
mad. Before their united ferocity the men of
Umanuh dropped as if rolled under by an inex
orable machine of war. Backward they reeled,
striving now to escape the red wall of cold steel
surging at them only to fall under a fresh
attack of ravening Mayorunas who came pouring
in upon them from the sides. The last of the
group lurched headless to the ground under a
decapitating side-swing from the awful club of
Monitaya himself.
Then Knowlton, his lifeblood still draining
slowly but surely away through his wounded
shoulder, pitched on his face and was still.
"Back!" gasped Tun. "Git looey and cap
out o' this! Here, you Raposy! Lend a hand!"
The Raposa, his green eyes ablaze and his
obdurate calmness totally gone, glared around
as if seeking one more Red Bone to kill. Then,
as Tun heaved the lieutenant across his shoul
ders and went lunging across contorted bodies
toward the malocas, he ran back to the heap
where McKay lay and dug him clear. Lourengo
aided him in lifting the captain, and they bore
him off after Knowlton.
Pedro and Jose shoved the other bodies aside
until they uncovered the prone figure of Schwan-
dorf a ghastly form dyed from hair to heels
with the blood of the cannibals whom he had led
320 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
there. To all appearances he was dead. Yet
the Brazilian and the Peruvian looked keenly
at him, then at each other.
"There is a saying, is there not, that the devil
takes care of his own?" grinned Jose. "It would
be sad if this man should yet live and escape.
See! What is that tall Red Bone doing over
yonder?"
Pedro followed his pointing finger. He saw
no such Red Bone as Jos6 had mentioned. But
when he looked back at Schwandorf he noticed
something that made him glance quickly at
Jose once more.
"Ah yes, Senor Schwandorf is truly dead,"
the Peruvian added, wiping his machete carelessly
on one bare leg. "Whether or not the devil
takes care of his own, as I was saying, there is
no doubt that el Aleman now is with the devil.
So, since we can do nothing for him, let us look
after the two North American senores."
Pedro, with a grim smile, turned with him
toward the tribal houses. There was nothing
else for them to do, for the Mayorunas now were
dispatching the last survivors of the attacking
force. Before the pair entered the low doorway
a long, triumphant yell burst from the hoarse
throats of the men of Monitaya. Of all the Red
Bones who had swept in such ghoulish glee into
that clearing not one now remained alive.
At that shout of victory and the entrance
of the men to whose precautions and prowess
THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 321
they owed so much, the women flocked again
into the center of the maloca and the children
dived out through the tunnels to behold the
battlefield. Though bullets and arrows had
come through the doorway, those inside had
escaped all injury by hugging the protective
earth embankment or taking refuge in the vacant
shafts under the walls. Now the older women,
experienced in treatment of wounds, busied
themselves with the white warriors, while the
younger ones fetched water and pieces of isca
a natural styptic made by ants or made up
pads of poultices of healing herbs.
Tim, who had expected to play surgeon with
his crude knowledge of first aid, found himself
not only relieved of his job, but being bathed
and plastered with the others. He, Jose", Pedro,
Lourengo, and even Rand were gashed by thrusts
from broken spear hafts, bleeding from open
bites, ripped by glancing sweeps of tooth-set
clubs, bruised by fierce blows minor injuries
all, but such as might easily have resulted in
blood poisoning unless given prompt attention.
Later on they were to be thankful for those
ministrations, but now they tolerated them
only because they could do nothing for the
captain and the lieutenant.
McKay and Knowlton were under the direct
and capable treatment of the wives of the great
chief. Of the two McKay looked by far the
worse, but actually was in much better condi-
322 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
tion. From the waist up he was clawed, bitten,
and bruised so badly that he was a fearsome
spectacle; his left arm was dislocated, three fin
gers of his right hand were broken, and his muscles
were so wrenched that for a week afterward he
moved like a cripple; but his present uncon
sciousness was largely due to exhaustion and
partial asphyxiation. Knowlton, whose skin
was comparatively unmarked, but whose veins
had continued to pour vital fluid from his gaping
bullet wound during his stubborn fight, now was
badly weakened. But whatever could be done
for him was being done, and the others could
only stand by.
The women not engaged in caring for the
fighting visitors soon found themselves busy
with their own male relatives, who came stum
bling hi by themselves or were carried by others.
The Red Bones, though finally annihilated, had
made then* mark in the Mayoruna tribe. At
that moment thirty-six of Monitaya's warriors
lay dead among the bodies of their enemies,
and before the next sunrise several more passed
on to join the spirits of their comrades in arms.
Yet all who survived, though some were crippled
for life, thought only of the victory and gloated
on their scars of combat. As for those who had
fallen, they were dead, had died as Mayorunas
should, and so needed no sympathy or regret.
Even now their bodies were being collected for
immediate transportation into the forest, where,
THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 323
in accordance with the tribal custom, they would
be burned.
Some of the men who brought in the wounded
men continued on to the bushmen and, in signifi
cant sign manual, requested a loan of their
machetes. Having received them, they hastened
out to join those who, equipped with hardwood
knives, were gathering the sinister trophies of
triumph before heaving the dead Red Bones out
to the waiting vultures.
"Urrrgh!" growled Tun. "'Twas a lovely
scrap, but I wisht I was somewheres else, now
it's over. While ye was away they brought in
the fists and feet o' some guy they caught in a
trap"
"We know," nodded Pedro.
"Yeah. Wai, I s'pose we got to look pleasant.
Dog eat dog, as the feller says. Long as some
body has to git et, I'm glad it ain't us." Where
with he turned to the Raposa and changed the
subject. "Raposy, old sport, ye sure done some
good work, for a crazy guy. I'll tell the world
ye cracked heads like a Bowery cop full o' boot
leg booze."
The Raposa's geeen eyes glimmered. In fact,
they almost twinkled. And for the second tune
the wild man spoke.
"I am not crazy."
"Huh? My gosh! Ye spoke four whole
words! That makes six in a week. Be careful,
feller, or ye'll strain yerself. And as far 's bein'
324
crazy's concerned, don't let it worry ye none.
We're all crazy, too, or we wouldn't be here."
Under cover of his banter the veteran eyed
the other sharply. As he turned his gaze aside
to the moving figures about him he thought:
"Begorry! he don't look like a nut, at that.
Mebbe somethin's unscrambled his brains again.
Here's hopin', anyways."
The big tribe house now was full of life. Small
groups of warriors, their hurts dressed with
primitive poultices, gathered around the ham
mocks of those more seriously injured and dis
cussed the battle. Others came in bearing arm-
fuls of severed Red Bone hands and feet, which
were distributed among the family triangles.
The women, their remedial work done, now
turned to the clay cooking vessels, freshened the
fires, stripped the flesh of their enemies from the
bones, and set it to boil. Among the hammocks
moved the subchiefs, their eyes still shining with
the light of battle, examining the wounded men
and glancing at the preparations for the dire
feast to come.
Over all drifted a steadily thickening smoke
which rolled up and out through the vent in the
peak of the roof, where the setting sun smote
it with rays of gleaming red. Around the
maloca gleamed the red light of the cooking
fires among whose burning fagots bubbled the
red pots and pans. Red men and women passing
about hi a crimson setting the scene formed a
THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 325
fitting end to the reddest day in the unwritten
records of the tribe, who since noon had proved
themselves worthy champions of the ancient god
whose name they never had heard, but who
nevertheless ruled their lives the red god Mars.
Monitaya himself, head high and chest swelling
with pride, now came striding lithely in, followed
by a young warrior carrying something. He
stopped between the hammocks of McKay and
Knowlton, studied their faces gravely, listened
as his wives told of what had been done. At
almost the same moment the eyes of the pair
slowly opened and stared up at him.
The face of the great chief melted in one of
its transforming smiles. The captain and the
lieutenant grinned pluckily back. With a nod
of silent comradeship the big savage turned to
his own hammock and sat down. Two of his
women built up the royal fire and fell to work
on the things handed over by the young warrior.
Tun and his mates took one squint at what they
were doing. Then they moved between the fire
and the two officers, blocking the view.
"'Bout time ye woke up and listened to the
birdies," Tim chaffed. "Fight's over, and we
been hangin' round waitin' for ye to quit snorin'
so's we could hear ourselves think. Lay still,
now! Ye're all plastered up nice and comfy
and don't preach to me no more about the girls.
Ye had every dang one o' the big chief's wives
hangin' over ye and kissin' ye so hard it sounded
328 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
like a machine gun. Ain't that right, fellers?
Me, I'm so jealous I could bite the both of ye."
"Schwandorf dead?" hoarsely queried McKay.
"Huh? Oh, him? Sure. Ye fixed him right,
Cap. The pretty liT blackbirds has flew away
with him by now. Say, ye mind that feller
Yuarry? Know what he done? Wai "
And while he talked, behind his back the
wives of Monitaya completed their task and
dropped into the great chief's stewpot the flesh
of the black-bearded slaver and slayer who would
menace them no more.
CHAPTER XXVI. PARTNERS
SEVEN men squatted around a camp fire on
the river bank. Beyond them, half revealed
by the flickering light of the flames, rose
the poles of a tambo wherein empty hammocks
hung waiting. At the edge of the water lay two
canoes.
Five of the men wore the habiliments of
civilized beings, though their shirts and breeches
were so tattered and stained that a civilized
community would have looked askance at them.
The other two were nude as savages, but their
beards and tanned skins were those of white
men. Beards of varying length seemed, in fact,
to be the fashion, for everyone present wore
one, and all but two were very dark. Of the
odd pair, one's thin face was partly covered by
stubby, blond hair, while the other's jaw was
masked by a growth of unmistakable red.
Lifting their cigarettes, the blond man and
a tall, eagle-faced comrade moved their arms
stiffly, as if still hampered by injuries. Newly
healed scars showed on the skins of the rest.
"Injuns are a funny lot," declared the red-
haired one. "There's Monitaya, now. Keeps
us a couple weeks, doctors us half to death,
feeds us till we gag, gives us new canoes, sends
a platoon o' hard guys with us to see that we
328 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
git to the river safe and don't even say good-by.
No handshake, no 'Good luck, fellers' jest a
grin like we was goin' to walk round the house
and come right back. And the lads that come
out with us done the same turned round and
quit us without a word. I bet if we lived amongst
'em long we'd git to be dummies, too."
For a moment there was silence. For no
apparent reason all glanced at one of the naked
men, on whose skin faintly showed reddish
streaks.
"You would," he said.
"Huh! Gee! Rand's talkin' again! First
tune since we licked them Red Boneheads. Two
whole words. Go easy, feller, easy!"
? " I will be easy. But it's tune I talked. lam
not dumb. I am not crazy."
The green-eyed man spoke slowly, as if form
ing each word in his mind before pronouncing it.
The rest squatted with eyes riveted on his face.
"I have not talked before because I had to
find myself. I had to hear English spoken and
become used to it. I had to put things together
in my mind. Even now some things are not
clear. But I can talk and make sense of my
talk. I will tell what I can remember. First
tell me one thing. McKay, am I a murderer?"
"A murderer? You? If you are we never
heard of it."
"A man named Schmidt. Gustav Schmidt.
German merchant at Manaos."
PARTNERS 329
"Gustav~ Schmidt? Piggy little runt, bald
and fat, with a scar across his chin?"
"Yes.'?
"He's dead, but you didn't kill him. He was
shot a little while ago by a young Brazilian for
getting too intimate with the young fellow's wife.
We heard about it while we were in Manaos, and
saw his picture. What about him?"
"I thought I killed him. I struck him with a
bottle. I was told he was dead. How long have
I been here?"
"You left the States in 1915. It is now 1920."
"Five years? My God! What has happened
in that time? Is my mother well?"
The others looked pityingly at him. Slowly
Knowlton spoke.
"Your mother died two years ago from heart
trouble. Your uncle, Philip Dawson, also is
dead."
Rand's jaw set. The others shifted their
gaze and busied themselves with making new
cigarettes, spending much tune over the simple
task.
"Poor mother!" Rand said, huskily. "Uncle
Phil he was a good old scout. And I was here
buried alive only half alive! My head
Tell me, what happened on the night before you
dressed my lame foot? I remember clearly
everything from the time I woke in the canoe
before daylight that morning. Before that
there is a blur."
330 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Knowlton sketched the events of that night,
and told also of the glimpse which he and Pedro
had caught of the "wild man" while waiting
outside the house of the Red Bone chief. A
flash lit up Rand's face.
"So that is how I got my sore head. You
struck me with your rifle butt. That explains
much. Before I became a wild beast I was shot
in the head. The bullet did not go through the
skull. It struck me a terrible blow on the
crown. When I recovered consciousness I was
not myself. I have never been the same
until"
"Gee cripes!" exploded Tim. "That's it.
I seen that same thing up home. Bug Sullivan,
it was. When he was a li'l' feller he tumbled
downstairs and hit his head, and for 'most ten
years he was foolish. Then a brick fell off a
buildin' and landed on his bean. It knocked him
for a gool, but when he come out of it he was
bright as a new dime. Looey, when ye busted
Rand with yer gun ye jarred some thin' loose
inside, and now he's good as any of us."
"By George! You're right!" cried the lieu
tenant. "Things like that do happen. I've
heard of them. Haven't you, Rod?"
McKay nodded.
"That is it," affirmed the Raposa. "I have
not been insane. But much was gone from me.
My mind was a house full of closed doors which
I could not open. I knew who I was and why
PARTNERS 331
I was here, but I knew also that something had
happened to my brain; knew I was defective;
believed I was wanted for murder. So I could
not go out. I could only stay here, prowl the
jungle, live the jungle life.
"Now that the closed doors have opened
again, others have swung shut. I cannot remem
ber much of my wild-beast life here. Some
things are clear. Too clear. Torturings and
horrible feasts. Perhaps I should be grateful
that some things are forgotten.
"But now my life up to the time I was shot
is plain again. I talked with a man who had
traveled the Amazon and the Andes. I never
had seen either, and I was ripe for something
new. A steamer was just sailing south, and I
got aboard in a' hurry. No baggage but a suit
case and five thousand dollars. I had traveled
a good deal Europe, Canada, Japan and
always found that plenty of money was all a
man needed. Thought it was the same way
here. I've learned better.
"I visited Rio a few hours and then came
up along the coast and inland. At Manaos I
got into trouble. Went ashore and got to drink
ing with two Germans. One of them Schmidt
grew ugly and said a lot of rotten things about
the States. Tell me something, men is the
war over and did our country get into it?"
"It is, and it did." And Knowlton outlined
the epochal occurrences of the world conflict.
332 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"And I missed that, too!" mourned Rand.
"But I started a war of my own down here,
anyway. When I quit seeing red I had a bottle
neck in my hand and both the Germans were
down. Somebody said Schmidt was dead. A
couple of men tried to grab me. I fought my
way clear, hid awhile, got back on the boat
without being noticed, and paid one of the crew
well to hide me in the hold and feed me. Nearly
died from heat and suffocation down there, but
lived to reach Iquitos, where my man smuggled
me ashore. I thought I was safe there. But
before I could make a move to travel on I fell
into the hands of that cursed Schwandorf."
"Schwandorf!"
"Sehwandorf. He was in Iquitos. The sailor
who hid me must have sold me out to him.
Schwandorf told me he was a police officer in
Brazilian employ. Said he would take me back
to stand trial for murdering Schmidt. The
dirty blackmailer took all my money to keep
his mouth shut and take me to a 'safe place.'
The safe place was up this river. I came up here
with him in a canoe paddled by some tough
Peruvians. Then he began trying to bully me
into doing dirty work for him running women
into Peru. I saw red again and jumped for him.
He gave me that bullet on the head.
"After that things are badly blurred. I found
myself among savages. How I got there, why I
wasn't killed, I don't know. Schwandorf was
PARTNERS 333
there awhile. Then he went away with his
gang, leaving me very sure of only one thing
I was a murderer and would be executed if
caught. And well, that's about all, except
that the savages seemed rather afraid of me and
didn't want me around."
There was another silence. Then Lourengo
remarked:
"Between Schmidt and Schwandorf you have
suffered much. It is possible that there was a
connection of some sort between them. But
neither can ever trouble you again. I do not
see why Schwandorf took the trouble even to
put you among the Red Bones. One more
bullet would have ended you."
"Any ideas on that subject, Jose*?" asked
McKay.
"Only a guess, Capitan. I was not here five
years ago, and I knew nothing of Schwandorf
then. But I know he always schemed for his
own good and overlooked no chances. So
perhaps, rinding this man not dead, but darkened
in mind by his bullet, he thought he might be
able to use him in some way at some future time.
A dead man is not useful to anyone. If this
man should never become valuable he could
live and die forgotten among savages, where
he could do Schwandorf no harm. If worth
something he could be found again."
"Cold-blooded Prussian efficiency," nodded
McKay. Then he spoke directly to Rand.
334 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
"Since you're mentally sound," he went on,
"we may as well tell you how you happen to
be among us. We three Merry, Tim, and I
came here to find you. The settlement of the
Dawson estate hinges on you."
"On me? How? I've no claim to it. Paul
Dawson, Uncle Phil's son "
"Is dead, too. Killed in action hi the Argonne.
You're next in line."
McKay watched him keenly. So did Knowl-
ton. The half-expected jubilance did not come.
"So Paul's gone," was Rand's reply. "Hard
luck. Suppose I hadn't been found then
what?"
"In due time the money would go to a school.
Boys' school."
"Orphans? Blind? Cripples?"
"Hardly." McKay's mouth curved sardon
ically. He named a preparatory school of the
"exclusive" type. Rand's mouth also twisted.
"That hotbed of snobbery? That twin sister
to a society girls' finishing school? Might have
known it, though. Uncle Phil was fond of the
sort of education that doesn't educate. I'm
glad you fellows found me. I'll go home and
collect every red cent, just to keep it out of the
hands of the supercilious bunch of bishops that
run that sissy-spawner."
Knowlton chuckled appreciatively.
"It's not the sort of school that breeds he-
men, for a fact," he agreed. "But you don't
PARTNERS 335
seem much enthused over having a couple of
millions dropped into your lap."
Rand sat still. His face remained cheerless,
impassive.
"What is money?" he said, presently. "I've
always had plenty of it. What's it done for
me? When you have it you can't tell whether
people are friends to you or only friends to your
money. It makes you cynical, suspicious.
What's worse, you depend too much on it. You
think it will do everything. Then if you land
in a place where it's no good and you haven't
got it, anyway, you're up against it a good deal
harder than the fellow who never had it but
knows how to handle himself without it."
"True for ye," Tun concurred, heartily. "All
the same, I bet ye'll change yer tune after ye
git home."
"Will I?" The green eyes impaled him.
"Maybe. But I don't think so. I've had my
run at blowing in money on myself alone. Now
I'm going to blow some on other folks. I missed
out on the war, but There must be quite a
few of our fellows lamed and crippled by that
war. And I'll gamble that the government
isn't treating them all like princes. I know
something about governments."
"Princes? Say, feller, there's many a dog
that's took better care of than some of our boys
back home!"
"So I thought. The income from a couple
336 THE PATHLESS TRAIL
of millions, along with some of the principal,
will do a lot of good if used right. And "
His eyes turned to the three bushmen.
"Do not look at us hi that way," said Lou-
rengo, reading his thought. "We can make all
the money we need, and we came with the
capitao and his comrades only because we
wanted excitement. Use your money for the
crippled men who need it."
"And Jose Martinez also is well able to pro
vide for his wants," coolly added the other naked
man. "I am here only to settle old scores, and
now they are settled. Each man is goaded by
his own spur money, wine, women, excitement,
revenge. Money is not mine."
He yawned, arose, stretched like a cat, and
stepped toward his hammock. The two Bra
zilians also moved toward the tambo. The others
stood a moment longer beside the fire.
"Well, since we three didn't come here because
of wine, women, or revenge," Knowlton said,
whimsically, "it must have been for money and
excitement. Don't know which was the stronger
lure, but if we could have only one of the two
I think we'd let the money slide. How about it,
Rod?"
"Right! And, Rand, let me say this: Before
we knew you we had an impression that you
were more or less of a worthless pup. We've
changed our ideas. If you ever go broke and
want to hit a trail into some new place to make
PARTNERS 337
a strike of your own, and you need partners,
let us know."
And he held out his hand.
The naked millionaire took it. For the first
tune a faint smile lightened his face.
"I'll do that, partners!" he promised.
"Yeah! That's the word. Pardners! Only,
liT Timmy Ryan bucks at ever travelin' back
into this here, now, Ja-va-ree jungle. I got
enough of it. Right now I'm homesick."
"So say we all," affirmed Knowlton. "Now
let's turn in."
But Tim stood a little longer looking out at
the moonlit river and the two waiting canoes.
His gaze roved along the stream, northward.
He lifted his head, opened his mouth, expanded
his lungs, and then the astounded denizens of
forest and stream cut short their discordant
concert to listen to something they never bad
heard before and never would hear again a
great voice thundering a censored version of a
North American army song.
"Home, boys, home! Home we want to be!
Home, boys, home, in God's countree!
We'll raise 01' Glory to the top o' the pole
And we'll all come back not a dog-gone soul!"
THE END
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