by Hugh Lloyd
For a little while after that, Hal began to think of food and water. Hehad had neither since luncheon and, for a healthy young man with hisappetite, that was a fearful length of time to go without nourishment.But that too seemed an after consideration in the face of the presentpall that hung over that strange little jungle camp.
Hal reached out and taking Rodriguez’ hand felt of his pulse. He knewlittle about such things, yet enough to realize that the pilot’s pulsebeats were anything but normal. At times he could barely distinguish anypulsation at all. Moreover, the fellow’s hand felt cold and clammy inhis own.
When he went to relinquish his hold, Rodriguez showed some resistance.He held feebly to Hal’s warm, strong hand and smiled.
“I feel not so cold, Señor,” he explained hesitantly. “It’s....” heseemed too weak to say more.
“You mean it makes you feel better and warmer for me to hold on to yourhands?” Hal asked him solicitously.
Rodriguez nodded.
“All right, fellow. Here, give me the other one—I’ll rub them, huh?We’ll have a little holding hands party.” Hal chuckled, trying not tosee the questioning, poignant look in the pilot’s eyes.
He went to sleep again this way, but Hal kept hold of both his hands,pressing them with his own at intervals. It gave him a peculiarsensation, this maternal gesture on his part, and if he had not felt soutterly sad about Rodriguez’ condition he would have been abashed at hisdisplay of tenderness.
The long hours crept by—a glimpse of full moon showed in a single silvermoonbeam through the trees. From the depths beyond the clearing came themournful sound of living things unseen. The weird plaint of the slothcame drifting down the breeze, tree frogs and crickets clacked andhummed with a monotony that was utterly depressing, and once the airshook with a thunderous concussion from some falling tree.
Hal started but it did not seem to bother the airman. He merely moved inhis torpor and muttered unintelligibly. After five minutes of this hespoke aloud, feebly yet clearly.
“It was for the _Cause_, Señor ... the _Cause_. Señor Goncalves he toodid it for the _Cause_. But ah, how it troubles me, Señor....”
“What troubles you, Rodriguez?” Hal asked, pressing gently down on hishand. “What are you talking about, fellow?”
The airman seemed not to hear, however, but went on muttering, sometimesaloud, sometimes not. Hal came to the conclusion that he was in a sortof delirium and realized that he ought to have water for the sufferingfellow. Suddenly he began talking again:
“Señor Goncalves he came to me and asked would I take the Señors, uncleand nephew, up for the _Cause_ ... for the _Cause_. I was to wear thechute—I was to escape, Señor ... escape, eh?” He laughed feebly,bitterly. “Ah, but I am punished ... punished. It is I who don’t escape,eh? I who would see two innocent Señors die for the _Cause_ ... now....”
There sounded then through that dark, breathless atmosphere a callsteeped in wretchedness and black despair—the wail of that lonely owl,known to bushmen as “the mother of the moon.” Hal had heard many timeswhen lost in the jungle of Panama what portent was in that cry, and hewas thinking of it then when Rodriguez raised his head with effort.
“Ah, Señor Hal!” he cried in a terrified whisper. “’Tis ‘the mother ofthe moon’ and evil to me, for I have heard it. Ah, Señor....”
“Lie back, old fellow,” Hal soothed him. “Now there, calm down! I’veheard about Old Wise Eyes too, but you don’t think I believe it, do you?Back in the good old U. S. we’d call that hokum pure and simple. Nothingto it. It’s just an old owl hooting his blooming head off because hehasn’t the brains to do anything else. In other words he’s yelling_whoopee_ in Portuguese or Brazilian or whatever you spiggotty downhere. I bet you haven’t understood a word of what I said? No? Well, Idon’t blame you exactly.”
“I have not much time, Señor. I am weak ... the owl she....”
“Now for the love of Pete, Rodriguez, forget it!” Hal said, scolding himgently. “It tires you too much to talk about such hokum. Lie still andif you can only hold out perhaps Señor Carmichael will get help to ussoon. He may have got a break and landed near some settlement.”
“Señor ... _Carmichael_?” asked the airman faintly.
“Sure,” Hal answered smiling, “that’s the fellow who went out in thechute—the fellow who came up with us. His name’s Carmichael. Oh say, Ialmost forgot, Rodriguez—of course you wouldn’t understand—Carmichaeland I were only fooling you about him being my uncle. My real unclecouldn’t come—he backed out at the last minute. I met Carmichael at thefield just before you came along. Understand?”
Rodriguez did understand—only too well. His ghastly face looked moreghastly than ever. He pressed desperately on Hal’s warm hand and sighed.Suddenly he released his own right hand and from forehead to breastdevoutly made the sign of the cross.
“Señor Hal,” he gasped, “I am dying ... there is something I musttell....”
CHAPTER XII FOR THE “CAUSE”
“Aw, Rodriguez, you’re just feeling kind of low down, that’s all,” Halsoothed him. “In the morning you’ll be shipshape, you’ll see. Things arejust sort of looking black to you.”
“I am dying, Señor Hal!” Rodriguez repeated. “You must listen or I shallnot die peacefully!”
“Aw, all right, old top. If it eases you to tell me something, go ahead.But you’ll be as fit as a top in the morning. From what I know ofBrazil-nuts, they’re pretty darn hard to crack,” Hal added facetiously.
The ghost of a smile flickered about Rodriguez’ ashen lips but soon hewas grave again.
“I am for the _Cause_,” he said faintly; “I pledged my life, my honorfor the _Cause_ if need be, Señor.”
“You don’t mean the rebels?” Hal asked, taking a moment to replenish thefire.
“Ah, you call it that, Señor. To us it is the _Cause_. We wantfreedom—political.”
“That’s what all you birds say. But go on, Rodriguez.”
“Señor Goncalves he is a comrade of mine, Señor—a comrade in the_Cause_. And Señor Pizella....”
“Aha, we’re getting somewhere,” Hal interposed, taking a suddeninterest. “Pizella, huh, Rodriguez?”
“Yes, Señor. He was given command to follow your Señor uncle, for youwere suspect to what you call—thwart?... yes, thwart General Ceara’splans. The General he expect big munition shipment and your Señor unclehe was suspect to perhaps prevent the guns from coming. So Pizella hewas told to find out if Señor Keen had letter and what it say about whathe was going to do.”
“And it was Pizella who took that letter from my uncle when we weresleeping, huh?”
“Yes, Señor Hal. And that night when passengers are in saloon, Pizellahe takes letter to Señor Goncalves’ cabin and leaves it there for him todecipher. They work together—no, Señor?”
“I hope to tell you they do,” Hal said thoughtfully. “Just as Isuspected from the beginning, but Unk wouldn’t listen to anything aboutGoncalves. Yet he must have suspected something this afternoon ... butgo on, Rodriguez.”
“Señor Goncalves he find out from letter that your Señor uncle is ontrail of Ceara’s munition shipment—no? That Señor Goncalves is orderedby Ceara not to let happen. He must do anything, everything toprevent—yes? Señor Goncalves thinks one way—to invite your Señor uncleup in plane with me—the plane she is crippled over the jungle and whathappens—no?”
“Yes,” Hal answered grimly. “I see. It was all a hoax—a plot, huh? OnlyI was the fly in the ointment. To get Unk to fly, you people had to getme interested, but it fell out anyway. Unk has probably found outeverything from the interventor by now—I wouldn’t doubt but that they’reeven suspecting foul play with me already. But Goncalves, they’ll gethim....”
“Ah, if they can, Señor. But the Señor he was gone after noon today. Heis now with the General Ceara and they are traveling toward a safehiding place in the jungle.” Rodriguez
gasped at this juncture and laystill a long time because of his extremely weakened condition.
Hal looked at him, sympathizing, yet doubting. Suddenly he leaned overthe Brazilian.
“But why are you telling me all this, Rodriguez? Isn’t it against yourfamous _Cause_?”
“Ah, but yes,” answered the airman in such a whisper that Hal had tolisten intently. “But when one is dying ... one’s sins against one’sbrother man.... Señor Hal, my religion prompts this. My soul she wouldnever rest unless I asked your forgiveness.”
“Rodriguez, old scout, I still insist you’re not going to die, but if itmakes you get stronger, I’ll tell you that I have nothing in my hearttoward you but good will. What have you done to me? Oh, I know I _could_have been cracked up plenty, but the thing is, I’m not.”
“Not yet, not yet. But you are two hundred miles perhaps from white man,Señor. It is fever and jungle—no water, savage Indians before you getout. Señor Hal, you will die and I am the cause. I send you to it and itmakes me afraid to die.”
“Bosh, old egg,” Hal said with a cheerfulness that he did not quitefeel. “I’m a lean horse for a long race and, as I told you, I’ve beenlost in the jungle before. Of course not quite as serious as this—Ididn’t have a lot of bloodthirsty Indians to take into account. Still, Ican handle that when I come to it. Where there’s a will, huh? But say,let’s not talk of gloomy things—tell me how you managed to get thatplane crippled just at the crucial moment?”
“A powder, Señor, like sand,” he gasped. “She was poured into theoil—enough to make her grind up the engine in the hour—no?”
“I’ll say it would. Clever trick. A gritty substance, huh? Enough tocompletely disrupt the machinery. Well, it did all right. _And how!_ Andyou were supposed to try and save yourself as best you could with thechute, huh? Well, I’m sorry now we didn’t let you do it. You wouldn’t befeeling so rotten now. Carmichael’s the kind that can skim throughthings, I’m certain. I can’t believe he won’t get out.”
“It is my punishment, Señor, my religion she slaps back for thinking toomuch of the _Cause_ and not enough of human life ... _your life_!”
“As I told you before, Rodriguez, forget about me. I’m not holding itagainst you. I’m alive and kicking so far, and if I don’t keep it up,well, then I’m not as good a guy as I thought I was. I’ve got brains andthe Indians haven’t. Fever and water and ... well, I haven’t got themyet, but if I do, I’ll pull through.”
“And if not, Señor Hal, would you curse José Rodriguez?” asked theairman pathetically. “Would you curse me if the Indians....”
“Absolutely not, old top,” Hal assured him. “You thought you were doingright for the _Cause_—doing as you thought was right. Why should I getpeeved at _you_? Little Hal isn’t that way. Now rest yourself and forgetyour worries. You must be tired out after all that chatter. Close youreyes, old fellow.”
“I do not have the need, Señor Hal,” came the response. “Things arefading—even your face, your bright eyes. I can no longer see them. Theyare in a mist.”
Hal leaned forward, startled. Rodriguez’ hands were becoming colder,more limp, but he did not think it was so near. He could not believe iteven then ... he had never seen anything just like it, never witnessed adeath so calm, so apparently without effort.
Rodriguez must have sensed Hal’s thoughts, for he nodded his headfeebly.
“One bleeds to death without pain, Señor Hal,” he whispered. “Do notworry I am suffering. The world becomes dimmer but something else comesin its place—a light that is bright and makes me happy. Since you havesay you will not curse José Rodriguez I see it clear.”
Hal could not talk—he could only grasp tightly the limp, cold hands inhis own. But Rodriguez seemed to understand, for his features relaxed,and when the lonely owl again sent its despairing call through thesilent jungle night, he did not seem to start as before. His lips barelymoved, but Hal caught the words.
“‘Death to Thee who hears me,’ cries ‘the mother of the moon,’” he wassaying. “Death to me, Señor Hal; death to _you_! And when it comes,remember to say a prayer for the departed soul of José Rodriguez!”
Hal promised, choking back a tremor in his voice. Suddenly he heard astrange rustle in the tree opposite, and when he looked up, he saw aglassy pair of eyes staring down at them in the firelight. “The motherof the moon” had come to pay them a visit.
Hal shivered despite an effort to keep calm. The owl with its broad faceand strange, glassy eyes looked eerie as it sat perched upon theswinging limb above them. Then, after what seemed an interminable time,it flapped its wings and flew into the blackness beyond.
Hal was suddenly aware then that the pilot’s hands had ceased to returnhis pressure. They became colder, limp. A sepulchral silence seemed toenvelop the little camp in that moment; nothing stirred save the elfinbreeze that whispered in the tree tops.
José Rodriguez was dead.
CHAPTER XIII ALONE AND WAITING
Hal kept his fire going until the red glare of dawn forced its lightthrough the jungle mists. Gradually the awful gloom lifted and he wasable to take stock of his surroundings. Swamp, trees with creepers andclinging vines growing in the spaces between, and high overhead, a flockof _urubus_ (Amazonian vultures) circled in monotonous precision.
Hal rubbed his heavy-lidded eyes vigorously and shook his disheveled redhair back into place as best he could. The drone of the whirlingvultures just evident with the advent of dawn already annoyed him. Whatwould they be if help did not come before another premature twilight hadsettled over the forest? He dared not think of it.
He could not bring himself to the thought of a grave for Rodriguez inthe jungle. It seemed to be an admission that there was no hope forrescue. Yet there were the vultures waiting, waiting....
Mid-morning came and despite the grim presence of death, Hal feltsavagely hungry and thirsty. He had been careful about his cigarettes;there were six left. He selected one now and though in need of itssoothing reaction, he could not smoke it because of his empty stomach.And as a gesture of economy he pinched it out and replaced the stub inthe pack.
After a period of inactivity, he suddenly decided to leave his gruesomecharge for a few moments and go visit the scene of the wreck, just forsomething to do. It made him feel inexpressibly sad, however, for inviewing it he saw that two of the surrounding trees had burnedconsiderably and their charred trunks were sagging in such a way as tocause the foliage on the upper limbs to lean toward the foliage of theadjoining trees and thus screen off a good part of the clearing fromabove.
There was little left of the plane but the framework, and the crippledmotor was all but buried in the mire. Hal gave it but a hurried glanceand walked back to his little camp, steeped in despair. He couldn’t putdown the thought that Carmichael had not succeeded and that he need notexpect any help from that source.
He would not give in to those imps of discouragement within, but bravelykept his eyes on that chink of sky shining through the trees. Noon cameand was gone, the vultures had increased in number and Hal saw, withsinking heart, that they were getting bolder, flying lower and lower.
He gathered a quantity of dead leaves, all the foliage that he couldfind in the immediate neighborhood, and made a temporary bier for thedead airman. In lifting him over into it, he felt something hard andbulging in the back pocket of his trousers. Hal drew it out and saw tohis joy that it was a thirty-eight calibre revolver and seemed to befully loaded.
A further search of the young man’s pockets revealed nothing but somesmall change and the usual miscellaneous collection one is apt to find.Hal sighed with relief when the task was over and carefully put all hisfindings into Rodriguez’ helmet.
That done, he sat down and made a careful inspection of the gun. True tohis first hope, there wasn’t a chamber discharged and this discoverygave Hal pause, for it occurred to him that Rodriguez had had in hispossession a most effectual
weapon with which to make good his intentionof bailing out in the parachute. Why then had he not used it?
Hal came to the conclusion that it must have been because Rodriguez’character was a contradiction. Though he could participate in amurderous plot, when it came to carrying it out, he thought more of theeffect that it would have on his soul, than he did of his beloved_Cause_.
“Not a half bad scout at that, poor devil,” Hal summed it up. “How do Iknow what my behavior would be under a like condition? I certainlywouldn’t see innocent people crash to their deaths and keep an easyconscience.”
Hal pocketed his gun carefully and rambled about the neighborhood theremainder of the afternoon. Just before the gloom crept into theclearing he bethought himself of all the fantastic tales he had heard ofthe bounty of the Amazon jungle. Most of the stories gave one theimpression that food could be had by reaching out and plucking it fromthe fruit-laden trees. Never, he realized, was a condition moreexaggerated, for the primeval jungle in which he was lost had little ornothing to offer in the way of food.
He had found a few trees which seemed to offer some promise of allayinghis hunger, but after a few bites of the fruit he was forced to throw itdown in disgust. It was too bitter for human consumption. Other fruitwhich looked more palatable he was afraid to touch, fearing poisoningmight be the result.
And so just as the first shadows of the premature twilight stalked thejungle, Hal espied an _inambu_, or forest fowl, fluttering homeward forthe night. A well-timed shot, however, intercepted him and he fellstraight into the clearing.
