CHAPTER XIII.
THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE
Dawn came, dismal, damp, and chill. Moisture dripped drearily from theupper reaches, and under the dense canopy of leaves and limbs the gloomand the fog together made a murk wherein the early-rising bushmen werescarcely 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 andLourenco made up their packs, cording them roughly with bark-clothstrips brought from headquarters. The Americans, after eating a moresolid meal than the Brazilians seemed to require, also rolled theirblankets, hammocks, nets, and other paraphernalia; strapped the outfitsinto the army pack harnesses which they had transported for thousands ofmiles and never yet used; crammed their web belts with cartridges; slungtheir sheathed machetes down their left thighs; looked to their guns;and announced themselves ready to go.
While the northerners made these final preparations their guides slippedaway for a time. Pedro, on his return, announced that the canoes hadbeen concealed. Lourenco, bringing back the freshly filled canteens ofthe ex-army men, delivered with them the marching orders of the day.
"If you thirst, comrades, drink only from your canteens. If the canteensfail, never fill them from flowing water unless the Indians also drinkfrom the stream. There are always small pools to be found, and, thoughtheir water may be warm and stale, it is not likely to be poisoned, asthe streams may be.
"To-day, and every day after we meet the cannibals, make no suspiciousmoves. Do not speak harshly. Do not laugh or sneer at them. They areunreasoning and easily insulted, and lifelong foes when angered. Let medo the talking.
"Do not hold a gun in a threatening manner or draw pistols unless youmust 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 ifcat-eyed and cat-footed. Pedro swung nonchalantly after him. The othersfollowed in order, hitching at their backstraps.
The ghostly haze about them now was paler, but through the intersticesoverhead came no glint of sunshine, nor even the glow of a clear dawn.The whole sky evidently was overcast, and around the marching men thegloom still lay thick. Yet Lourenco's eyes seemed to bore through theshades and the dark shroud blurring the trunks, for his steady gait didnot falter. The little file hung close together, for all knew that anyman straggling would be instantly lost.
Worming around gigantic columns, crawling over rotting trunks long laidlow, changing direction abruptly when blocked by some great butt toohigh to be scaled, sinking ankle-deep in clinging mud, the venturesomeband wound along through the wilderness. Repeated glances at his compassshowed McKay that the general trend of the march was southeast; but theimpassable obstacles encountered at frequent intervals necessitated notonly detours, but sometimes actual back-tracking.
"Walk four miles to advance one," was his thought. And for some time itseemed that such was the case. But then the ground changed, the lightimproved, the trees thinned, and the undergrowth became more dense--and,paradoxically, the rate of progress improved.
This was because the smaller growth gave the two leaders a chance to cuttheir way straight onward instead of dodging about; and cut they did.Their machetes swung with untiring energy, opening a path through whatseemed an impenetrable tangle. Now every yard of movement was a yardgained. But the ground was rising and the struggle up some of the sharpslopes winded more than one man.
Then the slope dipped the other way, and they slipped down into a ravinewhere water gleamed darkly. Here a halt was called while the leaderssought for a fallen tree. Tim squatted and mopped his face for thehundredth time.
"Gosh! This is what I call travelin'!" he panted. "Flounderin' round inmud soup, bit to death by skeeters and them what-ye-call-'emflies--piums--sweatin' yerself bone dry and totin' forty thousandpounds, on yer back, not to mention hardware slung all over ye--thisain'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 tothe spot where the guides waited at the butt of a slanting tree trunkspanning the gulf. As they reached it Pedro walked carefully up thetrunk, carrying a long slender sapling, which he lowered and fixed inthe bottom of the stream. Then, steadying himself with the upper end ofthis pole, he continued his journey to the other side, where he flippedthe sapling back to Lourenco. One by one the others crossed, slipping,almost losing balance, but managing to evade a fall. Tim, walking theprecarious bridge and looking down, saw that the surface of the waterwas 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 aspossible."
"And you can find the appointed place by this new route?" The captain'stone was dubious.
"Certainly. Else I should go the other way. Come."
Up another bank they toiled, and on through rugged country which seemedmomentarily to become higher and harder to traverse. In the minds of theAmericans grew suspicion that, for the first time, the Brazilians werebluffing; it seemed impossible for any man to keep his sense ofdirection 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 floatingthrough 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 in this labyrinthine tangle and armedwith arrows whose slightest scratch meant death, could strike down everyman of this expedition without even a wound in return; for of what availwere high-power guns, automatic pistols, and machetes against invisibleenemies? Yet there was assurance in Lourenco's confident air, andreassurance in the thought that these tribemen would be unlikely toassail a band avowedly on its way to visit their chief.Besides--Knowlton smiled grimly--even if the Mayorunas hungered forhuman flesh it would be more economical of labor to let the meat travelto the slaughterhouse on its own legs than to kill it here and carry ithome.
Again the mutum whistle drifted away. Again no answer came. For a shortdistance farther the file continued its march. Then, in a small openingwhere the uptorn roots of a tree rose like a wall at one side, ithalted.
"The place of meeting," Pedro said. All peered around. None saw anythingbut the upstanding roots, the forest jumble, the misty serpentinelianas. None heard any sound but their own hoarse breathing, the solemndrip of water, the insect hum, and the occasional melancholy notes ofbirds. The place seemed bare of life. Yet upon McKay came again thatfeeling of being watched.
Slowly, deeply, Lourenco 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 behindhim. 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 thewilderness 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 thetree roots. Tall, straight, slender, symmetrically proportioned, withunblemished skin of light-bronze hue, straight black hair, and deep darkeyes, he was a splendid type of savage. Face and body were adorned withglossy paint--scarlet and black rings around the eyes, two red stripesfrom temple to chin, wavy lines on arms and chest. He held a bow longerthan himself, with a five-foot arrow fitted loosely to the string andpointed downward, but ready for instant use. Diagonally across his bodyran a cord supporting a quiver, from which the feathered shafts ofseveral arrows projected above his left shoulder. Around his waistlooped another cord from which dangled a small loin mat. Otherwise hewas totally nude--a bronze statue of freedom.
Lourenco spoke again in the same quiet tone. The savage stepped warily
forward. At the same moment three other naked men appeared with equalstealth from tree trunks which had seemed barren of all life. Like thefirst, each of these held an arrow ready, but pointing downward; andeach moved with the slow, velvety step of a hunting jaguar. Their eyessearched those of these strange men of another world who, wearinguseless clothing, carrying heavy weapons of steel, burdening themselveswith queer weights on their backs, now invaded the wilderness which theyand their fathers had roamed untrammeled for centuries. The invaders inturn studied the faces of the Mayorunas, of whom so many gruesome taleswere told. For long silent minutes primitive and civilized man probedeach other for signs of treachery--and found none.
Tim, forgetting the orders of the day, spoke out abruptly. At the gruffjar of his voice the wild men started and raised their weapons.
"Say, are those guys cannibals? I was lookin' to see some ugly muttswith underslung jaws and mops o' frizzy hair, like them Feejee Islandersye see pitchers of. Barrin' the paint, I've seen worse-lookin' fellersthan these back home."
With which he gave the savages a wide, unmistakably approving grin.
"Shut up!" muttered McKay.
Lourenco, unruffled, made instant capital of Tim's remarks.
"My comrade of the red hair," he said in the Indian tongue, "has neverbefore seen the mighty warriors of the Mayorunas, and is astonished tofind them such handsome men. He says his own countrymen are not so goodto look upon."
Slowly the menacing arrows sank. As the savages studied Tim's wholesomegrin and absorbed the broad flattery of Lourenco a slight smile passedover their faces. They stood more at ease. The whites sensed at oncethat, for a moment, at least, a friendly footing had been established,and relaxed from their own tension.
Once more Lourenco spoke, motioning toward the farther distances. TheIndian who had first appeared now replied briefly. Two of the othersstepped back to their trees and lifted long, hollow tubes.
"What's them?" demanded Tim.
"Blowguns," Pedro answered. "They use them for small or thin-skinnedgame. See, the two blowgun men carry also short darts in their quivers,and small pouches of poison."
"Uh-huh. They like their poison a dang sight better 'n I do. Say, arethem guys goin' to march behind us? I don't want no poison needlesslipped 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 moremarching and less mouth. You nearly spilled the beans just now, and ifLourenco hadn't said something that pleased these fellows we all mightbe in the soup this minute. Pipe down!"
"Aw, Looey, I only said these guys were good-lookin'. Ain't no fight inwords like that."
"You heard the orders this morning. Let Lourenco do the talking. Thatgoes! We're skating on thin ice--so thin that if it breaks we drop plumpinto 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 twoBrazilians. The whole line took up the step in turn and passed on intothe unknown.
Again McKay consulted his compass at intervals, finding that now theroute led more to the south, though there still was an easterly trend.After a time, however, the telltale needle informed him that they wereproceeding almost due east, and glances at the surroundings showed thaton their right was a densely matted mass of undergrowth. Not longafterward another interwoven brush wall blocked the way, and this timethe leader veered to the west. Not until an opening appeared did heresume his southward course. It dawned on McKay that the savages, havingno 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, duringwhich Lourenco talked with the guide, tapped his machete, and evidentlyprotested against needless detours. The leader, with a few words,pointed south. Lourenco nodded and replied. The march was resumed, andwhen the next impenetrable tangle was encountered the Indians in the vanstepped aside, the machetes of the Brazilians flashed out, and a way wascut straight through. From that time on the long knives came intofrequent play and a direct course was maintained.
Suddenly, with a grunt of warning, the tall tribesman stopped. The planof chopping through instead of going around had brought the Indians intoa part of the forest which they had not heretofore traversed in theirsearch for the missing hunter. Now they stood in a small trough betweenthe knolls, under good-sized trees around which grew little brush. Theground 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 spreadout and, sniffing the air, advanced up the trough. A cry broke from oneof them. The others, and the white men, too, hastened to the spot whencethe call had come.
Scattered about in the soft muck were bones, two skulls, bits of tawnyfur, a long bow, several big-game arrows. Around them the ground wasmarked with many tracks. Most of the imprints were of the vultures whichhad 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 wentstraight on, but those of the man and the cat showed that a fiercestruggle had occurred. And one of the two grinning skulls was that of ajaguar.
The story was plain. The hunter, following fast on the trail of thehogs, had suddenly met the jaguar. He had shot it; one arrow, bloodstained for more than a foot above the barb, proved that. But in the fewseconds of life left to it the animal had sprung and fatally torn theman. Then, as usual, had dropped the black scavengers of the sky to rendthem both.
Silently the men of the bush and the men of the north looked down at thebrief history written in the mud--a story only a week old, yet ancientas human life itself--primitive man and ferocious brute destroying eachother as in the prehistoric days when saber-toothed tiger and troglodytehunted and slew for the right to live. And as it had been then, so itwas now. The living read the tale of tragedy and passed on, leaving thebones behind them. Only, before they went, the Mayorunas threw theremnants of the jaguar aside and piled the bones of their dead comradetogether in one place. Then, bearing with them his bow and arrows, theyresumed their way without a word.
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