The Pathless Trail

by Arthur O. Friel

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES

  The next four days, though they were days of waiting, were busy enoughto satisfy the most impatient Mayoruna warrior.

  Outposts were established on every route by which the attacking forcewould be likely to approach the twin _malocas_, the watchmen being giventhe strictest commands not to fight, nor even to allow themselves to beseen, but to run at top speed with the warning.

  Poison detachments went forth to collect the ingredients for makingdeadly the water and the weapons. Those detailed to the work ofpolluting the streams gathered quantities of blue-blossomed,short-podded plants with yellow roots, the roots being pulped and throwninto the slow currents, which straightway became fatal to man or beastThe wurali squad procured their favorite materials and, in a flimsy shedwell away from the houses, prepared a plentiful supply of the venomedbrew.

  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 finalresult. And inside the big houses men especially skilled in themanufacture of arrows and darts toiled swiftly and steadily from dawntill far into the night.

  These activities, however, were only the usual defensive preparationsmade by the warriors whenever they knew a sizable body of foes wassomewhere in the vicinity. It remained for the brains of the white mento devise additional features, simple enough in themselves, butastounding to the savages, who were accustomed only to the primitivebattle tactics of their ancestors. For the first time in their lives thecannibals found themselves digging in--and also digging out.

  After a survey of the terrain and a catechism of Lourenco and Monitayaas to the usual methods of attack and defense, the two officers broachedan idea born of the exigencies of the situation. As they expected, thegreat chief was somewhat slow to approve it, for it involved a literalundermining of the walls of his fortresses. But despite the naturalinflexibility of his mental processes he was an unusually intelligentsavage, and eventually the patient reiteration of the advantages of thescheme won him first to assent and then almost to enthusiasm. Whereforethe 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, thetunnels were dug. At the same time another large gang excavated beforeeach of the _malocas_ a deep, curving trench, the two long pits beingseparated by a ten-foot space of solid earth affording free passage fromthe houses to the creek. Meanwhile the women and the older children wereweaving flimsy covers from withes and vines. As soon as a tunnel wascompleted it was masked outside the walls by one of these covers, onwhich a thin layer of earth and grass was laid. The two trenches werelikewise concealed, and the loose earth was carried inside the house andpacked solidly against the walls flanking the doors.

  At sundown of the fourth day the work was ended. And so well was it donethat when the great chief, his subchiefs, and his foreign allies went ona final tour of inspection they could find no sign that the houses werehoneycombed with exits or that the ground in front of the littleentrances 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 time. "Holes are covered to lookexactly like the rest of the ground. Every man of us has to be insidewhen the enemy arrives, but we have to get out quick when the right timecomes, so we go under the walls. And can't you see those brave womenstealers go kerplunk down into the trenches? Oh boy!"

  Whereat Lourenco and Jose smiled as if enjoying a secret joke. Theywere. For they knew something of which the Americans were notaware--that Monitaya had improved on the trench-trap idea of the whitesby studding the bottom of those trenches with barbed araya bones smearedwith wurali.

  "Yeah, and I figger them guys 'll 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! Iwouldn't miss seein' Sworn-off's face for a keg o' beer--and that'ssayin' somethin'."

  Wherein Tim expressed the general sentiment.

  So ended the fourth day. When the fifth broke no man showed himselfoutside the walls. Except the few outposts, every male of the Monitaya_malocas_ bided within, awaiting with growing tension the arrival of theenemy. It was more than likely, McKay had pointed out, that the mainbody of the barbarous force led by Schwandorf would be preceded by ahandful of scouts, and quite possible that one or more of these wouldslip past the outguards and spy on the tribal houses. The sight of evenone warrior would instantly apprise any such spy that the others must benear, and the word would go back at all speed to the Red Bones.Wherefore the only Monitayans to pass through the tiny doorways thatmorning were a few young women sent out as bait. These, naturally, tookgood care to stay near the entrances.

  Within, the men waited at their appointed places. Each tunnel had itsquota of warriors, the number being divided evenly to assure a speedyand simultaneous exit. The Americans had elected to fight from the_maloca_ of the great chief, while the Brazilians and Jose were togarrison the doorway of the other house as soon as the warning came.Rand, wordless and imperturbable as ever, now was armed with a strongbow and plenty of new arrows with unpoisoned heads; and he, of course,would remain with his own countrymen. Thus, preparations completed, allsettled themselves to the interminable hours of waiting.

  Up on the heaped earth near the doorway, which made the wallspractically bullet-proof to a height of six feet and thus would protectthe women and children, one or more of the Americans was constantly onthe lookout through some inconspicuous loophole. Hour after hour draggedpast, 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 silentstrain of endless anticipation the impatience of the fighting men becamea ferment. At length Pedro, unable to keep still, mounted to a peepholenear Knowlton. Scarcely had he put his eye to the opening when both mensucked in their breath.

  At the edge of the bush a man's head peered from behind a tree. And atthe same moment a single canoe came creeping out of the bush and up tothe 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 Subatribe.

  "Lourenco!" hoarsely whispered Pedro. "Yuara comes. Tell girls to run towelcome him and guide him between the pits. A spy is watching. If Yuarawalks on the pits he dies and our trap is revealed. _Por amor de Deus_,send girls quickly!"

  Lourenco acted instantly. Seizing two young women, he propelled themdoorward, talking swiftly the while. Yuara and his mate were alreadyadvancing innocently toward the few girls outside, none of whom had witenough to warn him. But the two whom the Brazilian had grasped happenedto be of quick intelligence, and now they darted out. Before thevisiting pair could reach the death trap the girls were upon them,laughing as if delighted to see a man once more, and deftly turning themaside to the point where two unobtrusive stubs marked the bridge ofsafety.

  Vastly astonished by such effusive welcome from two girls whom they didnot know, but by no means displeased thereby, the young warriors of theSuba clan were piloted to the door and inside. As they disappeared, thehead of the spy also vanished.

  "Woof!" muttered Knowlton, wiping sweat from his brow. "That was close!Here's hoping we have no more visitors."

  Yuara and his companion meanwhile were being interrogated by bothLourenco and Monitaya, who in turn enlightened them as to the presentstate of affairs. At the promise of war the faces of the Suba men litup.

  "Yuara comes only on a visit to learn news," Lourenco told the rest."You remember that the day after our return a canoe was sent downstreamto a point where the wooden bars could be beaten and heard by Suba'smen, and that a warning against the Red Bones and Schwandorf was givenin that way. Yuara has become anxious to know more, so he is here."

  "If he sticks around he'll learn a lot," predicted Tim.

  With no wast
e of words or motion Yuara coolly attached himself and hisfellow-tribesman to McKay. Monitaya and his subchiefs were informed ofthe arrival and departure of the enemy scout. The word passed among thewarriors, who, despite their innate equanimity, began to grit theirpointed teeth and quiver like dogs held in leash. But another hourpassed, and yet another; and still no word from the outposts arrived.

  Suddenly a chorus of screams shrilled from the women outside. In afrenzy of fear they plunged through the doorways. Blending with theiroutcries, a hoarse yell of ferocity rose raucously from the direction ofthe creek. At once a louder ululation burst forth at the rear and sidesof the clearing. Monitaya's outguards had failed and the _malocas_ weresurrounded.

  Loping from the bush fringing the stream came a score of yellow-faced,shirtless, barefooted brutes crisscrossed with cartridge belts andgripping rifles. At their head loomed a burly black-whiskered creaturewith a revolver in each hand--the malignant Schwandorf himself.

  Grinning like a pack of yellow-fanged wolves, they doubled toward thelow entrances, their guns spouting wantonly at the upper walls--a raggedvolley meant to terrorize the defenseless women within, none of whomwere to be killed until the handsomest had been cut out and set asidefor slavery. Some of the heavy bullets bored through between logs andthudded wickedly into rafters and roof poles within. But from theloopholes where the defending rifles lurked no shot cracked in reply.

  The fiendish howling of the Red Bones, sweeping in from all sides to thebutchery, swelled into a feline screech that almost drowned the roar ofthe rifles. Into the view of the watchers at the loopholes streamedhideous faces and naked brown bodies swerving inward from left and rightto follow at the heels of the Blackbeard and his gunmen. In a fewseconds more the trotting line of Peruvians was backed and flanked by ahorde of demons hungering for the taste of women and babes. On theycame--

  With the suddenness of a cataclysm the ground opened. Riflemen vanishedin midstride. Savages screaming triumphant hate were gone in the flickof an eye. Others, instinctively digging their heels into the ground theinstant those ahead of them disappeared, were hurled forward and down bythe momentum of the following mass. Before the rush could be checked thetrenches were packed with men struggling in frenzy to get out, woundingthemselves and one another with the deadly points of their poisonedweapons.

  Of the twenty gunmen only four remained. They were the four immediatelybehind Schwandorf. By blind chance the German had set foot on the narrowisthmus separating the twin trenches, saving himself and the henchmen athis heels from being engulfed. Now, as the Red Bones fought back fromthe trap yawning before them, he and the surviving Peruvians stoodstaring in momentary stupefaction at the welter of death on theirflanks. The malevolent yells of the savages had been cut short by thecatastrophe, and for the moment no sound was heard but the grunts andsnarls of struggling men.

  Then into the semisilence burst a mighty voice--the battlefield voice ofMcKay.

  "Now! Fire at will!"

  The walls spat flame and lead. A scythe of death swept above the groundwhere stood Schwandorf and his riflemen. The Peruvian half-breedscollapsed and lay still. But Schwandorf, shocked into activity by theimpact of that first word, dodged death by an infinitesimal fraction ofa second. Hurling himself backward, he struck the earth just as thebullets sped through the air over him. With a lightning rebound he wasup while fresh cartridges were jumping into the rifle barrels menacinghim. Headlong he dived into the mass of Red Bones just behind. And thenext bullets darting after him killed the savages, leaving him unharmed.

  The command of McKay and the crack of the rifles sent the quiveringMayorunas into the fight. In a flash every masking tunnel cover wasthrown bodily into the air. Before the thunderstruck Red Bones hadrecovered from the shock of finding their gun-armed leaders annihilatedand their mass being swept by swift-shooting rifles hidden in the walls,they beheld a horde of vindictive foes erupting from under those wallslike warrior ants rushing from subterranean galleries. A blood-chillingyell of concentrated fury smote their ears; a hastily loosed storm ofwar arrows and short throwing-spears ripped into their flesh; aswift-running arc of light-skinned men swerved around them, shooting andstabbing as they went. They, who had so exultantly surrounded the homesof women and children, now were surrounded in turn.

  From the doorway of Monitaya's _maloca_ the two Brazilians and Jose nowleaped forth and, firing as they ran, dashed to hold the entrance of theother big house. A few arrows whirred around them during their transit,but the shafts were shot hurriedly and missed. Meanwhile the threebushmen were striking down enemies at every flash of their guns, firingwith the swift surety of veterans of many a running fight. They reachedtheir objective unwounded; and when they reached it a fringe of deadfoes marked their passage along the face of the hostile array. Oncewithin the door, they rapidly reloaded and sprayed lead along thetrenches, which, though now nearly full, had become a dead-line pastwhich no Red Bone sought to go.

  Up on the earth embankments within the chief's house the four Americansfought steadily on; the soldiers shooting as coolly as if engaged merelyin rapid-fire target practice, the silent Rand methodically drivingarrows in swift succession from his wall-slit. Arrows thudded thicklyinto the logs masking them. Bullets, too, slammed into theirrampart--bullets from the heavy revolvers of Schwandorf, who, everkeeping himself protected by the bodies of his cannibal allies, shotwith both hands as the chance came. And the German could shoot. Withonly the small gun muzzles as targets, he planted bullets so close as toknock dirt more than once into the eyes of the riflemen and render themmomentarily 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 palmbrought away, reeled up, and scrambled back to his rifle. Schwandorf'sbullet had drilled clear through the shoulder, and in falling his headhad struck one of the upright poles. Without a word he got his gun intoaction once more, shooting now from the left shoulder. Tim, with a tightgrin of relief, devoted himself once more to trying to shoot down thedodging German.

  The encircling Mayorunas, their first paroxysm of fury vented, nowsettled in cold hate to their work. On all sides their clubmen andspearmen were bludgeoning and stabbing at the close-packed Red Bones,leaping in, killing, springing back and onward with terrible efficiency.Beyond these a thin but deadly line of bowmen poured arrows inhigh-looping curves over the heads of the hand-to-hand combatants, theshafts whizzing far up, turning, and plunging down unerringly into thecenter of the enemy force. Each of those arrows could, and many did, endthe lives of two or three adversaries by gouging their skins and lettingthe fearful wurali into their blood. The blowgun men too were dartinginto every opening, handling their clumsy weapons like feathers andconstantly moving to spy out fresh targets.

  But the men of Monitaya were by no means escaping unscathed. The RedBones, assailed from every quarter and milling about in hopelessdisorder, were fighting now with desperate frenzy. Their own clubbersand stabbers were charging out and smashing skulls or piercing abdomens,their arrows rose in all directions at once, and some into whose veinsthe wurali had struck sprang in the last moments of life on nearby foesand bit like mad dogs. With a leader and a chance to form into any sortof flying wedge they might have broken through with comparative ease andtaken a far heavier toll. But they had no leader: for Umanuh, whose namemeant "corpse," now was a corpse in truth, his merciless brain oozingfrom a skull shattered by a Mayoruna clubman; and Schwandorf was verybusy looking out for Schwandorf. So it was every man for himself, withthe devil rapidly taking not only the hindmost, but the foremost aswell.

  Thicker and thicker fell the dead. The trenches now not only were filledto the level of the ground, but piled with a windrow of bullet-tornbodies knocked down by the ever-spitting rifles.
Jose, Pedro, andLourenco abandoned all shelter and knelt in plain sight before the doorwhich they had kept clear of all close attack. Monitaya, until now afield general who strode up and down roaring commands and encouragement,suddenly cast away his regal role and, seizing a club from one of hisbodyguard, hurled himself on the nearest Red Bones--a raving, raveningdemon of destructiveness whose glaring eyes smote terror into thosefronting him and whose weapon swung like the club of Hercules. Hisbowmen and blowgun men, at last out of missiles, came charging in withbare hands or weapons seized from fallen warriors. Maneuvering hadended. Henceforth the fight was a grappling melee.

  Then the gunfire dwindled and died. The rifle cartridges were spent.