by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XIII PURRING SHADOWS
As Johnny's interest in the red lure lost much of its intensity, Pant'sseemed to grow stronger. He left no stone unturned if its turning wouldin any way hinder the treacherous Daego and his band.
"Johnny's ghost is doing much," he told himself, "but it's not enough.There must be other ways of annoying him."
He thought of Daego's black boats that moved by night and of thestationary engine he had heard pop-popping in the heart of thewilderness.
"I'll go down there and look into that engine business," he mused. "Theremay be something to it, something big. I'll go down to-night."
He left camp in his low, black dugout that night and paddled swiftly downthe river. For some time he drove straight on; then of a sudden, as hiskeen eye caught a speck of light that flashed on and then blinked outlike a match that is lighted and blown out, he swerved to the shore,threw a rope over the low limb of a mangrove, then sat there motionless,watching the river.
His thoughts were of that Spanish half-caste, Daego. "Isn't it strange,"he mused. "There's a man worth millions. If he never made another centand lived a thousand years he'd never come to want. Yet he's so greedythat he does crooked things that he may gain more. If someone tries tobreak into the mahogany or chicle business, instead of helping them in abrotherly fashion as he could well afford to do, he tries to throttlethem.
"I suppose," he said thoughtfully, "it's all in the start one gets. If hestarts out crooked, it doesn't seem to matter much whether he succeeds orfails, he remains crooked to the end. One would think--"
Of a sudden his musings were cut short off. Something was moving outthere in the water. Something like a shadow. Pant scarcely breathed as hewatched that long shadow until it had disappeared up a bend in the river.
"That's no shadow," he muttered as he sat up. "It's a pit-pan, one ofthose dugouts the natives use for coming on long journeys up the river.Must have been sixty feet long. The most marvelous pit-pan that ever was.Those pit-pans they used in other days had at least a dozen men at thepaddles. I didn't see a single man, and still it moved straight onupstream. Seems like I heard a purring sound. Surely here is mystery--apurring shadow."
"Hardgrave spoke of Daego's black boats," he said to himself. "That thingmust be one of them. And there's nothing good about the thing they're upto. Men don't go creeping up the river in the silence of the night withan eel-like craft such as that for nothing. If I can find out what it'sall about and can trap one of his pit-pans I'll be in a way to keep himso busy he won't so much as have time to find out when our raft startsdown the river."
He arrived at the mouth of the creek, up which he had located thepop-popping of a stationary engine a half hour later. Taking a chance ofbeing seen, he began skirting the bushes at the edge of the creek. Forthis move he was thankful. He had not gone a mile when, upon rounding acocoanut palm that overhung the water, he came in sight of two long, darkobjects that lay close to shore, half concealed by foliage. Seen from alittle distance they resembled nothing quite so much as great, blackwater snakes asleep by the bank.
"Pit-pans!" he murmured as he came closer.
Pit-pans indeed they were, slender boats cut from the trunk of a tree,sixty or more feet in length.
"Blockade runners! Black devils!" he muttered as he passed. He dared notstop to inspect them. There might be men on the bank, watching.
Soon he caught the pop-pop of that stationary engine which had once somystified him. This time, instead of turning back, he paddled straighton. A mile, two, three miles of water passed beneath his craft. Still hemoved steadily forward until, when it seemed he must be almost upon theengine, he suddenly discovered that the sound was behind and to the rightof him.
"Back in the bush," he told himself. "Passed the trail without seeingit."
Turning his boat about, he drifted slowly.
"There it is. Drift down thirty yards and hide my boat."
This done, he struggled back along the bank to the entrance of the path.
Following a winding trail, with the sound of the motor growing louder,ever louder, with his heart keeping tune to its throbbing, he made hisway forward until caution bade him slink into the shadows of the greatleaves of a cohune tree.
There, with only the ceaseless throb of the motor to disturb hisreflection, he had time to think things through. How was this all to end?His men were making progress, but Tivoli had told him that many of themen were becoming frightened by the wild tales they were hearing of thedoings of the man-eating jaguar. Would fright drive them back down theriver before their task was completed? He wished Johnny was here. Then hewould feel more free to hunt that beast down. Must do it, anyway, verysoon.
And what was Daego plotting up the river? He could not bribe the Caribs.Would there be a fight in the end? Well, if so, Daego would not find themunprepared. He was training his men in a new form of warfare. They werehandy with their long-bladed machetes, very handy indeed. Daego shouldsee!
He glanced about him. It was strange that he should be in such a place atsuch a time. Yet he wanted to know, to be sure. If things were as hethought, he'd make Daego no end of trouble. He'd trap one of those blackshadows of his, show him up.
"Trap one," he whispered, "but how?"
This was a puzzler. Moments of reflection, and then an inspiration.
"The very thing! Rivers have been blocked against war boats by chains.This is better than chains; it floats. It--"
His whisper broke short off. Someone was coming. They carried a lantern.He had not thought of a light. What if they should catch sight of him.Shuddering, he shrank farther into the bushes. Just then he caught sightof the foremost man's face.
"Daego!" he breathed. "Daego himself!"
As he listened he crowded farther and farther back among the palm leaves.He was hearing voices, many voices. They were talking in Spanish. He didnot understand Spanish. It was not what they said that increased hisfright, but the numbers of them.
"Must be twelve or fifteen of them," he thought with a shudder. "Whatthey won't do to me if one of them chances to spy me!"
By great good fortune the leader, Daego, passed without looking to rightor left. With him passed the bright light and much of the danger ofdetection. Pant watched the passing line with increasing interest. Themen following Daego went in pairs, one before and one behind. Suspendedon long poles between each pair was a square, black box which, from thebending of the poles and the labored tread of the men, would appear to beheavy.
For a moment the boy's imagination played tricks on him. These men wereghosts of the pirates and buccaneers who inhabited these waters a centuryor more ago. The heavy black boxes were filled with doubloons and piecesof eight.
Then with a mental jerk he brought himself back to reality. These menwere men of to-day. The boxes they carried were indeed treasure chests,but chests of power, not of gold.
"Batteries," Pant murmured. "There is no need to go farther. I see itall."
And so he did. The long, black pit-pans near the river's mouth were onlywaiting these black boxes to give them the power to steal silently up theriver. They were electrically driven. The stationary engine back therewas connected to an electric generator. By day it was at work chargingbatteries. By night these batteries were busy driving the long blackshadows with their burdens up the river. What sort of freight did theycarry? That he could not tell.
"Have to trap them to find out," he told himself.
As it happened, he found out before he trapped them.
