12 Cannibal Adventure

by Willard Price

  It was no ordinary bat. It measured at least five feet across from wing tip to wing tip. Its face was enough to strike terror in the stoutest heart. Any artist wishing to paint a picture of the devil could do no better than use this face as a model.

  ‘Never saw anything so ugly in my life,’ Roger said.

  ‘And look at the size of it! It can’t be a real bat. Bats are small. It looks more like a fox that has been run over by a truck and got its face all squashed out of shape.’

  Hal laughed. ‘You’re right and wrong. Wrong if you think it isn’t a real bat. It is. You’re right in thinking that it looks like a fox. In fact one of its names is “flying fox”.’

  ‘But foxes can’t fly.’

  This one can. And the strange thing about it is that it flies with its hands, not wings.’

  ‘But there are the wings, plain as day.’

  ‘Not really wings,’ Hal said. ‘Actually hands. You can see the fingers. That webbing between the fingers makes it able to use its hands as wings. Its scientific name is Chiroptera, meaning hand-winged. It’s no bird. It’s a mammal, like you.’

  ‘Not like me, thank you.’

  ‘Inside, it’s about the same. Ages ago bats walked and never flew. But as millions of years passed they found that by flapping those webbed hands they could lift themselves from the ground. They must have liked the air better than the earth because they flew more and more instead, of walking, and now they are so used to living in the air that they can’t walk without staggering like drunken men. Come now, smile at Pavo and smile at the bat, and eat it.’

  Pug, with delight, and the others with mixed feelings, devoured the strange breakfast.

  The meat was as dark as charcoal. It was tucked away in a cage of bones, and both forks and fingers had to be used to get it out. But when the dark flesh was finally extracted and tasted, Pavo, who was standing by watching, saw that everyone was pleased. The flesh really was a delicacy, rather gamy, something like rabbit, more tender than chicken.

  ‘Why, it’s really good,’ Roger said.

  That shouldn’t be any surprise,’ said Hal. ‘Its flesh should be palatable because it eats nothing but fruit. That’s how it gets its third name, “fruit bat”. That’s one of the things Dad wanted us to bring home - alive. Perhaps Pavo will show you where to find one.’

  Pavo understood. ‘I show you,’ he said. ‘Far away. Big caves. We sleep there. Come back tomorrow.’

  Chapter 18

  Night in the cave

  It was an all-day walk to the cave. Pavo and Roger reached it in the late afternoon. It had seemed to them at times that they were being followed. But perhaps it was only the rustle of the leaves and creaking of the branches in the wind.

  Now they walked through a deep ravine among great trees and stood before a large cave running back beneath a cliff.

  Suddenly from its yawning black mouth an object as black as the cave itself emerged and flew close over their heads, flapping slowly like a crow.

  It was their friend of the morning, the flying fox, and truly its face was foxlike, with pinched nose, small pointed ears, and large eyes.

  A rustling above made them look up. Thousands of the eerie creatures hung upside down from the branches of the great trees. Roger shouted, and they took flight, their spread wings blacking out the sky.

  Roger noticed several bat habits of particular interest. One of the fliers, when about to alight on a low branch, demonstrated how it applied the brakes to make a landing. The broad tail was brought sharply forward under the body, acting like the flaps of a plane just before touchdown.

  One landed on the ground and walked - but made a poor job of it. As soon as it took to the air again it performed feats impossible for birds or insects.

  It could turn somersaults with the greatest ease. It could fly upside down and land on the lower side of a branch where, still upside down, it would go to sleep, hanging on by its thumbs.

  Once on the ground, it could not easily take flight, in that respect it was like the other giant of the air, the condor, which has to have a long runway in order to take off. The heavy fruit bat preferred to climb a tree and launch itself from a branch.

  Some of the airborne foxes were carrying their babies, not on their backs or in their teeth, but suspended beneath them. The babies clung to the breast of their mothers with their hooked thumbs, toes, and sharp little jaws.

  One baby dropped to the ground, and Roger picked it up. It trembled in his hand. It was not frightened, but it trembled because its wings were so full of sensitive nerves that Roger’s palm felt like coarse sandpaper or a rasping file.

  This thing he held in his hand was a marvel of the animal world. No other creature has so delicate a sense of touch. The bat can even feel things that it does not touch. The thousands of sense organs in the wings and all over the body are like thousands of eyes and ears, so exquisitely tuned that by a sort of radar the animal can tell exactly how close it is to any obstacle and, even in complete darkness, can avoid it.

  Roger was to learn that experiments with bats whose eyes have been sealed with varnish show that they can make their way easily through dark rooms, steering clear of walls, chairs, and other obstructions, and even weaving their way through a maze of strings hung from the ceiling.

  The bats flying about seemed to make no sound. But they were continually sounding off with tiny squeaks pitched so high that the human ear could not hear them. These signals echoed back from anything that might be in the way, and the bat knew at once where it could go and where it could not. It could even measure the space between objects and judge whether it would be able to pass through. This ability was particularly remarkable in the flying fox, which needed plenty of room to accommodate its tremendous wing span.

  Man and boy stood very still, and the bats settled themselves in upside-down comfort below the branches.

  Roger placed the baby on the ground and stepped away

  from it. The mother swooped to pick it up, carried it aloft to a perch, and folded her hand-wings about it to warm and comfort its trembling body.

  The two explorers ate some of the rations they had brought along with them, and looked for a place to sleep.

  ‘Better inside the cave,’ Pavo said. ‘Rain come.’

  They groped their way through the dark of the cave until they found a flat spot where they lay down and quickly fell asleep.

  Roger woke with a start. Something had bitten him on the arm. It was as if he had been touched with the end of a burning cigarette. The pain was very peculiar. He had had one like it before.

  His mind went back to the Amazon jungle where he had been bitten by a vampire bat. Perhaps not all the bats in this cave were fruit bats.

  Fruit bats were harmless. But a vampire bat was deadly. Amazon Indians thought of them as vampires because they were supposed to be ghosts that came out of their graves at night to suck the blood of human beings.

  The only food of the vampire bat was blood. Two of its teeth were incisors, slightly curved and as sharp as needles. These were plunged into an animal or a man and the blood that flowed out was lapped up just as a cat laps up milk.

  The creature bitten by a vampire bat was apt to die. Not because of the bite, which was very small. But because the blood, once it started flowing, did not stop.

  Scientists believed that there was something in the saliva of the bat that prevented the blood from clotting, drying up, and sealing the wound.

  Many cattle had been lost in Amazon valley ranches because an animal, once bitten, would lose more and more blood until it died. Men too had died for the same reason.

  Roger put a hand on his arm. It was wet - probably wet with blood. The blood would keep running out of him until he died in this terrible cave like a rat in a trap.

  Should he wake Pavo? What could Pavo do? Nothing.

  But he had better wake Pavo anyhow because he too might have been bitten and never know it.

  ‘He’ll wake up in the morning
and find himself dead,’ Roger mumbled. He was too excited to think straight. Suppose Pavo died. Roger would never be able to find his way back to the village. Besides, Pavo was too good a friend to lose.

  He put his hand on Pavo’s arm. His worst fears were realized. The arm was wet.

  He poked the sleeping chief. ‘Pavo, wake up!’

  Pavo did not stir. Perhaps he was already too far gone. There was no sound but Pavo’s heavy breathing, the patter of rain outside, and the wind that occasionally blew some of the rain into the cave.

  Roger put his fingers on Pavo’s wrist. The heart was still beating. Thank heaven for that.

  He shook the man until he grumbled and woke. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked sleepily.

  ‘You’re dying,’ said Roger. ‘Your arm. You’ve been bitten. It’s all wet with blood. Don’t you feel the pain?’

  ‘No feel,’ said Pavo impatiently. ‘Go sleep.’

  ‘I’m glad you weren’t bitten,’ Roger said. ‘But I was. Burns like fire. Must have been a vampire bat.’

  ‘Vampire - what’s that?’

  ‘Small bat. But it’s a killer. Bites hole, blood keeps running out until you are dead.’

  ‘Nothing like that on this island,’ Pavo assured him.

  ‘But there must be. My arm is covered with blood.’

  Pavo put out his hand and felt Roger’s arm.

  ‘That’s water. Rain blowing in. Go sleep.’

  When morning came Roger learned what had bitten him. They had lain down beside a nest of fire ants. The ants were monsters of the ant world, more than two inches long. They made their living by biting, and their big sharp jaws were well suited to that purpose.

  After a sketchy breakfast they went out to find that the

  rain had stopped and the harmless fruit bats were still resting upside down in the trees.

  But Pavo was not looking up. He was examining the ground.

  ‘Somebody come in night.’

  Roger looked at the footprints. They were not very distinct. ‘Perhaps somebody from your village?’ Roger suggested.

  ‘No. My village all bare feet. These made by shoes.’

  ‘That’s easy,’ Roger said. T wear shoes. I must have made those prints last night.’

  Pavo shook his head. He pointed to a fairly clear footprint. ‘Put your foot there.’

  Roger placed his foot on the footprint.

  ‘You see?’ said Pavo. ‘You boy. This footprint made by man - big man. I think white man. Perhaps same man who shot your brother.’

  ‘Why should any white man follow us around? Anyhow he couldn’t have meant any harm - or he would have come into the cave and killed me while I was asleep.’

  ‘While you were asleep? When was that?’

  ‘Well,’ Roger admitted, T guess I did worry and wiggle all night after I got bitten.’

  ‘This man,’ Pavo said, ‘waited out in rain for you to quiet down. You never quiet. He no like cold and wet so he go away. He want to kill you. I think he try again.’

  But the day was fine and the sun was shining brightly. The terror of the night was past. Roger was ashamed because he had thought he was dying of bat-bite when it had only been a nip by an ant. He wasn’t going to allow himself to get the jitters now under a bright sun.

  ‘I think you’re talking through your hat,’ he said.

  Pavo looked puzzled. T no wear hat.’

  Roger explained. ‘It’s only a way of saying. Let’s forget about the white man with the big feet. We’ve got to grab one of these bats.’

  ‘Good,’ said Pavo. ‘For dinner maybe?’

  ‘No, not to eat, We take alive.’

  Pavo plainly did not understand why they should take a bat if they were not going to eat it. But then, there was a lot about these white brothers that he did not understand.

  Chapter 19

  Narrow escape

  Roger had brought along a sack. But how to get a bat into that sack? Most of the bats were in the upper branches, fifty feet above his head.

  There was no chance that they would oblige him by coming down and walking into the sack. Very well then, he would have to go up.

  He picked out a tree that was not too hard to climb. He tucked the sack under his belt so he would have his hands free. Pavo gave him a hoist to the lowest branch and he climbed carefully and quietly, branch by branch, until he was almost up to bat level.

  Then a twig broke under his hand. In a flash, all the bats left the tree and sailed away.

  He had nothing for all his climbing but a few bruises on his knees and hands.

  He kept absolutely motionless for a while thinking they might decide that he was just part of the tree and would come back. But the flying foxes were too foxy to be taken in by this trick. They settled down in other trees at a safe distance.

  He clambered down and did some thinking. He remembered the baby that had fallen to the ground the day before and its mother had come to pick it up. He should have caught them right then. How could he get them to repeat that performance?

  He crawled as quietly as a leopard until he was directly under another tree full of bats. Then he picked up a stone and threw it with all his strength into the tree. A cloud of bats took flight. A baby who was taken by surprise and had not been clinging tightly enough to its mother fell to the ground.

  Close to the fallen baby was a large bush. Roger crawled into it Here he was’ well concealed. But he found to his grief that it was a thorn bush and the, thorns were three inches long and as sharp as needles. They weren’t any too good for his clothes or face and hands. But he endured the sharp needling with patience.

  It was a long wait and a lot of needles before the mother bat finally came down and nestled over the youngster, who promptly gripped its mother’s furry chest.

  At that moment Roger scratched his way out of the thorn-bush and brought the mouth of his sack down over both mother and child.

  Roger closed the sack. There was a lot of frightened fluttering inside, but it ceased very quickly, for the big bat considered itself safe in this dark retreat.

  They took to the trail. It was not clearly marked but Pavo knew it well.

  Roger found the largest and heaviest bat in the world and its baby quite a load, but he insisted upon carrying it himself.

  Both he and Pavo watched warily for the man with the big feet. After two hours had passed without any sign of him they let down their guard.

  It was then that it happened. Pavo was leading the way, watching the ground for trail marks. Roger suddenly glimpsed out of the corner of his eye something falling from a tree directly above his companion.

  He gave Pavo a violent push forward. A log, heavy enough to kill, fell between them.

  Since Roger had been compelled to step forward in order to hoist Pavo out of danger, the falling log grazed his head and the edge of it struck his right foot.

  He and Pavo stared at the log as if they could not believe what had happened.

  ‘Must have been a branch broken by the wind last night,’ Roger guessed.

  Pavo was exploring the ground inch by inch. He pointed to a spot where the grass had been flattened.

  ‘Big foot,’ he said.

  ‘Some animal perhaps,’ Roger suggested.

  ‘No. Not animal. Man.’

  How could Pavo know that? Roger still doubted that any man had been here. The night wind had probably loosened a branch and it just happened to fall as they were passing beneath.

  Pavo went to the end of the log. ‘Look,’ he said. He went to the other end and repeated, ‘Look.’

  It was plain even to Roger that this was no broken branch. Both ends showed the marks of an axe.

  The tree above was a mighty breadfruit which sends out horizontal branches each as big as an ordinary tree. Above were the marks of an axe in the stub of a huge branch.

  Roger had to admit that this was the work of a man. But there was certainly no man up that tree. Then how could the log have fallen at the v
ery moment when they were passing beneath it?

  Pavo solved that mystery. He pointed out a long vine lying across the trail. The other end of it passed up into the tree. It had acted like a trigger; when Pavo’s foot had struck the vine the pull on the line had released the log and caused it to fall.

  A little chill ran up and down Roger’s back and he looked about on all sides. He could see nothing but sunlit leaves, a pair of cooing doves and a sleepy bird of paradise. It was a scene of beauty and peace and it was hard to believe that someone had actually plotted murder in this lovely glade.

  They resumed their march, Roger limping badly, but too occupied with thinking of the mystery man with the big feet to pay any attention to his own painful foot. He began to stagger under his bag of bats. It seemed to become heavier all the time.

  Pavo stopped and refused to go farther until the boy had surrendered his heavy load. The good-hearted savage flung it over one shoulder and with his free hand steadied the limping boy as they followed the miserable trail over hummocks and hollows and fallen trees until they reached the smooth ground of Eilanden village.

  They found the people in a state of great excitement. There was a wild dance going on. Roger was curious to know the reason for it, but the first thing was to get his prizes stowed away on the Flying Cloud.

  Captain Ted on deck saw him and came ashore in the dinghy to get him.

  ‘What you got in that bag?’ Ted demanded.

  ‘Bats.’

  ‘If you’re going to cook and eat them, that’s all right. But I won’t have stinking live bats on my ship.’

  ‘Yes you will,’ Roger said. ‘Anyhow, they don’t stink. They’re as sweet as the fruit they eat.’

  ‘Dang bust it, I never heard the like. Sweet bats! Anyhow, what good are they? What zoo would want bats?’

  ‘Any zoo. These are very special bats. The biggest and finest of them all.’

  Aboard the ship, Roger put the mother bat in a cage. But he didn’t propose to cage the baby.

  ‘If you don’t cage it it will fly away,’ said the captain.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Roger said. ‘It will stick near its mother. And I am going to tame it and make a pet of it.’