Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  I tried to follow his course, but so expert a woodsman was Chaka that not a movement of a leaf betrayed his whereabouts.

  “What’s his object, Paul?” I asked.

  “He’s going to explore the path at the other side of the clearing, where he believes the trees are so open that the Mopanes won’t dare follow us. If that is so we won’t wait for the next move the devils make, but break for the trail at once and fight our way on to the Itzaex country.”

  “Very good,” said I; “anything is better than this.” And so we sat and waited patiently for our spy to return.

  Meantime, as it was getting near noon, we took advantage of the lull in hostilities to eat our luncheon. The food refreshed us very much, and Archie, who has always some longing unsatisfied, bewailed the fact that we had no ice on such a sultry day. I knew that we had ice, but said nothing of it. In Allerton’s thermos chest reposed a fine cake of the crystallized fluid which, with other things, he was reserving for “emergencies.”

  Fully two hours had passed before we observed Chaka’s naked body come bounding through the clearing without any attempt at concealment. Evidently he was in a state of great excitement. Skirting the edge of the pool he came directly toward us, disregarding the arrows and darts that rained upon him from the nearest edge of the forest. Then, with a final bound he fell flat at our feet, sobbing in a very ecstasy of grief and despair.

  We looked at one another wonderingly as Allerton knelt down, took his friend’s head in his lap and stroked the dark hair as tenderly as a woman might have done. He asked no questions until Chaka’s passionate sobbing was gradually subdued.

  “My poor brother!” he said in the Itzaex dialect.

  Chaka seized his hands and pressed them.

  “It is my father, dear Paul!” he said, miserably. “They have killed the atkayma — they have murdered him!”

  “Who has done this, my brother?” inquired Allerton.

  “The Mopanes.”

  We others looked upon the scene silently, forbearing comment. I realized, for my part, that the old atkayma’s death might seriously affect the success of our enterprise; but I had not suspected Chaka was so fond of his royal father, having left him to his own devices for so many years.

  As for that, however, I had not reckoned on the horror of the thing, although I might have appreciated better Chaka’s sensitive nature, so astonishing in one bom to a savage life.

  Before long the youth was able to tell his story, and he told it none too soon, either.

  “I found the trail,” said he, speaking his own tongue, which we all understood save Pedro and Archie — and perhaps the latter caught a few words. “I ran along it swiftly for some distance. Then I heard shouts and the Mopane war song of victory. I knew another band of those devils was approaching us and hid myself to count their numbers. They are many, oh my brother! There has been war, and for this once my people have been defeated. I know not where the battle was fought nor how many were engaged; but victory is with our enemies. On their spears they bear the heads of many brave Itzaex; foremost among them is that of the great, the noble atkayma — my father!”

  He broke down again, to renew his sobs.

  “Poor Chaka!” said Paul.

  There was no time left us for more parley. We began to hear the shouts of the approaching hosts and must prepare for a desperate defense. It was all right for Chaka to grieve over his father; it struck me as a curious coincidence that just as the royal son arrived in his own country, after an absence of many years, the aged atkayma of the Itzaex met his fate at the hands of his persistent enemies.

  The Mopanes deployed into the clearing in a dense throng, exultantly shouting their savage peans. Some blew shrill blasts on conch shells; one or two battered energetically the native kettledrums, made from tortoise shells over which skins were tightly stretched.

  At once the new arrivals were joined by the remnant of the band that had first attacked us. I say “remnant” because we must have slain or wounded nearly half of their original number. With eager exclamations they pointed in our direction, and the eyes of every warrior examined us intently. They were standing some distance away, but we could observe their every action distinctly. One huge fellow, who bore a spear with a grinning head set on its point, leaped upon a stump and began haranguing the others, who listened respectfully to his words.

  “I wonder if this pop-gun will carry so far,” remarked Archie, and before any could interfere he took careful aim and fired. The chief — as he seemed to be — leaped fully three feet into the air, uttering a terrible cry, and as he fell his people caught him in their arms. But I am sure he was dead or desperately wounded.

  This warning induced them all to withdraw into the forest, where doubtless they held a council of war.

  CHAPTER 10

  WE ESCAPE ANNIHILATION

  Meantime we nine, trapped as we were, prepared for defense against an army of natives.

  “Won’t it be better to use the electrites, sir?” inquired Joe. “There must be three or four hundred of those fellows, at least, and if they rush us we won’t stand much show.”

  “I fear even the electrites wouldn’t save us in that event,” replied Allerton, whose face showed anxiety for the first time. “I think we should stand ready to inflate our gas-jackets, however, so if the worst happens we may escape by rising into the air. Fortunately the pool will supply us with water to generate the themlyne crystals. But let us wait until all other means fail and our lives are actually in danger.” He turned to Chaka, who still lay upon his face, and said: “My brother must resume his outfit, so as to be able to fight with us.”

  The Maya made no reply, nor did he rise or attempt to resume the clumsy garments he had discarded.

  At Paul’s suggestion we hastily cut a quantity of the thick bushes and piled them high in a circle surrounding our position — so high that we could just stand erect and aim our rifles over the top of the frail barricade. The bushes were no protection, but they prevented the savages from aiming at our bodies. The task was quickly accomplished and then we arranged our ammunition handily and prepared to fight as long as fighting was possible.

  “Don’t volley,” counseled Allerton; “fire in steady, regular order, according to the numbers I will give you. Such a continual discharge is likely to be the most effectual.”

  He had scarcely finished speaking when the Mopanes came from the forest. Depending upon their great numbers they did not rush us, but advanced deliberately across the clearing, chanting a war song as they came. As soon as they were well within range we opened fire, and nearly every shot took effect because we were cool and cautious. The Indians were not deterred, however, and I remember thinking, even during the battle, that they were especially brave in their absolute disregard for death.

  This last band of Mopanes was better armed than the first. They bore battle axes and war clubs in addition to their spears. Not a missile was sent in our direction in response to our fusillade, although we continued to pepper them so persistently that the front ranks fell like grain before a scythe, only to be trampled upon indifferently by those following. Their plan seemed to involve a great sacrifice of numbers that they might finally accomplish their purpose.

  Pedro, who had proved a poor shot, devoted himself to recharging our repeating rifles and revolvers, so we had no need to relax our defense to reload. It was certainly a most dangerous predicament in which we now found ourselves, but I am glad to say none of us weakened or showed nervousness. Chaka, to my surprise, took no part in the fight at first, but as the enemy drew nearer he sprang up and began firing with the rest of us.

  On came the savages, and we kept as busy as possible stopping all we could. Now they were a hundred yards off; now seventy; now fifty. We had dropped an amazing lot of them, yet still they advanced.

  Then a diversion occurred of so startling a character that for a time we were utterly unable to comprehend it. The Mopanes abruptly stopped, turned half around until they fac
ed the south, from whence they had come, and without paying any further heed to us began jabbering and gesticulating in wild excitement.

  “Keep it up, boys!” cried Allerton. “They’re getting demoralized at last.”

  That was evident; yet I knew we had had no hand in demoralizing them. The band was now separating, darting this way and that about the clearing as if in a panic. But the fugitives, after a wild scramble here and there, quickly massed again in the center of the clearing and faced outward, their backs forming the inner part of a great circle.

  Next moment the mystery was explained. From behind every tree that bordered the open space stepped a stalwart warrior, copper skinned and naked save for a loin cloth. They were taller than the Mopanes, more dignified in demeanor, more deliberate in action. Each man was quickly followed by another, and still another, until fully a thousand had closed in and formed a circle around the terrified Mopanes — as well as around us.

  As the first man stepped from the forest Chaka uttered a wild cry and threw down his weapons. Then he stood as if turned to stone, watching as one in a dream the tragedy that ensued.

  “That settles our case,” exclaimed Archie, desperately. “We might have tipped over a few hundred of those fellows, but a few thousand is too many.”

  We had stopped firing and Paul was watching Chaka’s face.

  “I think we are saved,” said he in a low voice. “These men are the Itzaex, who have followed the Mopanes to seek revenge for the murder of their atkayma.”

  “Oh!” said Archie; and more than one breath of relief was drawn at this explanation.

  It was not hard to understand why the Itzaex nation had remained unconquered and supreme through all the centuries. In strong contrast to the chattering Mopanes they uttered no sound as they advanced, and every warrior seemed but a part of one great machine.

  So far as I could determine by watching the confused scene there was little resistance on the part of the surprised and greatly outnumbered Mopanes. Some made a dash for the forest, only to be cut down; others stood their ground and fought doggedly until an Itzaex battle-axe or a spear thrust put an end to their further interest in the affair.

  In scarcely more time than I have taken to write it the murderers of the old atkayma were virtually annihilated. Then the victors calmly formed ranks and faced toward us — half curiously, half expectantly. They seemed to realize they had interfered in our fight with the Mopanes, but as yet they did not know whether to regard us as foes or allies.

  But now Chaka awoke to action. With a hasty word he pressed Paul’s hand and leaped the barrier, advancing alone and with majestic strides toward his people.

  We were near enough to observe the scene closely; almost near enough to hear every word spoken The Itzaex seemed astonished at Chaka’s appearance. They looked upon him wonderingly, and I now noticed for the first time that Chaka alone wore a white loin cloth; those of all the others were of some color, green and yellow predominating.

  When the boy had almost reached them he stopped short, lifted one arm with an imperious gesture and said:

  “I am Chaka, returned to you after many days. My father is dead. Itzaex, salute your atkayma!”

  With one accord they knelt and prostrated themselves, old and young alike. There was no word of question, no display of antagonism. The people knew and saluted their chief.

  Chaka slowly advanced to where the leader of the Itzaex knelt in front of his followers. Beside him lay the gory head of the old atkayma, the skin of its face drawn into a horrid grin. The boy knelt to the ghastly thing and kissed its forehead. Now he plucked from the matted gray hair a single heron’s feather — the emblem of royalty — and placed it among his own dark locks. Then be stood erect.

  During this scene not an Itzaex moved. Each head touched the ground. The warriors were silent as well as motionless.

  “Rise, my people!” commanded Chaka, in clear, ringing tones. They obeyed, and now a legion of dark eyes was fixed full upon the youth confronting them. “The Itzaex are still brave and dauntless,” continued the young atkayma. “The Mopane cats are punished for their crime. The murder of the great and noble Tcheltzada, my father, who has ruled you long and wisely, has been quickly and terribly avenged. I thank you.” Now the chieftain of the party, an enormous grizzled warrior, stepped forward and said:

  “Tell us, then, O Atkayma, where you have been; why now you are here.”

  “Then listen to my words,” was the reply. “It is nine years since I led a band of young men to the sea. The Mopanes fell upon us and cut my comrades down. Some, I hope, escaped. I found a boat and fled across the great water, the enemy following. A ship of the white people — the powerful Americans — saved me and took me on board, repelling the Mopanes. I was carried to far lands, with no way to return to my people. Years passed by. I found a good friend among the white men, a friend who has now helped me to come back to you. He is yonder, with seven others who have assisted me. On our journey to Itzlan we were surprised by Mopanes. You may see how many we have destroyed.”

  The warriors glanced around. The ground was literally covered with bodies. They well knew they had not slain all these themselves.

  “My white friends,” continued Chaka, “must become the friends of the Itzaex nation; my people must become their friends. To them you owe the safe return of your atkayma.”

  This last statement was the first to be received with disfavor. There were sundry grunts of protest and gestures of dissent. The old chieftain bowed low and made reply.

  “Never, O Atkayma Chaka, has the white man been the friend of the Itzaex,” said he.

  “Time changes many things. These white people have been like brothers to me,” announced Chaka, in a firm voice. “I know them. In their hearts is no treachery; they seek no conquest; they are good and true. Tell me, Gatcha, have they not destroyed many of the enemies of the Itzaex? Have they not given you back your hereditary atkayma, just as the gods have permitted my father Tcheltzada to meet his doom? If you fail to greet my preservers as friends, the gods, from whom I am descended, and for whom I speak, will surely punish you.”

  That seemed to settle the case with the Itzaex. Once more they prostrated themselves before Chaka in token of obedience, and the chieftain Gatcha said:

  “It is well, O Atkayma. If your uncle, the mighty Datchapa, receives the white men, we have no objection to offer to them.”

  The youth frowned and drew himself up haughtily.

  “Who, then, is master; my Uncle Datchapa or Chaka?” he demanded.

  There was no response.

  Chaka turned and came back to us.

  “Do not fear,” he said in English. “My people will obey me. Come; let us go.”

  We gathered up our traps and followed the new atkayma to where his warriors stood awaiting us. I observed that they regarded us who were white with a disdain that was scarcely tolerant and decidedly uncomfortable. Nux and Bryonia, however, won favor immediately — doubtless because of their color; perhaps for their imposing forms and composed demeanor. The latter was not unlike a notable characteristic of the Itzaex warriors.

  Paul, who headed us, placed his right hand on the left shoulder of the chieftain Gatcha, which was the native salutation of peace and friendship. The old fellow seemed pleased and gravely responded. I followed suit, understanding this custom was expected, and so we all in turn saluted the warrior, whom we afterward discovered was the most famous general of the nation.

  Then, without more ado, we started away, our party occupying a central position beside the Atkayma Chaka, who stalked along with a newly assumed dignity that was rather amusing, although I must admit the boy had always displayed considerable dignity.

  The Itzaex had doubtless seen white men before, or at least heard of them; yet I am sure the peculiar manner in which we were garbed astonished them. Not that they allowed themselves to show surprise; they were too phlegmatic for that; but even this secluded race realized that no such queer rigging was ever
worn by human creatures before, white or black, and since they had no reason to laugh at us they must have been impressed with the fact that we were distinctly unusual.

  Any present danger to us seemed now eliminated, for with this superb escort we would surely be able to penetrate to the heart of Itzlan, where the capital city called Itza was located. Two days’ journey from here, Chaka had called it; but the Itzaex marched with such long, swinging strides that they covered the ground more rapidly than we had been able to do before.

  CHAPTER 11

  WE ENTER THE CITY OF ITZA

  We held no unnecessary converse with one another on the trail, not being anxious to appear as chatterboxes before these silent natives; but when we had camped for the night in another small clearing, which we reached at dusk, we gathered in a group and in English talked over the day’s adventures and our future prospects. Chaka came and sat with us after he had indulged in a somewhat lengthy interview with Gatcha the chief, and he looked rather solemn and thoughtful.

  “My father was out hunting with a small party of twelve,” said he, “when the Mopanes, who had long been lying in ambush, seized and assassinated him. One warrior made escape and aroused the city, so Gatcha gathered his men and gave chase. Before he left Itza, however, the chief tells me that my Uncle Datchapa, believing me to be dead, as had my father, caused himself to be proclaimed atkayma. That is bad, my friends, for now Datchapa will not be glad to see me.”

  “Is he as bad as that?” I asked.

  “My Uncle Datchapa,” returned Chaka, slowly, “is an old man, and a wise man as well. He has renown as a warrior and a statesman, and my people respect him greatly. Also he is ambitious, and as a boy my mother warned me to avoid him, lest he seek my death that he might succeed my father as atkayma. Gatcha, who has no love for Datchapa, but fears him, tells me my father also watched his ambitious brother carefully, being afraid to trust him at the head of the army. Gatcha is not sure that my uncle did not secretly send for the Mopanes and then induce the Atkayma Tcheltzada to hunt with a handful of followers. If this is true — but I hope it is not true — then Datchapa will be much disappointed when I return.”