Soon after noon the next day, Tinana showed signs of uneasiness and stopped now and then to peer ahead and about, searching the earth with his keen eyes, and listening intently to every sound. He was evidently nervous. The Metakis kept their blowguns in readiness for instant use, and I felt a tingle of excitement, for I realized we were in hostile country and nearing the haunts of the Waupona and Melanga's mythical monkey-men. But it was mid-afternoon when Tinana crouched low, and with a gesture for silence, beckoned to me. Crawling to his side, where he squatted behind a dense cluster of vines, I peered out through the foliage in the direction he indicated.
At our feet the earth ended in a sheer precipice, and at its foot, fully a thousand feet below, and stretching for miles into the distance, was a great sunlit valley that gleamed like a sea of blood. A vast expanse of vivid scarlet broken by the silver thread of a ribbon through its centre, and by little patches of green; a marvelous sight. We had reached our goal. Melanga had not exaggerated the wonder of this valley. Now that we had reached the haunt of the Waupona, I was almost prepared to believe in the monkey-men.
Chapter II
“For a long time I gazed fascinated at the great red valley, and could scarcely credit my own senses. It seemed so incredible. It seemed like some weird dream, or such a scene as one might expect to see on Mars. At last Tinana touched my arm and suggested that we delay no longer, but attempt to descend to the valley right away. This task appeared impossible. The spot where we stood was the verge of a precipice, obviously impassable. Crawling back a few yards, Tinana led us by a circuitous route until we came to the edge of a large lake surrounded by forest. The upper end of the lake was lost among the trees, but near us, the lower end washed against a rocky ledge. There seemed no outlet to the lake, but dim and faint in the distance, I heard the roar of falling water.
"Through a thick tangle, Tinana led the way to a rough steep gorge, and as we slipped and picked our way along the declivity, I now and then caught brief glimpses of the red valley through the intervening foliage. Constantly, too, the roar of the waterfall became louder, and presently, as we rounded a turn in the trail, I saw the cataract. Before us, and towering for hundreds of feet above the valley, rose a sheer rock wall, and half way up its face, a great white column of water rushed outward through a tunnel-like opening in the solid cliff.
Straight into the air it spouted for nearly a hundred feet, to spread and fall in a great fan-shaped dazzling mass to the valley far below. It was an awe-inspiring sight—this great scimitar of water bathed in a veil of mist, and forced with irresistible power through a fissure in the precipice. But I could not see that we were any nearer a solution of the problem of reaching the valley, except that we were now within a few hundred feet of the red trees instead of the thousand feet that had separated us when we had first viewed the weird spot. But we had not yet reached the end of our descent. Directly under that roaring, terrific mass of out flung water, Tinana led on, until at last, he halted on a broad terrace or ledge covered with jungle and barely one hundred feet above the valley with its scarlet-leaved trees. Here, screened from possible observation from below, Tinana explained that it would be necessary to make a ladder of vines in order to descend. No doubt a single tough liana dropped over the cliff would have served him and his fellows, but the Indians knew that it was beyond the powers of any white man to slide down or clamber up a trailing vine for a hundred feet, and all started at work to fashion a rude though serviceable rope ladder of the strong lianas that everywhere draped the trees.
It was slow work, and as the Indians busied themselves, I crept to the cliff edge and studied the valley. I could see no signs of human beings; no huts, no smoke that bespoke inhabitants. No animals appeared upon the open swales of green among the trees, and I felt convinced that Melanga had drawn upon his imagination when he had spoken of the 'monkey-men.' It seemed impossible that any human begins had once occupied the place and had moved away or died off since he made his last journey to the Waupona country. But Tinana did not share my views. He and the other Metakis were nervous, frightened, and insisted that some terrible hostile beings inhabited the valley. No fire was permitted that night, and despite all efforts, I began to feel nervous and on a tension myself, starting at every sound, sleeping badly, and having nightmarish dreams. But the bright morning sun dispelled my unwonted fears, and after a careful scrutiny of the valley, Tinana and his fellows cautiously dropped the frail ladder over the verge of the cliff. Then, half fearfully, Tinana commenced to descend. He reached the valley in safety, looked up, and signalled for us to follow. Backing over the edge of the precipice I, too, went down the ladder. Despite the fact that Tinana had secured the lower end, the thing swayed horribly, and I marvelled that he could ever have reached the bottom with the thing hanging loose. But a hundred feet is not far, and within a few minutes we all stood together at the base of the cliff, gazing about us at the strange and bizarre trees with their immense banner-like leaves of red. They were huge, gnarled and twisted, with innumerable pendent roots like those of mangroves or banyans, and their broad-spreading crowns were so interlaced and tangled that they formed an impenetrable roof above our heads. From above, the place had seemed almost impossible, a weirdly strange and unnatural spot; but now that I stood beneath the trees, I realized that, after all, there was nothing so very strange or remarkable about it. The trees, I saw, were some species of giant croton, very similar in form and color of leaves to the ornamental crotons grown in gardens, and hence in no way more remarkable or unnatural than those red-leaved plants.
Suddenly, from seemingly near at hand, came an odd musical sound, a note that rose and fell like the strumming of a guitar, and apparently issuing from the stream that flowed near. The Indians started, drew together, lifted their weapons, and cast frightened glances about. But there was no sign of human beings within sight. It was the 'singing river’ of Melanga, and as I realized this, I laughed. Strange I had not thought of it sooner. It was a perfectly natural and not uncommon phenomenon, a sound produced by loose pebbles and stones tinkling against one another as they were moved by the current, and magnified by the water. I tried to explain this to the Indians, but I could see that they were convinced the music was of supernatural origin. My mestizo, José, was the most nervous of all.
Suddenly my words were interrupted by a harsh, metallic cry from the tree tops, and instantly everyone wheeled and stared in the direction whence the sound came. Among the branches there was a flash of dazzling purple, and upon a dead limb, in plain view, alighted the most gorgeously beautiful bird I had ever seen. Instantly I knew it for a trogan, but a trogan three times as large and a thousand times more vivid and wonderful in color than even the famed Resplendent Trogan or Quetzal. From its head a great curved crest fell forward over its beak and down its neck while, from above its tail, long, graceful fern-like plumes extended for several feet. From head to tail the creature was intense purple, gleaming with hues of gold and violet as the light played upon its plumage, while from shoulder to shoulder across the breast was a broad white band edged with crimson. It was the Waupona, truly the king of birds. All these details I took in at a glance. Cautiously I cocked my gun, but before I could raise the weapon to my shoulder, Tanina had placed his blowgun to his lips; with a puff of breath the tiny dart sped on its way and with fluttering wings the magnificent bird came tumbling to the earth.
Eagerly I dashed forward and picked up the wonderful creature which I knew no other white man had ever seen. As I examined the priceless specimen, mentally gloating over my good fortune, the discordant scream of another Waupona issued from the tree tops, and as I wheeled about, I caught a glimpse of a second purple bird flashing away on whirring wings.
Almost at the same instant there was a movement among the scarlet leaves, and some large dark body showed through the foliage. Almost involuntarily I raised my gun and blazed away. At the report, the branches bent and thrashed about, and a huge, black, ape-like creature came hurtling, crashing to
the ground. Instantly pandemonium broke loose above our heads, and screams, cries and yells resounded from the tree-tops, while the branches swayed and trembled as unseen, invisible beings leaped and rushed among them. Swift across my mind came remembrance of Melanga's words—his tale of ‘monkey-men who lived in the trees.’ He had been right after all. Whatever the things— whether human beings or apes, we were surrounded by them. And yet I was not terror-stricken. We were armed, superior beings, and that any ape-like creatures would dare attack us, after seeing and hearing the effects of my gun, never entered my head. Then, as we hesitated, not knowing which way to turn, a dart whizzed by my face and struck quivering in the arm of the Metaki beside me. I gasped. The things were human. They used blowguns. Now I was terrified. With a quick motion and a sharp cry of anger and despair, the Indian plucked the tiny arrow from his flesh and raised his blowgun to his lips. Glancing upward, I saw a black, demoniacal face glaring at us from between the branches. It was but a momentary glimpse, but the brief instant of its appearance was enough for the Metaki. His messenger of death sped unerringly and found its mark, and as the sinister, horrible face drew back among the branches, I saw the little shaft of palm stem imbedded in a black cheek, while a fierce cry of terror issued from the swollen lips. As the blow-gun dropped from the hands of the stricken Metaki, a huge black form tumbled from the branches, hung for a moment by one limb, and then plunged to earth just as the Indian, with a last convulsive gasp, slumped like an empty bag to the ground before me.
Terror now gripped all of us, and spurred us to mad flight. We dashed from the red forest. We were close to its verge. Not a hundred yards separated us from an open green vale, with the river just beyond. I ran as I had never run before, heading blindly towards the cliff and the rope ladder, intent only on escaping from those terrible savages in the tree tops. Once I heard a faint cry, and, glancing back, I saw Tinana rolling over and over at the forest’s edge. Another Metaki lay stretched lifeless within a few feet of him, while ahead of me, racing towards the cliff, were Pépe and José. They had been the first to take flight, and already they were close to the ladder and safety. The next moment they reached it, and madly, insane with fear, the two struggled and fought for first place. Then, fairly leaping, they started up, while the frail affair swung and rocked to their frantic efforts. In vain I shouted. They paid no attention to me. I had almost reached the cliff and the two were now half way up its face. I was spent, winded, but safety was at hand. Suddenly, from above, came a cry of mortal terror; there was a rending, snapping sound, and horrified, I stopped in my tracks and gazed fascinated. The combined weight, the mad struggles of the two men had been too much. The lianas had parted, and clinging desperately to the remaining strands the two hung, screaming, mid-way up the cliff, with certain death staring them in the face. Their agonized cries were terrible, but their awful suspense lasted but a moment. With a last tearing sound the lianas gave way, and the two men plunged to their death upon the jagged rocks below. I was alone; alone in this awful valley that swarmed with half-human, monstrous foes; alone with all hope of escape cut off. But I would die fighting, if die I must. In the open, across the river, I might yet find escape, might be able to stand off the creatures who, I noticed, had not left the shelter of the forest to pursue us.
It was my only hope, and turning, I dashed across the smooth green glade, spurred on by the unearthly cries of rage from the red forest in my rear. A moment later and the river was before me, and, without a second's hesitation, I plunged headlong into the stream.
Scarcely had the water closed upon me when I realized my efforts had been in vain. I had expected to find a shoal stream through which I could wallow or swim to the opposite shore. Instead, I sank into a deep, swirling, eddying current that swept me irresistibly along, sucking me under the surface and spinning me about like a bit of chaff. I dropped my gun, which up to then I had retained, and wildly struck out in an effort to reach the surface and fill my bursting lungs with air. At last my face broke through the water into the air and I gasped a half-breath before the whirlpools again drew me under. I felt that all was over, that I was doomed to death in the river; but even that was preferable to the poisoned darts of the savages. Then, just as I was losing consciousness, I felt my feet touch bottom. I kicked and thrashed convulsively, and struggling from the stream, dropped senseless upon a sand bar.
How long I lay there dead to the world I will never know. Slowly I became aware of the sounds of voices apparently far away. Strange, guttural discordant they sounded, and instantly memory returned; filled with stark terror, I sat up. As I did so, a cry of horror burst from my lips. Crouching within a few feet of me, his repulsive, ugly, black face peering into mine, was one of the monstrous ape-like beings. With all my exhausted strength, I struck madly at the face. A loud shout followed the resounding whack with which my hand struck the savage features, and for the first time I was aware that I was completely surrounded by fully two dozen of the strangest beings any man has ever seen.
There was no doubt that they were human. But they were the most repulsively hideous men that the wildest fancy could conceive. Black as coal, with bowed legs and enormous ape-like feet, stooping shoulders and long gorilla arms, they appeared like a troop of Calibans. Their faces were broad, flat and brutal, with high cheek bones, enormously developed jaws, small turned-up noses, and little restless, roving eyes like those of an elephant. Their chins were covered with thick matted beards, and a mop of tangled hair overhung their foreheads and extended down their necks and shoulders in a sort of mane. Despite their hideousness, there was a certain expression of intelligence in their faces and eyes, and their high foreheads bespoke a large brain capacity very different from what one would expect in such low primitive types of man. Every one, too, was a giant, with great corded, rippling muscles under his black skin. Mostly they were nude, but a few wore strips of bark about their loins, and one or two had spindles of wood or bone through their ears and noses. And nearly every one grasped a short blowgun scarcely three feet in length. And I sat there trembling with fear and exhaustion on the gravel bar awaiting the death that I felt sure would be meted out to me.
And yet, somehow, there appeared to be nothing antagonistic or hostile in their attitudes or expressions. The fellow I had struck had drawn out of reach, but showed no resentment; instead, all were regarding me with intense curiosity and were conversing in low, guttural tones among themselves.
Then it dawned upon me that I was undoubtedly as strange and amazing a being to them as they were to me. They had never seen a white man, had never seen clothing, and altogether I was a very different sort of being from the Indians whom they had killed.
Slowly, with a great effort, I struggled to my feet I was weak and reeled. Instantly two of the terrible creatures sprang forward and not ungently supported me and half-carried me across the bar to the shore. I recoiled at their touch, but was far too weak to resist. Then, as I sank upon the soft turf, the things gathered about, clucking, gesticulating, jabbering, and now and again very gingerly reaching out and with half fearful fingers, touching my garments, peeking up my sleeves, rubbing their hands across my boots and obviously filled with wonder. Presently a newcomer arrived carrying my hat, and the guttural words rose high in excitement. Evidently the fellows knew the hat belonged to me, for they held it towards me, and when I placed it on my head they leaped away as if I had performed some awe-inspiring feat of magic.
I began to feel somewhat reassured. Perhaps, after all, I would not be killed out of hand—I was too valuable a curiosity to be wasted, and even if I were kept a prisoner, there was a chance that I might eventually escape. But I had little time to speculate on my ultimate fate. One of the creatures, who seemed to be in charge of the party, approached me, and by gestures and signs indicated that I was to follow him. I had now regained a good bit of my strength, and surrounded by the beings, I followed the leader towards the forest. As we reached the first trees, one of the creatures sprang into the bran
ches with the agility of a monkey, running up the hanging roots and swinging from limb to limb with his blowgun grasped in his teeth, to run off through the tree tops like a gigantic ape. One after another followed him, while several squatted among the branches and peered down at the others and myself as if expecting me to climb up. Indeed, their leader urged me on, and presently, losing his temper, jabbered at me in anything but friendly tones. Even at my best I could not have ascended the trees, but my captors had very different ideas on the subject. Forgetting their fears, they pushed me against the tree trunk and even tried to boost me up. Feeling that I should humor them, I tried my best to climb the smooth, slippery trunk, and my useless efforts brought chuckles of amusement from the savages. As I slipped back, the monkey-men examined my shoes, gabbled volubly, and called to their companions in the tree-tops. Although their lingo was unintelligible, their tones were so expressive that I felt sure they were explaining that my feet were minus toes and hence not adapted for climbing. But they had made up their minds that regardless of all obstacles or defects, their captive was going aloft.
The King of the Monkey Men Page 2
