Tossing the hammock toward the landing, he walked to a tree at the edge of the open space. It looked as solid and firm as any other tree. But he stopped in the shadow beside it, put both hands on it, and pulled a large piece of bark away. Then his head and shoulders disappeared into the trunk.
Crossing to where he stood, we saw that in the tree yawned a large black hole. In this he was groping downward. Soon he straightened up and drew out a package wrapped in rubber-cloth.
"Hollow,” he explained, nodding at the trunk. “I cut a chunk of the same kind of bark off another tree and trimmed it to fit this hole. When it's on you'd hardly know there was any hole here. Kept my notebooks and stuff like that in here—dry as a bone and out of harm's way. Sort of a bush safety-deposit vault."
He set the bundle on the ground, groped again in the tree, and brought up a smaller package.
"That's all,” he said. “Wish I'd cached a gun in there, but wishing doesn't get me anything. I've got the records of the expedition intact, anyway. That and one bum hammock. Nothing else."
With the bundle in his arms he went down to the landing. I picked up the other, and we followed.
"Here are smaller canoes than ours,” I said, looking over the boats whose paddlers never again would sit in them. “Let us take one of them and leave the big one."
"Right. We'll take my own. It's light and fast, and it will just about carry us three. But before I go I want to do one thing for my boys up yonder."
"What?"
"Put up a good big cross among them. We can't bury them, but—"
"If you will pardon me, senhor, I would not do that now,” Pedro objected. “Later, perhaps, but not tonight."
"Why not?"
"Because the barbaros may come back tomorrow to see if they have missed any loot. To find a cross here would set them searching the bush for miles around for the men who put it up. Now they do not know of us, and it is not well to let them know until we are ready. And I think we had better not leave that big canoe of theirs here. Let us take it farther on and hide it in some place not easily found. I have been thinking, and I believe I have a plan to clean out that snakes’ den."
"Good boy! What is it?"
"Later on, senhor, I will tell you,” my partner smiled. “But now let us act, not talk."
"All right."
Mack dropped his bundle into a narrow, swift-looking canoe. We stowed the larger package where it would ride well. Then he climbed the bank once more and stood silent, his hand at his forehead in salute. When he came back his face was working and his eyes wet. Without a word we pushed out, towing the long ubá behind us.
Some distance farther on we found a bush-grown inlet where the boat of the barbaros could be entirely concealed. We drove it in, bent bushes far down to cover its stern, and left it there. With the moon rolling high above us we struck off toward our distant camp.
* * * *
XI
AFTER OUR slow, blind trip to this place in the clumsy ubá, the return through the moon-glare in Senhor Mack's speedy little boat was like play. Swiftly we swept on, with the water purring pleasantly under our bow, until we had passed through the twisting channel and entered again the lagoa on whose banks stood the Jararaca's camp and our own. There we slowed and became cautious.
The moonlight flooded the whole sheet of water, and on it we saw no boats. But that was no sign that it was not watched; and out of the many pairs of eyes in the Jararaca's gang it would take only one to spy us, and only one tongue to start an alarm. So we began to work along close to the southern bank, where we could blend with the jungle shadows. And as we neared the point opposite which the enseada opened, we paddled without lifting our blades, turning them under water at each slow stroke, so that the moon would not betray us by flashing off the wet wood.
On the northern jungle-line the firelight did not show now. Either the fires had sunk low or their glimmer was swallowed up by the brighter light of the moon. But the throb of the drums went on as before, floating to us across the water like the beating of some awful black heart. The cannibals still were awake.
No other sound of men came to us, and as we crawled on past the enseada we saw no blot on its surface. Down to the end of the wide water we traveled without any sign that we were seen. But we still stuck to the shoreline until that grassy point of land near our camp had slid out between us and the lagoon and we knew no watcher could possibly see us cut across the ygarapé to our own bank. Then I swung the stern. But Pedro swerved the bow back. In a low tone he said:
"Now is as good a time as any to get our machadinhas. Tomorrow may be too late. Perhaps it is too late now—the barbaros may have been there, may even be there at this moment. But let us go and see."
I grunted assent, and we moved on without crossing. Now we lifted our paddles and took a freer swing, but we made no attempt at speed. Loop after loop of the ygarapé crept behind us until we saw the awful head of the assacu towering from its knoll. At the last turn we barely moved, floating on as lightly as a fallen leaf, ready for anything. Then Pedro grunted and stroked boldly. Except for ourselves, the water was empty.
Across to the clay hill we slid, taking good care to pass the place where the snakehead trail began. As we drew up beyond the tree, where the ground was safe, Pedro rose to leap ashore. But he did not make that jump. For a second he stood poised. Then he gave the bank a sudden jolt with his paddle, swerving the canoe outward. In one swoop he had caught up his rifle.
I threw my own gun to my shoulder. Somewhere in the shadows under that poison-tree something was creeping toward us.
Down to the edge came a black, horrible shape. Over my rifle-barrel I stared at it, ready to shoot but not sure whether it was man, beast, or fiend. Then I saw. It was man and beast both—perhaps fiend too. A big alligator, clutching in his jaws the body of one of the Indians we had left there, was sliding into the water.
"Por Deus!" Pedro muttered. “Perhaps our machadinhas are gone even though no more barbaros have come."
When the reptile had sunk from sight we lowered our guns and sent the canoe back to the shore.
"Beware of snakes!” I warned.
Both Pedro and Senhor Mack grunted. We got out on shore very carefully.
"I'll go ahead,” said the blond man. “You lads ought to wear boots. Hand me a machete, somebody."
I passed him mine, and he tramped on before us. Step by step we followed him up the slope.
"Back up!” he suddenly warned.
With the words he swung the knife. A hiss sounded. The machete thudded down. The hiss died.
"Good thing I came first,” said our American partner. “He nailed my foot. Didn't get through, though. These boots are tough."
"Jararaca?" Pedro questioned.
"Don't know. Most likely. Something wicked anyhow. Say, you lads better stay back. You might step on his head or another live one. What do you want? Just your tomahawks?"
"I thought, senhor, it would be well to throw the barbaros into the water,” Pedro answered. “There the jacarés will quickly take care of them, and if other cannibals came there will be no sign of a fight—except blood."
"Good idea. You stay there and I'll haul them over to you. Guess your hatchets are still here. Here's one cuss now, all curled up."
We saw him stoop and look.
"Ugh! He's swollen like a poisoned pup. One of the guys that stepped on your trap. If you fellows hadn't been here this afternoon I'd look like this thing now—or worse."
After a minute he came toward us, dragging a body by the hair. And he went straight past. We saw a bloated corpse slide by and go tumbling into the ygarapé, where it sank from sight.
"There goes one of the scuts that butchered my boys,” he said grimly, coming back. “I wanted to heave him to the ‘gators myself. You can have the others."
One by one he brought them to us, and we threw them out into the water. The first was swollen like the one he had dragged past. Then came one with a machadinha driven deep
into his skull, and as we worked the blade out he pulled the other up and dropped it. Pedro drew the hatchet from that one's head. The two we had killed with machetes came last and ended the count.
"Two dead by tomahawks, two by machetes, two by snake-bite—and the one the ‘gator got,” Senhor Mack summed up. “That cleans up the pot, and we can call it a day. Maybe I'd better find that snake and chuck him into the bush, though. Then there'll be nothing left here but tracks. Phew! That ‘gator tied to the tree is getting to smell out loud."
Lighting matches, he went about until he found the snake he had killed in the dark.
"Yep, a jararaca,” he said. “Good sign, that. We'll clean up that yellow jararaca over on the hill—Judas! Here's another!"
Again the machete whistled in the air. Then we heard something soft go flying into the bush, and another thing of the same kind follow it.
"Suppose both of those squirmy cusses would have had a lot of fun slinging poison into my bare legs tonight if you lads hadn't stopped the cannibals from stripping me and trussing me up,” said Mack as he returned to us. “But the boot's on the other foot. Anything more to do here?"
"Nothing, senhor,” we told him.
And we went down to the canoe and shoved out and away from that accursed spot.
Back along the water we traveled swiftly until we neared the grassy point. There we slowed and sought a hiding-place for our canoe. After a little time we found it: a snug little spot under thick overhanging bush. We unloaded Senhor Mack's two bundles, got ashore, and started for our tambo. But somehow I got a desire to look again up the lagoon before we slept.
"All right,” Mack agreed. “Never does any harm to look around. We'll squat here until you come back."
So I stepped toward the point. But I had gone less than a dozen steps when I halted. Into the air had come a sound which I felt rather than heard: a beat of paddles.
Back to the others I ran. Three words from me, and we were creeping to the edge of the water. There we crouched and watched.
The beat became plain. Water swashed. Before our eyes an eight-man ubá of savages surged past, bound for the assacu. Another followed, and another. They passed and were gone.
Wordless, motionless, we waited. The moon slid on westward. Life splashed in the water, howled in the forest, buzzed in the air. But no sound came from down the ygarapé.
Then came a confused murmur. Again sounded a rush of water. Paddles splashed as if driven in fear. The murmur became voices grunting excitedly. An ubá shot past, crowded hard by the other two. They swirled around the point and disappeared at top speed toward the camp of the Jararaca.
We arose and ran to the point, where we watched those ugly war-boats rush into their enseada and vanish. We waited long for them to come out again, but nothing came. So finally we turned back toward our camp. And as we went I thought of what I had heard.
Those cannibals, hurrying away from the place, had been mouthing one word—
"Anyi!"
And the Tupi word “anyi” means—
"Devil!"
* * * *
XII
BACK AT our tambo, around which splotches of white light crawled along the ground as the moon crept westward, we helped our North American friend patch his hammock so that it would hold him up for the night. When the task was done and the bed hung beside ours, he asked:
"Now, friend Pedro, what's your big idea? How are we to smash the Son of the Snake?"
"My biggest idea just now, senhor,” Pedro smiled, “is to sleep until morning."
"Oh, rats! We can sleep when there's nothing else to do. Come on, loosen up."
"In the morning, senhor. As you say, the time to sleep is when there is nothing else to do. We can do no more tonight. So now I sleep."
"You're an exasperating cuss,” Mack grumbled. “But you're talking sense at that. I'm dog tired, and we can think better after we rest."
"Just so, senhor. Good night."
And we curled up in our nets and relaxed.
MORNING BROKE faint and gray, but after the sun sucked up the usual swamp mists the air grew clear and hot. We found a dead tree and cut from it wood which gave a swift fire with little smoke, and over this we boiled our coffee. As soon as the black liquid was hot we killed the blaze with mud. And after a spying trip to the point, where we saw only the bare water, we smoked and talked.
"Now, senhor,” said Pedro, “you want most of all to kill the Jararaca. We are with you in that. But also you want to stamp out the gang of the Jararaca, leaving not one alive. We are with you in that also. Not only are such beasts unfit to live, but they make this place unsafe for any man.
"We seek rubber, and if we find it our fellow seringueiros must come in here to work it. But they can not work any region where lives so deadly a band of man-eaters as that of the Jararaca. And even if we find no rubber here, this is the seringal of our coronel, and as men of the coronel it is our duty as well as our desire to destroy these snakes before they strike at the coronel's interests."
"Quite so,” Mack nodded.
"But the job of destroying them is too great for three men armed as poorly as we are, You have no weapons at all; and though we two are well equipped to fight and run, we do not want to run. When we open our war we must stay with it to the end. I do not know how many men are against us, but they must number at least half a hundred. Lourenço and I have outfought odds as great as that before now, but those were low creatures who were hardly more than beasts and who feared us as demons, so that they were defeated by their own terror. These fighters of the Son of the Snake are not such fools. What is more, their place on that hill is too strong for us to attack. Its front is a steep, bare slope of slippery clay rising out of the water of the enseada. The side where we crawled up yesterday and saw you face the Jararaca is almost as steep as the front, and its underbrush has been cleared away so that the cover would be very poor for anyone trying to storm the top. The other side, toward the lagoa, undoubtedly is the same."
"It is,” the blond man agreed. “That's the side where I went up and down. Path leads from the canoe-landing to the top."
"So I thought. That leaves only the fourth side, back in the bush, of which we know nothing; but it is a safe guess that the rear is well protected. The place is almost a forte.
"The first thing for us to do, then, is to find enough men, with enough weapons, to give us a fighting chance against the barbaros. To go against them without a fighting chance would be to die like fools. Am I right?"
"Couldn't be any righter,” Mack admitted. “But where are your men and guns?"
"On other parts of this seringal. And to get them we must first return to headquarters."
"Too slow! I want to clean up now."
"With what?” Pedro demanded. “Your bare hands? That is all you have now. I tell you frankly, senhor, I will not throw away my life for no good. I have no great objection to dying, but I do not intend to give my arms and legs to feed such brutes as those. If you will go against them alone, go. Perhaps the Jararaca and his men will stand in line and let you strangle them one by one. But I doubt it."
The other scowled and growled; but nodded grudgingly.
"You're right,” he conceded. “How long does it take us to reach your coronel?"
"It took us nine days to reach this place, but we traveled slowly. This time we shall go fast. And have no fear that the barbaros will run away while we are gone. They will keep until we return."
"All right, let's go!” Mack snapped, rising swiftly. “And let's go light. Least weight, most speed."
"We take only our hammocks and what food we need,” Pedro answered. “We shall have a good deal to pack when we return. There is another part to my plan, which I shall speak of later. Now our task is to make speed northward,"
Both Mack and I looked curiously at him, wondering what other thing he had in mind. But we asked no questions. We fell to making up light packs of food.
Then to me came a half-formed
idea. I stopped my work.
"Pedro,” I said, “I stay here until you return. There is no need of all three of us going to headquarters. You two are enough."
"Huh? Leave you here alone? Nothing doing!” Mack protested.
I smiled. Pedro laughed.
"Do not worry about Lourenço, senhor,” he said. “He has gone alone more than once among the worst dangers of the jungle, and you see he is still alive. Even if the barbaros caught him they would find him hard to hold. If this Jararaca is a snake, Lourenço is an eel."
"I get you,” the blond man said with a quick grin. “One of those electric eels that pack an awful wallop, eh? But what can you do here alone, Lourenço?"
"Perhaps I can learn a few things of value,” I suggested. “And possibly some other victim may be brought to the assacu before you return. If I can not save him I can shoot him. That would be mercy."
"I'll say so,” he agreed, his face darkening. “But listen here, old-timer—don't get too brash and kill the Jararaca on your own hook while I'm gone. He's my meat. Understand?"
"The time to kill a snake, senhor, is whenever you can,” I told him coolly. “It does not matter who kills it, so long as it is killed. I make no promises."
For a moment I thought he would again refuse to go. But then he looked down at his empty cartridge-belt and holster, spread his hands in a hopeless way, shrugged his shoulders, and resumed his work on his pack. And a little later he and Pedro stood up with a scant week's rations on their shoulders, ready to go.
"I am leaving the gold cross with you,” Pedro said. “It has led us to the demons who hung that poor fellow on the assacu, even as I thought it might. Now it may protect you while you are alone."
"You talk like a priest,” I laughed. “Take it or leave it—I do not care. What interests me more is the fact that you are leaving the jug."
Senhor Mack snickered and Pedro grinned. We strode away to the ygarapé, leaving jug and cross behind us. While they settled themselves in the canoe I went again to the grassy point, saw nothing alarming, and returned to them. Then we struck off smartly down the winding water.
Amazon Nights: Classic Adventure Tales from the Pulps Page 31
