CHAPTER XVIII.
FRUIT OF THE TRAP
Heavy hypodermic doses of quinine, aided by Tim's rugged constitutionand the fact that this was his first attack of the ravaging sickness ofthe swamp lands, pulled him back to safety within the next two days. Tosafety, but not to strength. Despite his stout-hearted assertions thathe was ready to hit the trail and "walk the legs off the whole dangedoutfit," he was obviously in no condition to stand up under the gruelingpack work that lay ahead. Wherefore, McKay, after consultation with theothers of the party, and, through Lourenco, with Monitaya, gave himinflexible orders.
"You'll stay here. Stick in your hammock until you're in fighting trim.Then watch yourself. Don't pull any bonehead plays that'll get thesepeople down on you. Take quinine daily according to Knowlton'sdirections--he's written them on the box. If we're not back in afortnight Monitaya will send men to find out why. If they find thatwe're--not coming back--you will be guided to the river, where you canget down to the Nunes place."
"But, Cap--"
"No argument!"
"But listen here, for the love o' Mike! I ain't no old woman! I canstand the gaff! I'm goin' with the gang!"
"You hear the orders!" McKay snapped, with assumed severity. "Think wewant to be bothered with having you go sick again? You're out of shapeand we've no room for lame ducks. You'll stay here!"
Tim tried another tack.
"Aw, but listen! Ye ain't goin' to desert a comrade amongst a lot o' maneaters--right in the place where I got sick, too. Soon's I git away fromhere I'll be all right--"
"That stuff's no good," the captain contradicted, with a tight smile."You didn't get fever here. It's been in your system for days. You gotit back on the river. These people don't have it, or any other kind ofsickness. I've looked around and I know. As for the man eaters, they'remighty decent folks toward friends. We're friends. You'll be under thepersonal protection of Monitaya, and his word is good as gold. It's allarranged, and you're safer here than you would be in New York."
In his heart the stubborn veteran knew McKay was right, but, like anyother good soldier ordered to remain out of action, he grumbled andgrowled regardless. To which the ex-officers paid about as muchattention as officers usually do. They went ahead with their ownpreparations.
"Be of good heart, Senhor Tim," Pedro comforted, mischievously. "Youwill not lack for company. The chief has appointed two girls to waitupon you at all times."
"Huh? Them two tall ones that's been hangin' round and fetchin' things?Are they mine?"
"Yes. They are quite handsome in their way, and strong enough to helpyou about if your legs remain weak. In that case you will probably beallowed to put your arms around them for support. I almost wish I couldget fever, too."
Tim's voice remained a growl, but his face did not look so doleful asbefore.
"Grrrumph! I always seem to draw big females, and I don't like 'em.Gimme somethin' cute like them li'l' frog dolls in Paree--sort o'pee-teet and chick. Still, a feller's got to do the best he can. MebbeI'll live till you guys git back."
With which he availed himself of the prerogative of a sick man andgrinned openly at the two comely young women who stood near at hand,awaiting any demand for services. They were not at all backward inreciprocating, and, despite the tribal paint and their labial ornaments,the smiles softening their faces made them not half bad to look upon.
"'O death, where is thy sting?'" laughed Knowlton. "Be careful not tostrain your heart while we're away, Tim."
"Don't worry. It's a tough old heart--been kicked round so much it'sgrowed a shell like a turtle. Besides, I seen wild women before I evercome to the jungle."
Notwithstanding his apparent resignation, however, Tim erupted once morewhen his comrades shouldered their packs, picked up their guns, andspoke their thanks and good-by to Monitaya. He arose on shaky legs anddesperately offered to prove his fitness by a barehanded six-round boutwith his commanding officer. When McKay, with sympathetic eyes but grufftones, peremptorily squelched him he insisted on at least going to thedoor to watch his comrades start the journey from which they might ormight not return. Nor did he take advantage of his chance to hug thegirls on the way.
With one arm slung over the shoulders of a wiry young warrior whogrinned proudly at the honor of being selected to help a guest of thegreat chief, he followed the departing column out into the sunshine,where the entire tribe was assembled. And when the stalwart band hadfiled into the shadows of the trees and vanished he stood for a timeunseeing and gulping at something in his throat.
Straight away along a vague path beginning at the rear of the _malocas_marched the twenty-four, the two northerners bending under the weight oftheir packs, the pair of Brazilians sweeping the jungle with practicedeyes, the score of Mayorunas striding velvet footed, resplendent inbrilliant new paint and headdresses, armed with the most powerfulweapons of their tribe, and loftily conscious of the fact that they werechosen as Monitaya's best. Savage and civilized, each man was fit,alert, formidable. Nowhere in the loosely joined chain was a weak link.
Before the departure the Americans had been at some trouble to ridthemselves of Yuara, who, with his men, had tarried at the Monitaya_malocas_ during Tim's sickness. While Knowlton was giving his rippedarm a final dressing he had calmly announced his intention of joiningthe expedition into the Red Bone country, and it had taken some skillfulargument by Lourenco to dissuade him without arousing his anger. Allfour of the adventurers would gladly have taken him along had he notbeen hampered by his injury, but, under the ruthless rule barring allmen not in possession of all their strength, he had to be left.
Now, as on the previous jungle marches, the way was led by two of thetribesmen, followed by the Brazilians and the Americans, after whom themain body of the escort strode in column. The leader and guide, oneTucu, was a veteran hunter, fighter, and bushranger, who had been morethan once in the Red Bone region and withal possessed the cool judgmentof mature years and long experience; a lean, silent man who, though nota subchief, might have made a good one if given the opportunity. Withhim Lourenco had already arranged that a direct course should befollowed, and that whenever dense undergrowth blockaded the way themachete men should take the lead.
For some time no word was spoken. The path wound on, faintly marked, buteasy enough to follow with Tucu picking it out. It was not one of thefrequently used trails of the Monitaya people, but a mere _picada_, orhunter's track; yet even this had its pitfalls to guard the tribalhouse. Soon after leaving the clearing Tucu turned aside, passed betweentrees off the trail, went directly under one tree whose steep-slantingroots stood up off the ground like great down-pointing fingers, andreturned to the path. All followed without comment.
A considerable distance was covered before any further sign of thepresence of ambushed death was shown by the savages. Then it came withtragic suddenness.
Tucu grunted suddenly, and in one instant shifted his gait from the easyswing of the march to the prowl of a hunting animal. Behind him the linegrew tense. The click of rifle hammers and of safeties being thrown offbreech bolts blended with the faint slither of arrows being swiftlydrawn from quivers. Eyes searched the bush, spying no enemy.
Two more steps, and Tucu stopped, head thrust forward, eyes boring intosomething on the ground. The rest, taking care not to touch oneanother's weapons, crowded around and looked down at the huddled form ofa man.
A matted mass of black hair, a neck burned copper brown by sun, tatteredcotton shirt and trousers, big, bare dirty feet, a rusty repeating rifleof heavy caliber--these were what they saw first. The man lay straight,his face in the dirt, his hands a little ahead as if he had beencrawling forward at the moment of death. Tucu turned him on his back,revealing a blanched yellow-brown face which was proof positive of hisrace.
"Peruvian," said Pedro.
"What got him?" demanded Knowlton. "No wound on him."
Lourenco questioned Tucu. The leader, who evidently knew just where tolook, tore open the thin shirt at the
left side and pointed to a tinydiscoloration surrounding a red dot under the ribs. He muttered a fewlaconic words.
"A blowgun trap," Lourenco explained. "The gun is set a little waybeyond here. This man, sneaking along the path, broke the little cordwhich shot the gun. The poisoned dart struck in his side. He must havepulled out the dart, but he could not go far before his legs becameparalyzed, and he fell. Then, still trying to crawl, he died."
Pedro picked up the dead man's gun and worked the lever. The weapon wasfully loaded and showed no sign of recent firing. Pedro coolly pumped itempty, gathered up the blunt .44 cartridges, and pocketed them for hisown use.
Tucu watched the proceeding in satirical approval. Then, leaving thebody where it lay, he went stooping along the path ahead, his keen eyessearching the undergrowth. In a few minutes he returned with theblood-stained dart which, as Lourenco had guessed, the stricken prowlerhad pulled from his flesh and dropped. This he passed to a blowgun man.The latter carefully opened his poison pouch, redipped the point of thedart, held it a moment to dry in a shaft of sunlight, and slipped itinto his dart case among a score of unused missiles.
"No waste of ammunition here," was McKay's dry comment. "What happens tothis corpse now?"
Through Lourenco's mouth Tucu answered.
"It will be left here until police warriors come from the _malocas_.Certain men travel the paths daily to inspect the traps. When they findthis man they will cut off his hands and feet with their wooden knivesand throw the rest aside to be eaten by the animals. He has not beendead long or he would have been devoured by some wild thing before wecame. The trail travelers will set the trap again and take the hands andfeet to the _malocas_, where they will be washed, cooked, and eaten."
The faces of the Americans contracted slightly. A simultaneous thoughtmade them flash startled glances at each other.
"Tim--" Knowlton said, and paused. Lourenco smiled.
"No, Senhor Tim will not be expected to eat man meat," he assured them."I thought of that before we left--one never knows when these traps willyield human flesh. So, without letting Monitaya know why I spoke, I toldhim you North Americans believed the flesh of an enemy to be poisonous,and that you would not eat it on that account. Monitaya will rememberthat."
"By George! you have a head on your shoulders, old scout! I was worriedfor a minute. If they offered Tim a broiled foot or a stewed hand he'dgo for his gun."
Briefly Tucu spoke. The Mayorunas separated and went into the forest,seeking any sign of other enemies.
"Queer that this chap should come here alone--if he was alone," addedKnowlton. "Suppose he's the fellow that's been swiping stray girls? Or aspy?"
"Neither, I think, senhor. The girls were captured by more than one man,and I doubt if this one had been here before. Probably he was one ofthose lone prowlers of the bush whose hand is against every man. He is ahalf-breed, as you see, and came, perhaps, to steal a girl for himself.The jungle is well rid of him."
"Uh-huh. Guess you're right. Say, I'd like to see how that blowgun trapoperates. Can't understand what blows the dart when nobody is here."
"I do not know, either, senhor. Perhaps Tucu will show us."
The savage guide, after a moment's hesitation, pointed along the trailand stalked away, the others at his heels. At a spot some fifteen yardsfarther on he turned into the bush at the right, walked a few paces awayfrom the path, turned again sharply to the left, advanced once more, andhalted. Before them, not easy to discern in the masking brush, eventhough they were looking for it, hung the long barrel of the blowgun,lashed to a couple of small trees and pointing toward the path.
Tucu stepped to the mouthpiece of the slender tube and pointed to asapling, just behind and in line with it, which had been cut off aboutshoulder-high from the ground. From the tip of this thin trunk dangled awide strip of bark. The savage, having indicated this, stood as if theaction of the device were perfectly clear.
"Too deep for me," admitted McKay, after a puzzled study of the tube andthe trunk. The others nodded agreement. Lourenco confessed to the Indianthe blindness of all.
Thereupon Tucu bent the sapling far over and released it. As it sprangerect the bark strip slapped the end of the gun. Also, the watchers sawsomething hitherto unnoticed--a thin, flexible vine attached to the topof the thin stump. Lourenco's face showed understanding.
"See, comrades, this is it: The little tree is bent far down and held bythe long vine. The vine passes around a low branch, then up over otherlimbs, and out across the path, where it is fastened to a root near theground. A man following the path breaks the vine. The little tree thenflies up and the bark sheet strikes the wide mouthpiece of the gun. Theair forced into that mouthpiece by the blow of the bark shoots thelittle dart. The dart does not fly as hard as if blown by a man, but itgoes swiftly enough to pierce the skin of anything except a tapir. Assoon as the poison is in the blood the work is done."
"It sure is done," Knowlton echoed, thinking of the short distancecovered by the dead Peruvian after passing this spot. "Mighty ingeniousapparatus. These people are no fools, I'll say."
"You say rightly," Pedro muttered. Turning, they went out to the path,looking askance at the thin death tube as they passed along it.
The scouting Mayorunas returned, having found nothing. Tucu resumed hisplace at the head of the line. Without a backward glance at the bodysprawling in the trail at the rear, the column swung into its usualgait.
The Americans, silent before, were silent again. They had looked for thefirst time on the work of the Mayoruna traps; had observed thecold-blooded way in which the Indiana handled the still form on theground; had visualized the forthcoming mutilation of that body and theresultant cannibal rites. More vividly than ever before they realizedthat these men and Monitaya himself were relentless creatures of thejungle, and that, despite the present existent friendliness, thereyawned between them and their barbarous allies an impassable gulf.
For the moment the jungle itself seemed a poisonous green abyss ofcreeping, crawling, sneaking death. And though they had faced death toooften in another land to fear it in any form, though they marched onwith unwavering step, their eyes were somber as in their hearts echoedthe last appeal of the man they had left behind them:
"Ye ain't goin' to desert a comrade amongst a lot o' man eaters--"