CHAPTER VIII.
THE DOUBLE-CROSS
Noon, sweltering hot. A blazing sun pouring vertical rays down on ablinding river. A long canoe wearily creeping up the glaring waters,minus a lookout, heedless of the ever-present danger of sunken treetrunks; propelled by three sun-blistered white men, one of whom wore abandage around his head; steered perfunctorily by a pallid pirate whoseleft arm hung in a sling. Atop the right bank an unbroken, endlesstangle of jungle growth. Ahead, on the left shore, a gap gouged out ofthe forest and a number of boats at the water's edge.
"Guess that's it," panted Knowlton, shielding his eyes and squinting atthe clearing. "One more day's journey, the Brazilian chap said. We'vebeen two and a half."
"One day's journey for six hardened rivermen, senor," corrected Jose."Not for three men doing six men's work and hampered by a cripple."
"Aw, ye're no crip, Hozy," dissented Tim. "Any guy that can steer a tublike this here one-handed after losin' a couple gallons o' juice is ingood shape yet, I'll say. If ye had both legs shot off and yer armsbroke and yer head stove in, now, ye might call yourself sort o'helpless. Ease her over to the left a li'l' more, so's we'll hit thebank right at the corner o' that gap. Me, I don't want to take onestroke more 'n I have to. Every muscle in me is so sore it squeaks."
"Same here," admitted Knowlton. "I'm one solid ache."
Jose nodded. The clumsy craft veered a bit. The three put a little morepunch into their lagging strokes, noting, as they neared the steep bank,that a couple of men had appeared at its top and were staring at them.Gradually the long dugout worked in to the muddy shore, where thepaddlers stabbed their blades into the clay and held it firm.
"Ahoy, up there! This the Nunes _seringal_?"
From the edge, some thirty feet above, the taller of the two watchersanswered:
"_Si_, senhor. The headquarters of the coronel. Do you come to visithim?"
"Right."
"Then permit me to help you. The path is a little ahead. Pull up and tieto this stake."
The tall fellow came dropping swiftly downward. At the same time theother Brazilian stepped back and was gone.
With a dexterous twist the man of Nunes moored the boat to thedesignated stake. Then he reached a hand toward Tim to help him out.
"I ain't no old woman, feller," Tim refused, and hopped agroundunassisted. McKay and Knowlton followed. But Jose, after movinglanguidly forward and contemplating the sharp slope, hesitated and thenshrugged his shoulders.
"I am tired, senores," he said. "And perhaps it would be well for one tostay here and watch."
The tall Brazilian's eyes narrowed.
"There is no danger of loss," he asserted, with dignity. "We men of thecoronel are not thieves."
The slight emphasis of his last sentence might have been taken as anintimation that some one else not far away would bear watching. Jose'smouth tightened. For a moment Brazilian and Peruvian eyed each other inobvious dislike. Then, with a glance at his crippled arm, Jose shruggedagain.
"Better come along, Jose," McKay said. "Stuff's safe enough."
"As you will, Capitan."
He lounged to the edge, hesitated, wavered slightly. At once theBrazilian darted out a hand and gave him support. And while the fourclambered up the slope he retained a grip on the Peruvian's arm, aidinghim to the top. When they emerged on the level, however, he dropped hishand immediately. Jose gave him a half-mocking bow of thanks, to whichhe replied with a short nod. Then he stepped back and let the Peruvianprecede him toward a number of substantial pole-supported houses ahundred yards away.
"No love lost between them two," thought Tim, who had watched it all."Good skate, though, this new feller. Ready to help a guy that needs it,whether he likes him or not; ready to knock his block off, too, if heneeds that. Bet he'd be a hellion in a scrap. Dang good-lookin' lad,too."
Wherewith he introduced himself.
"Don't git sore because I growled at ye down below," he said, with afriendly grin. "Sounded rough, mebbe, but that's my style. I'm Tim Ryan,from the States. I bark more 'n I bite."
The overture met with instant response--a quick smile and a twinkle inthe warm eyes.
"It is not words that give offense, senhor, but the way they arespoken--and the man who speaks them. One man may growl, but you likehim. Another may speak smoothly, but you itch to strike him. Is it notso? I am Pedro Andrada, a _seringueiro_ who should be tapping treesinstead of loafing here. But my partner and I have just come in from along trip into the _sertao_--wilderness--and are resting."
"Yeah? Was that yer buddy I seen with ye?"
"My--ah--buddee? Partner? Yes, that was he--Lourenco Moraes, the bestcomrade one ever had. He has gone to tell the coronel of your arrival.Have you met with an accident downriver?"
He moved a thumb meaningly toward the only remaining member of the crew.
"Yeah," grimly. "Bad accident."
Tim tapped his pistol significently, raised five fingers, winked, andtwitched his head toward the Peruvian. Pedro lifted his brows, noddedquick understanding, pointed to the bad arm of Jose, and made motions asif pulling a trigger. Tim shook his head and enacted the pantomime ofdrawing and throwing a knife. Whereat the Brazilian, aware that Jose wasnot a prisoner and probably knowing that North Americans were not knifethrowers, looked much puzzled. But their sign manual went no farther,for they now approached the house which evidently formed the dwellingand office of Coronel Nunes.
At the foot of the ladder stood a broad-shouldered, square-jawed,thick-muscled, deeply tanned man, who, without speaking, pointed a thumbupward. Above, in the doorway, waited an elderly Brazilian of mediumheight and spare figure, standing with soldierly erectness and garbed inwhite duck of semimilitary cut. He beamed down at McKay and Knowlton,but as his black eyes encountered those of Jose they seemed suddenly tobecome very sharp. Then his gaze rested on Tim's broad face and hesmiled again.
"Enter, gentlemen," he invited. "_Esta casa e a suas ordenes_--thishouse is at your disposal."
McKay, with a bow, climbed the ladder, followed by Knowlton. Jose, witha swaggering stare at the wide-shouldered man, who stared straight backwithout facial change, also went up. Tim came fourth and last, for Pedrostopped beside his countryman, who evidently was Lourenco.
The travelers found themselves in a room which, in view of its distancefrom civilization, seemed palatial. Its floor was tight, its furnituremodern, its walls decorated with a few excellent pictures, of which thelargest was a superb view of the rugged harbor of Rio de Janeiro.Comfortable chairs were ranged along the walls, and the middle of theroom was occupied by a massive square-cornered table on which lay ajumble of hand-written business papers, a number of books, a high-gradeviolin and bow. Beyond the table stood a swivel chair, evidently theusual seat of the coronel. Table and chair were so arranged that themaster of this house sat always with his back to a wall and his facetoward the door. And on a couple of hooks on that wall, ready forinstant service, hung a high-power rifle.
On their way up the river the Americans had passed, at long intervals, afew small rubber estates, whose headquarters consisted mainly of a crudeshack or two, hardly better than the dingy houses of Remate de Males.This place was more imposing. They had observed, while crossing thecleared space, that it was at least half a mile square; that itswarehouse for supplies was big and solid; that a goodly number of_barracaos_, or rubber workers' huts, surrounded the house of the masterat a respectful distance; and that the owner's home was no one-roomcabin, but big enough to contain six or eight rooms. This well-appointedreception room and the formal yet sincere courtesy of its owner showedthat Coronel Nunes was no mere native of the frontier. Later they wereto learn that he was a gentleman of Rio who, exiling himself from thecapital after the death of his wife, had carved from this forbiddingjungle a fortune in the rubber trade.
With the correct touch of Latin punctilio McKay spoke the introductionsand stated that they were on their way upriver to explore thehinterland. With equal politeness the coro
nel bowed and begged hisillustrious guests to be seated. Then he touched a small bell. A door atone side opened and a white-suited negro appeared.
"Cafe," the coronel ordered. As speedily as if these visitors had beenlong expected, the servant brought in a tray bearing cups of syrupycoffee. Each of the guests accepted one. Whereafter the decorum of theoccasion was shattered by Tim, who, at the imminent risk of scaldinghimself, gulped his refreshment and vociferated his satisfaction.
"O-o-oh boy! That hits right where I live! Gimme another one, feller,and make it man's size!"
The black fellow struggled with his quick mirth and then laughedoutright--the throaty, infectious laugh of his race. The coronel's eyestwinkled. And when Tim fished a damp cigarette from his shirt,nonchalantly scraped a match on his host's table, blew a cloud of smoke,and sprawled back with one leg dangling over a chair arm, formality wenta-glimmering.
"_A quem madruga Deus ajuda_," laughed the coronel. "Or, as you NorthAmericans put it, 'God helps those who help themselves.' Let us not beceremonious, gentlemen. 'Tonio, bring more coffee. And cigars. And--"
Down behind his table, where only the servant saw the motion, hetwitched a finger as if pulling a cork. 'Tonio, his ebony countenancesplit by a grin, ducked his head and vanished into the other room.
"How is the rubber market, sir?" asked Knowlton, seeking to divertattention from Tim.
"Not so good," the old gentleman replied, with a deprecatory gesture."In truth, it is very poor since the war--so poor that soon I shallabandon this _seringal_ and go out to spend the rest of my life on thecoast. With rubber selling at a mere five hundred dollars a ton in NewYork and the artificial plantations of the Far East growing greateryearly, there is no longer much profit in bleeding the wild trees of ourjungle. I really do not know why I stay here now, unless it is because Ihave become so much accustomed to this life."
"Why, I understood that there was much money in rubber!"
"You speak truth--there was. Now there is not. The world moves and timeschange. Years ago foreigners came into Brazil, helped themselves to theseed of our wild trees, and planted it in Ceylon and the Malay region.That seed now bears such fruit that the world is flooded with rubber.Ten years ago, senhores, a ton sold for six thousand five hundreddollars. Now, in this year nineteen-twenty, the price is onlyone-thirteenth of what it was in those days. It scarcely pays for thegathering. I hope you have not come expecting to make fortunes inrubber."
"No. We are here to find a race of men known as Red Bones."
The coronel's brows lifted. They kept on lifting, and he opened his lipstwice without speaking. After a long stare at Knowlton he looked atMcKay, at Tim, and finally at Jose. A frown grew on his face. And theAmericans, following his look at the Peruvian, were surprised to seethat Jose himself was staring blankly at the speaker.
"Jose Martinez!" snapped the coronel, leveling a finger pistollike atthe _puntero_. "What devil's game are you working now?"
Jose recovered himself and lifted his coffee cup.
"I do not understand you, Nunes," he replied, languidly. "I am but thehumble _puntero_ of the crew engaged by these senores. My only work hasbeen to earn my pay. And you may ask _el capitan_ whether I have earnedit."
"Ay, he has," corroborated McKay. "Killed two of his own crew in ourdefense."
The coronel's jaw dropped. He blinked as if disbelieving his ears.
"He--Jose? Not possible!" he stuttered. "Jose--this man--defended youagainst his companions?"
"Exactly."
The Brazilian slowly shook his head. Then suddenly he nodded as if anilluminating thought had crossed his mind.
"I see. Jose is very well paid."
"One dollar a day," was McKay's dry retort.
At that moment 'Tonio re-entered with a larger tray than before, bearingmore coffee, long cigars, and squat glasses in which glowed a goldenliquid. Tim sat up with a grunt and helped himself with both hands. Whenthe coronel's turn came he disregarded the drinks, but lit the cigar asif he needed it.
"_De noite todos os gatos sao pardos_," he said. "At night all cats aregray. I am much in the dark, gentlemen. If you would be so good as toenlighten me--"
He paused, looking sidewise again at Jose as if the _puntero_ hadsuddenly grown wings or horns.
"All right," nodded Knowlton, biting and lighting his cigar. "We aresomewhat in the dark ourselves as to why Jose has been so zealous, forhe has been very taciturn since the recent fight at our camp. PerhapsJose also is a bit hazy about our expedition--he looked rather surprisedjust now. So here is the situation."
Briefly then he outlined the object of the search, stating that theidentity of the mysterious Raposa was a matter of some concern tocertain persons in the United States and that the expedition had beenformed with the view of settling the question. From the time of thelanding at Remate de Males, however, he narrated events more fully,giving complete details of Schwandorf's activities, Francisco's offense,and the final attack by the crew. While he talked the coronel's frowndeepened. Also, Jose gradually assumed the expression of a thundercloud.And when the tale was done the _puntero_ exploded.
"_Sangre de Cristo!_" he yelled. "_El Aleman_--the German--he told youwe would go among the cannibals? We? Peruvians? _Madre de Dios!_ If everI get within knife length of him! Nunes, you see, do you not?"
The coronel nodded grimly.
"I see that he planned to have all of you destroyed. Senhor Knowlton,that black-bearded and black-hearted man suggested that you takeMayoruna women? He told you they were shapely of body and tried to putinto your minds the thought of making them your paramours? The snake!
"He did not tell you, then, that the Mayoruna men allow no trifling withtheir women; that any alien man attempting to embrace one of them wouldbe killed. But it is true. If you should succeed in establishingfriendly relations with the men--which is not at all likely--you wouldforfeit all friendship, and your lives as well, by the slightestdalliance with any of the women.
"He told you that more than one man has risked his life to win aMayoruna woman? That is true. But he gave you a false impression as tothe way in which the risk was incurred. He did not tell you thatPeruvian _caucheros_ have sometimes raided small isolated _melocas_ ofthe Mayorunas, shooting down the men and carrying off the girls to bevictims of their bestial lust. He did not tell you that for this reasonany Peruvian is considered their enemy and is killed without mercywherever found. Yet he tried to send you with Peruvian guides into theircountry. He knew the Peruvians would be killed on sight--and you withthem."