CHAPTER X
RED BEARD SEALS HIS DOOM
Far up in the Guiana jungles and strangely incongruous and out ofplace in the heart of the bush, a seaplane rested half drawn upon theshore of a small lake. High above the mighty trees it had flown fromGeorgetown, following the course of the great river stretching like asilver ribbon through the endless jungle and like a giant bird it hadcircled and swooped to the surface of Maipurisi Lake. For a hundredmiles and more its occupants had seen no break in the forest, no signof civilization, no house or clearing save the scattered thatchedbenabs of Indians or the small, half-cleared patches of forest thatmarked the red mens' gardens. Hounded from one secret rendezvous toanother, their submarine wrecked and many of her crew killed in acollision; with their own steamship blown up in St. John's harbor andwith a destroyer hot on their trail, the master mind of the gang ofinternational rogues and his trusted assistant had sought refuge inthe heart of unknown Guiana. Confident that they had thrown theirpursuers off their track; certain that their fellows had hoodwinkedtheir enemies and had wrecked the destroyer in the Bocas, andcongratulating themselves on their clever ruse of boldly enteringDenierara and departing in an airship while posing as explorers, yetthe two rascals were taking no chances.
They well knew that the men trailing them were no amateurs; that theywere matching wits with the most resourceful members of the SecretService and they also knew that their enemies, by almost uncannyintuition, had foreseen and had checkmated their every move for weekspast. There was a chance that in some way their well-laid plans hadmiscarried: that the destroyer had escaped destruction, and thatfinding--as they inevitably must--that the story of the_Devonshire_ was a myth and that an aircraft had left the_Devon_, Mr. Pauling and the others would leave no stone unturnedto capture the ship and her crew. The two arch fiends had no desire tobe present when this took place.
Months before this they had kept British Guiana in view as a lastresort in case of just such an emergency as had arisen, for Van Brunthad told of an ancient ruined city hidden in the heart of theunexplored district. A city of a prehistoric race upon the shores of agreat lake and within the ruins of which were vast stores of goldenornaments and bullion. But he had never divulged the exact locality ofthis lost and supposedly fabulous golden city of Manoa--the El Doradothat sent Sir Walter Raleigh on his travels. Van Brunt was no fool andhe knew his fellow rogues too well to trust them with his secret, buthe had sworn that, should occasion arise, he would accompany them andguide them to the lost city.
But Van Brunt had met a sudden and violent death upon the tramp andhis secret had died with him. Not until the two men in the plane hadlooked down from the clouds upon that vast, illimitable sea of greenstretching away in billowing hills to the distant mountains, did theyrealize what a hopeless task it would be to locate the city by thelake. That mattered little, however. For the present, they plannedmerely to hide for a short time, to await word from confederates inDutch Guiana that the coast was clear and then, by an easy flight,travel into the Dutch colony, gather their men together to resumetheir interrupted activities and wreak vengeance on those who hadrelentlessly hunted them down. So, having left every trace ofcivilization far behind, and feeling confident that even the Americanswould never dream of attempting to trail them into the heart of thehush, they selected Maipurisi as a promising spot and swiftly droppedto the smooth surface of the lake.
But fate was against them. As their great plane dropped below the treetops and, with the cessation of the motor's exhaust, skittered acrossthe black surface of the forest lake, an unseen, undreamed of snag layhidden among the lily pads and with a rending, sickening sound, thethin skin of their boat was ripped open for a dozen feet. Thepropeller had not ceased to revolve and realizing their one chance layin making the shore, the pilot switched on the motor and slowly thecrippled plane dragged across the few hundred feet of water until itsbow grated on the sand.
With the after half of its hull submerged, injured beyond repair, butsafe from sinking, the now useless aircraft rested like some hugewounded bird in the shelter of the overhanging trees.
Cursing and raging, the two men clambered out. Their plight was indeedserious and none realized it better than they. The machine in whichthey had expected to fly so easily to the Dutch colony was absolutelyuseless; they had no boat, canoe or other craft and to tramp throughthe bush to civilization would, they knew, be practically impossible,even had they known the way. They were as effectually stranded asthough marooned on a desert island in mid-ocean and, worst of all,they were not over supplied with provisions. They had counted onstaying but a few days in hiding and had carried supplies accordinglyand now, for all they knew, they might be weeks in the jungle. Theyhad no firearms save their automatic pistols and as neither wasfamiliar with the bush or an experienced hunter, they felt sure thatthey would starve before they could secure enough game to keep themprovided with food if they had to do their killing with their pistols.
Their only hope was in their radio. With this they could communicatewith their friends and make known their plight, but even if theirfellows in Surinam started out to rescue them they knew it would bemany days--weeks perhaps--before their friends could traverse thecountry and paddle up the rivers to the spot where they were stranded.Moreover, they did not know their exact position. They had followedthe courses of the Demerara and Essequibo rivers in a general way, butthey had cut across forests between the streams and their map showedno lake to correspond with Maipurisi. And worst of all there was noone at fault, no one to blame but fate and so, to relieve theirfeelings, they cursed their pursuers, cursed their luck, cursedeverything and everybody until they could curse no more.
But swearing did no good. The parrots screamed and the monkeyschattered mockingly from the tangled tree tops. A bold carrion hawkcocked his head on one side and screeched derisively and a bigalligator, lifting his head cautiously above the surface of the lake,cast a baleful eye upon them and promptly submerged.
Then, realizing that whatever the future held they must live for thepresent, the two men ceased their futile ravings and busied themselvessalvaging everything possible from the crippled plane. The radio setwas unhurt, their pistols and ammunition were safe; they found matchesin watertight containers and there was a small ax. But much of theirfood was ruined. It had been stowed in the hull and while the cannedgoods were of course uninjured, the flour, sugar, salt and dryprovisions were water soaked and ruined.
Between them and starvation were provisions for less than three days,aside from what game they might be lucky enough to obtain, and as theyonce more commenced to curse in half a dozen languages, the rain camedown in torrents. Their only shelter was the plane and splashingthrough the water they clambered aboard and shivering and drenchedcowered in the protection of the broad wings. Chilled to the bone,utterly miserable they sat there, until at last, unable to endure itany longer, the huge red-bearded giant jerked out an oath and leapingashore, gathered wood and pouring gasoline over it succeeded instarting a fire.
Encouraged by the warmth, both fell to work and ruthlessly cuttingstruts and stays, dragged the wings of their machine ashore and bydint of hard work managed to brace and guy them into position to forma water-tight shed. A portion of another wing served to keep theirbodies from the sodden ground and had they been well supplied withfood their predicament would not have been so bad.
Misfortunes seldom come singly, however, and when, in somewhat morecheerful mood, they attempted to get into communication with theirfriends by radio, they discovered that the apparatus would not work.Fortunately for them, the red-bearded man was an expert mechanic andelectrician and he diligently set to work. The motor was still in goodcondition and after he had overhauled the instruments and had set themup on shore the motor was started and the batteries recharged.
All this took time, however, and in the meantime the slender stock ofprovisions was dwindling at an alarming rate. They tried adding totheir larder by hunting, but with no success. The birds kept high i
nthe trees, the pheasants and wild turkeys they flushed gave them nochance of a standing shot and the only animals they saw were agoutisthat flashed out of sight like streaks of brown light and a fewmonkeys romping among the branches far above their heads. They had noknowledge of trapping, they possessed no fishing tackle and when, indesperation, they succeeded in shooting an alligator, the creaturepromptly sank and was lost. Knowing nothing of the bush and fearing topoison themselves, they refrained from eating the berries, fruits, andnuts which they found. Had they but known it, they could havesustained life for weeks on the Souari nuts and palm berries that wereabundant all about their improvised camp.
Even the narrow trails and paths through the forest were meaninglessto them and their untrained eyes could not distinguish between thegame trails and an Indian pathway which led to a large Akuria villageless than five miles distant. And when at last their radio was inworking order and they sent out their first message calling for helpand the answer came back, their worst fears were realized. The_Devon_ had been taken, those on board were prisoners and theirfriends in Surinam not only stated that they were suspected and darednot attempt an expedition, but added that the Americans had left forthe bush, that they were even now in the interior and that to attemptto communicate by radio would be merely to divulge their whereaboutsto Mr. Pauling and his party.
Resourceful, bold and self-confident as the two were, yet now theycould see nothing but death or capture in store for them. Indeed, ifsome miracle did not intervene, death would most certainly be theirportion, for they well knew that to be taken prisoners meant an end onthe gallows or in the electric chair for them and both vowed to taketheir own lives before submitting to their pursuers.
But as long as they were alive there still remained a chance that theymight escape. The Americans might fail to locate them--althoughknowing that the boys possessed the latest devices in the way of radioinstruments they were confident the messages which had passed betweenthemselves and their confederates had been heard--and in the past theyhad always managed to slip out of the tightest places by some means.
Their one hope was in a boat, in a craft of some sort in which tonavigate the lake and the rivers. They swore and racked their brainsstriving to devise some means of constructing a raft or a makeshiftwhich would float. With their single, short-handled ax it was animpossible task to cut trees large enough to support their weight--andeven had it been possible this would require so much time that thelast of the food would be gone ere they could embark. Then theyattempted to make use of the plane's wings and although these floated,the men's weight sank them so low that the hollow surfaces were ankledeep with water. Moreover, they were too clumsy and unwieldy tonavigate.
In every effort, every plan, they were balked and then, when theircase seemed utterly hopeless, fate suddenly seemed to favor them. In adespairing attempt to secure something to eat, the two had pushedthrough the forest until, a mile or more from their stranded aircraft,they had come out at a small, dark creek and there, drawn upon thebank, was a canoe. Beside it a naked Indian was squatting, cleaning astring of fish and the next instant the two desperate men had leapedfrom cover and had seized the dug-out. The Indian, startled at thissudden and unexpected appearance of the unkempt, wild-looking men, haduttered a frightened cry, and dropping his fish, had sprung away. Butas he saw the strangers taking possession of his craft and realizedthey were human beings and not spirits or "bush devils" he rushed tothe canoe, jabbering excitedly in his native tongue and strove toprevent the rascals from shoving his boat into the stream.
But he might as well have essayed to stem the flow of the river or toargue or plead with the forest trees. The "reds" were desperate; ahuman life more or less meant nothing to them and the red-beardedgiant whipped out his pistol and fired. With a gurgling moan theAkuria staggered back, swayed drunkenly and dropped limply upon themuddy shore. The murderer, seizing a paddle swung the canoe into thecreek and headed it towards the lake.
But their crime had been witnessed. Unseen among the trees, a merebrown shadow in the jungle, the dead Indian's companion had peeredfrom his hiding place and had seen all. And although the two in thecanoe never dreamed of it, they were nearer to death at that instantthan ever before in their lives of crime.
Slipping a tiny arrow into his long blowpipe, the watching Indianrested the deadly weapon across a low-growing branch and with a puffof his breath the fatal dart flashed silently through the air straightat the red-bearded fellow's chest. But at the same instant the manleaned backward to avoid an overhanging limb and the tiny messenger ofdeath sped by and dropped harmlessly into the water unseen andunsuspected by the intended victim. Before another dart could befired, the canoe had slipped behind a bend and the Indian, baffled,stepped from his hiding place and hurried to the side of his deadtribesman. A single glance sufficed to show that he was beyond humanhelp and only stopping to cover the body with broad palm leaves, theAkuria sprang into the jungle and silently as a shadow raced along adim and indistinct trail toward the distant Akuria village.
As he came into the clearing and uttered the moaning wail that told ofdeath, the Akurias swarmed about like a hive of angry bees. Instantlytwo men were despatched in a canoe to bring in the body of themurdered Indian and with scowling brows, flashing eyes and vehementgestures, the villagers gathered about their wrinkled old chief,demanding vengeance. Gravely the old man spoke, promising that triballaw and tribal customs would be followed to the letter and as thewomen and boys drifted back to their huts, the chief and the older menentered the great, conical-roofed house in the center of the villageand seated themselves in a circle with the younger men standing about.
Presently, from his sacred hut, the "peaiman" or medicine manapproached, his face concealed by a baltata mask, a gorgeous feathercrown upon his head, strings of tinkling seeds about his neck, hisbody hideously painted and bearing a calabash rattle in one hand and acarved and decorated staff in the other.
Prancing and dancing, chanting a low, monotonous dirge, the peaimanmoved through the silent throng of Indians to the side of the fire inthe center of the immense house. Squatting beside the flames, themedicine man made mystic figures in the air with his wand, mutteringin a low voice meanwhile, and punctuating his words with angry shakingof his calabash rattle. At last he straightened up, fumbled in themonkey-skin pouch at his side and drew forth a bundle of featherstightly wrapped with bark fiber so that only the ends of the quillswere visible. Holding the bundle forth, the medicine man spoke andgravely and silently the men approached, each in turn drawing afeather from the bundle.
As the plumes were drawn from their covering and showed green, red,yellow or blue, sighs or low moans came from the lips of those whodrew them, until at last, the Indian who had witnessed the murder ofhis fellow approached and drawing a feather, uttered a cry of triumphas he held it up for all to see. The plume he had drawn was black asnight!
The next second he had slipped away and the gathering Indians,preceded by the medicine man, filed from the house and squatted on thebare ground without; all eyes fixed upon a small hut near the edge ofthe forest. Presently from this, a weird figure emerged. Upon its headwas a halo-like crown of macaw feathers, and about its shoulders andwaist were mantles of ink black plumes of the Curassow or "powi." Fromhead to foot the copper brown skin was hidden under a coat of scarletpaint striped and spotted with black and white, with two staring eyesand a grinning, fang-filled mouth painted upon the chest. In one handhe held a long bow and arrows, in the other a short, carved,paddle-shaped club of dark, heavy wood.
Stepping to the edge of the jungle, the man turned and faced thesilent waiting tribesmen. For a moment he stood there, motionless as astatue, and then, with a swift movement, he tore off his featherheaddress, cast it on the ground, tossed his bow and arrows beside it,whirled his club about his head and with a ringing, blood-curdlingscream, leaped into the forest and disappeared.
The tiger Kenaima was on the murderer's trail!