JNIVERSITY OF CA RIVERSIDE, LIBRARY 
 
 3 1210018385714 
 
 v^ 
 
 L'U 
 
 
 i 

 
 THE 
 
 PATHLESS 
 
 TRAIL
 
 THE 
 
 PATHLESS 
 TRAIL 
 
 BY y 
 
 ARTHUR O. FRIEL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 Made in the United States of America
 
 PS35// 
 
 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Copyright, 1922, by Harper & Brothers 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 MY FATHER 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM FRIEL
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAG2 
 
 I. SONS OF THE NOETH 1 
 
 II. AT SUNDOWN 8 
 
 III. THE VOICE OP THE WILDS 19 
 
 IV. THE GERMAN 28 
 
 V. INTO THE BUSH 40 
 
 VI. IN THE NIGHT WATCH 57 
 
 VII. COLD STEEL 70 
 
 VIII. THE DOUBLE-CROSS 85 
 
 IX. FIDDLERS THREE 97 
 
 X. BY THE LIGHT OP STORM 107 
 
 XI. Our OF THE AIR 117 
 
 XII. THE ARROW 129 
 
 XIII. THE WAT OP THE JUNGLE 144 
 
 XIV. A DUEL WITH DEATH 156 
 
 XV. THE CANNIBALS 169 
 
 XVI. BLACKBEARD 183 
 
 XVII. FEVER 200 
 
 XVIII. FRUIT OP THE TRAP 212 
 
 XIX. THE RED BONES 224 
 
 XX. THE RAPOSA 237 
 
 XXI. SHADOWS OP THE NIGHT 253 
 
 XXII. THE SIREN OP WAR 269 
 
 XXIII. STRATEGY 283 
 
 XXIV. THE BATTLE OP THE TRIBES 300 
 
 XXV. THE PASSING OP SCHWANDORF 314 
 
 XXVI. PARTNERS . 327
 
 THE 
 
 PATHLESS 
 
 TRAIL
 
 THE 
 
 PATHLESS 
 
 TRAIL 
 
 CHAPTER I. SONS OF THE NORTH 
 
 THREE men stood ankle deep in mud on 
 the shore of a jungle river, silently watch 
 ing a ribbon of smoke drift and dissolve 
 above the somber mass of trees to the northwest. 
 Three men of widely different types they 
 were, yet all cradled in the same far-off northern 
 land. The tallest, lean bodied but broad 
 shouldered, black of hair and gray of eye, held 
 himself in soldierly fashion and gazed unmoved. 
 His two mates one stocky, red faced and red 
 headed; the other slender, bronzed and blond 
 betrayed then 1 thoughts in their blue eyes. 
 The red man squinted quizzically at the smoke 
 feather as if it mattered little to "Him where he 
 was. The blond watched it with the wistfulness 
 of one who sees the last sign of his own world 
 fade out. 
 
 Behind them, at a respectful distance, a num 
 ber of swarthy individuals of both sexes in nonde 
 script garments smoked and stared at the trio
 
 2 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 with the interest always accorded strangers by 
 the dwellers of the Out Places. They eyed the 
 uncompromising back of the tall one, the easy 
 lounge of the red one, the thoughtful attitude of 
 the light one. The copper-faced men peered at 
 the rifles hanging in the right hands of the new 
 comers, their knee boots, khaki clothing, and 
 wide hats. The women let then- eyes rove 
 over the boxes and bundles reposing in the mud 
 beside the three. 
 
 "Ingles?" hazarded a woman, speaking 
 through the stem of the black pipe clutched in 
 her filed teeth. 
 
 "Notre- Americano" asserted a man, nodding 
 toward the broad hats. "Englishmen would 
 wear the round helmets of pith." 
 
 "Mercadores? Traders?" suggested the wom 
 an, hopefully running an eye again over the 
 bundles. 
 
 "Explor adores," the man corrected. "Ex 
 plorers of the bush. Have you no eyes? Do 
 you not see the guns and high boots?" 
 
 The woman subsided. The others continued 
 what seemed to be their only occupation 
 smoking. 
 
 The smoke streamer in the north vanished. 
 As if moved by the same impulse, the three 
 strangers turned their heads and looked south- 
 westward, upriver. The red-haired man spoke. 
 
 "So we've lit at last, as the feller said when 
 him and his airyplane landed in a sewer. Faith,
 
 SONS OF THE NORTH 3 
 
 I dunno but he was better off than us, at that 
 he wasn't two thousand miles from nowheres 
 like we are. The steamer's gone, and us three 
 pore lil' boys are left a long ways from home." 
 
 Then, assuming the tone of a showman, he 
 went on: 
 
 "Before ye, girls, ye see the well known 
 Ja-va-ree River, which I never seen before and 
 comes from gosh-knows-where and ends in the 
 Ammyzon. Over there on t'other side the water 
 is Peru. Yer feet are in the mud of Brazil. 
 This other river to yer left is the Tickywahoo " 
 
 "Tecuahy," the blond man corrected, grinning. 
 
 "Yeah. And behind ye is the last town in 
 the world and the place that God forgot. What 
 d'ye call this here, now, city?" 
 
 "Remate de Males. Which means 'Culmina 
 tion of Evils."' 
 
 "Yeah. It looks it. Wonder if it's anything 
 like Hell's Kitchen, up in liT old N'Yawk." 
 
 They turned and looked dubiously at the 
 town a row of perhaps seventy iron-walled 
 and palm-roofed houses set on high palm-trunk 
 poles, each with its ladder dropping from the 
 doorway to the one muddy street. Then spoke 
 the tall man. 
 
 "Before you see it again, Tim, you'll think 
 it's quite a town. Above here is nothing but a 
 few rubber estates, seven hundred miles of 
 unknown river, and empty jungle." 
 
 "Empty, huh? Then they kidded us on the
 
 4 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 boat. From what they said it's fair crawlin' 
 with snakes and j aggers and lizards and bloody 
 vampires and spiders as big as yer fist. And the 
 water is full o' man-eatin' fish and the bush full 
 o' man-eatin' Injuns. If that's what ye call 
 empty, Cap, don't take me no place where it's 
 crowded." 
 
 A slight smile twitched the set lips of the tall 
 "cap." 
 
 "They're all here, Tun, though maybe not so** 
 thick as you expect. Lots of other things too. 
 Who's this?" 
 
 Through the knot of pipe-puffing idlers came 
 a portly coppery man in uniform. 
 
 "Well, I'll be Say, he's the same chap 
 who came onto the boat in a police uniform. 
 Now he's in army rig," the light-haired member 
 of the trio exclaimed. "O Lordy! I've got it! 
 He's the police force and the army! The whole 
 blooming works! Ha!" 
 
 Tim snickered and stepped forward. 
 
 "Hullo, buddy!" he greeted. "What's on 
 yer mind? " 
 
 "Boa dia, senhor," responded the official, 
 affably. With the words he deftly slipped an 
 arm around Tun's waist and lifted the other 
 hand toward his shoulder. But that hand 
 stopped short, then flew wildly out into the 
 ah*. 
 
 Tim gave a grunt and a heave. The official 
 went skidding and slithering six feet through the
 
 SONS OF THE NORTH 5 
 
 mud, clutching at nothing and contorting him 
 self in a frantic effort to keep from sprawling in 
 the muck. By a margin thin as an eyelash he 
 succeeded in preserving his balance and stood 
 where he stopped, amazement and anger in his 
 face. 
 
 "Lay off that stuff!" growled Tim, head for 
 ward and jaw out. "If ye want trouble come 
 and git it like a man, not sneak up with a grin 
 and then clinch. Don't reach for no knife, now, 
 or I'll drill ye" 
 
 "Tim!" barked the black-haired one. "Ten- 
 shun!" 
 
 Automatically Tim's head snapped erect and 
 his shoulders went back. He relaxed again 
 almost at once. But in the meantime the tall 
 man had stepped forward and faced the raging 
 representative of the government of Brazil. 
 
 "Pardon, comrade," he said with an engaging 
 smile. "My friend is a stranger to Brazil and 
 not acquainted with your manner of welcome. 
 In our own country men never put the arm 
 around one another except in combat. He has 
 been a soldier. You are a soldier. So you can 
 understand that a fighting man may be a little 
 abrupt when he does not understand." 
 
 The smile, the apology, and most of all the 
 subtle flattery of being treated as an equal by a 
 man whose manner betokened the North Ameri 
 can army officer, mollified the aggrieved official 
 at once. The hot gleam died out of his eyes. 
 
 2
 
 6 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Punctiliously he saluted. The salute was as 
 punctiliously returned. 
 
 "It is forgotten, Capitao. As the capitao says, 
 we soldiers are sometimes overquick. I come to 
 give you welcome to Remate de Males. My 
 services are at your disposal.'* 
 
 "We thank you. Why do you call me 
 capitao?" 
 
 "My eyes know a capitao when they see 
 him." 
 
 "But this is not a military expedition, my 
 friend. Nor are any of us soldiers now though 
 we all have been." 
 
 "Once a capitao, always a capitao," the 
 Brazilian insisted. Then he hinted: "If the 
 capitao and his friends wish to call upon the 
 superintendente they will find him in the in- 
 tendencia, the blue building beyond the hotel. 
 Jt will soon be closed for the day." 
 
 The tall American's keen gray eyes roved 
 down the street to the weather-beaten house 
 whose peeling walls once might have been blue. 
 He nodded shortly. 
 
 "Better go down there," he said. "Come 
 on, Merry. Tim, stick here and keep an eye on 
 the stuff. And don't start another war while 
 we're gone." 
 
 "Right, Cap." Tim deftly swung his rifle to 
 his right shoulder. "I'll walk me post in a mili 
 tary manner, keepin' always on the alert and 
 observin' everything that takes place within
 
 SONS OF THE NORTH 7 
 
 sight or hearin', accordin' to Gin'ral Order 
 Number Two. There won't be no war unless 
 somebody starts somethin'. Hey, there, buddy, 
 would ye smoke a God's-country cigarette if I 
 give ye one?" 
 
 "Si," grinned the soldier-policeman, all ani 
 mosity gone. And as the other two men tramped 
 away through the mud they also grinned, looking 
 back at the North and the South American 
 pacing side by side in sentry-go, blowing smoke 
 and conversing like brothers in arms. 
 
 "Tun likes to remember his 'general orders/ 
 but he's forgotten Number Five," laughed the 
 blond man. 
 
 "Five? 'To talk to no one except in line of 
 duty.' Don't need it here, Merry." 
 
 "Nope. The entente cordiale is the thing. 
 Here's hoping nobody makes Tun remember his 
 'Gin'ral Order Number Thirteen' while we're 
 gone, Rod." 
 
 He of the black hair smiled again as his mate, 
 mimicking Tim's gruff voice, quoted: 
 
 "'Gin'ral Order Number Thirteen: In case o' 
 doubt, bust the other guy quick.'"
 
 CHAPTER II. AT SUNDOWN 
 
 PAST the loungers in the street, past others 
 in the doorways, past children and dogs 
 and goats, the pair marched briskly to the 
 faded blue house whence the federal superintend 
 ent ruled the town with tropic indolence. There 
 they found a thin, fever-worn, gravely courteous 
 gentleman awaiting them. 
 
 "Sit, senhores," he urged, with a languid wave 
 of the hand toward chairs. "I am honored by 
 your visit, as is all Remate de Males. In what 
 way can I serve you?" 
 
 The blond answered: 
 
 "We have come, sir, both for the pleasure of 
 making your acquaintance and for a little infor 
 mation. First permit me to introduce my friend 
 Mr. Roderick McKay, lately a captain in the 
 United States army. I am Meredith Knowlton. 
 There is a third member of our party, Mr. 
 Timothy Ryan, who remained on the river bank 
 to talk with er a soldier of Brazil." 
 
 The federal official nodded, a slight smile hi his 
 eyes. 
 
 "We are here ostensibly for exploration," 
 Knowlton continued, candidly, "but actually to 
 find a certain man. I think it quite probable that 
 we shall have to do considerable exploring before 
 finding him."
 
 AT SUNDOWN 9 
 
 "Ah," the other murmured, shrewdly. "It is 
 a matter of police work, perhaps?" 
 
 " No and yes. The man we seek is not wanted 
 by the law, and yet he is. He has committed no 
 crime, and so cannot be arrested. But the law 
 wants him badly because the settlement of a cer 
 tain big estate hinges upon the question of 
 whether he is alive or dead. If alive, he is heir 
 to more than a million. If not the money goes 
 elsewhere." 
 
 "Ah," repeated the official, thoughtfully. 
 
 "I might add," McKay broke in with a touch 
 of stiffness, "that neither I nor either of my 
 companions would profit in any way by this 
 man's death. Quite the contrary." 
 
 "Ah," reiterated the other, his face clearing. 
 "You are commissioned, perhaps, to find and 
 produce this man." 
 
 "Exactly," Knowlton nodded. "From our own 
 financial standpoint he is worth much more alive 
 than dead. On the other hand, any absolute proof 
 of his death proof which would stand in a 
 court of law is worth something also. Our 
 task is to produce either the man himself or 
 indisputable proof that he no longer lives. 
 
 "The man's name is David Dawson Rand. If 
 alive, he now is thirty-three years old. Height 
 five feet nine. Weight about one hundred sixty. 
 Hair dark, though not black. Eyes grayish green. 
 Chief distinguishing marks are the green eyes, 
 a broken nose caused by being struck in the
 
 10 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 face by a baseball and a patch of snow-white 
 hair the size of a thumb ball, two inches above 
 the left ear. Accustomed to having his own way, 
 not at all considerate of others. Yet not a bad 
 fellow as men go merely a man spoiled by too 
 much mothering in boyhood and by the fact that 
 he never had to work. This is he." 
 
 From a breast pocket he drew a small grain- 
 leather notebook, from which he extracted an 
 unmounted photograph. The superintendent 
 looked into the pictured face of a full-cheeked, 
 wide-mouthed, square-jawed man with a slightly 
 blase" expression and a half-cynical smile. After 
 studying it a minute he nodded and handed it 
 back. 
 
 "As you say, senhor, a man who never has had 
 to work." 
 
 "Exactly. For five years this man has been 
 regarded as dead. It was his habit to start off 
 suddenly for any place where his whims drew 
 him, notifying nobody of his departure. But 
 a few days later he would always write, cable, 
 or telegraph his relatives, so that his general 
 whereabouts would soon become known. On 
 his last trip he sent a radio message from a 
 steamer, out at sea, saying he was bound for 
 Rio Janeiro. That was the last ever heard from 
 him." 
 
 "Rio is far from here," suggested the Brazilian. 
 
 "Just so. We look for Rand at the head 
 waters of the Amazon, instead of in Rio, because
 
 AT SUNDOWN 11 
 
 Rio yields no clew and because of one other 
 thing which I shall speak of presently. 
 
 "It has been learned that he reached Rio 
 safely, but there his trail ended. As he had 
 several thousand dollars on his person, it was 
 concluded that he was murdered for his money 
 and his body disposed of. This belief has been 
 held until quite recently, when a new book of 
 travel was published The Mother of Waters, by 
 Dwight Dexter, an explorer of considerable repu 
 tation." 
 
 The Brazilian's brows lifted. 
 
 "Senhor Dexter? I remember Senhor Dexter. 
 He stopped here for a short time, ill with fever. 
 So he has published a book?" 
 
 "Yes.- It deals mainly with his travels and 
 observations in Peru, along the Maranon, Hual- 
 laga, and Ucayali. But it includes a short chapter 
 regarding the Javary, and in that chapter occurs 
 the following, which I have copied verbatim." 
 
 From the notebook he read: 
 
 " ' It falls to the lot of the explorer at times to 
 meet not only hitherto unclassified species of 
 fauna and flora, but also strange specimens of 
 the genus homo. Such a creature came suddenly 
 upon my camp one day just before a serious and 
 well-nigh fatal attack of fever compelled me to 
 relinquish my intention to proceed farther up the 
 Javary. 
 
 "' While my Indian cook was preparing the 
 afternoon meal, out from the dense jungle strode
 
 12 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 a bearded, shaggy-haired, painted white man, 
 totally nude save for a narrow breechclout and 
 a quiver containing several long hunting arrows. 
 In one hand he carried a strong bow of really 
 excellent workmanship. This was his only 
 weapon. He wore no ornament, unless streaks of 
 brilliant red paint be considered ornaments. He 
 was wild and savage in appearance and manner as 
 any cannibal Indian. Yet he was indubitably 
 white. 
 
 ( ' To my somewhat startled greeting he made 
 no response. Neither did he speak at any time 
 during his unceremonious visit. Bolt upright, he 
 stood beside my crude table until the Indian 
 stolidly brought in my food. Then, without a 
 by-your-leave, the wild man rapidly wolfed down 
 the entire meal, feeding himself with one hand 
 and holding his bow ready in the other. Though 
 I questioned him and sought to draw him into 
 conversation, he honored me with not so much 
 as a grunt or a gesture. When the table was bare 
 he stalked out again and vanished into the dun 
 forest. 
 
 '"After he had gone my Indian urged that we 
 leave the place at once. The man, he said, was 
 "The Raposa" a word which denotes a species 
 of wild dog sometimes found on the upper 
 Amazon. He knew nothing of this "Raposa" 
 except that he apparently belonged to a wild 
 tribe living far back in the forest, perhaps allied 
 with the cannibal Mayorunas, who were very
 
 AT SUNDOWN 13 
 
 fierce; and that he appeared sometimes at Indian 
 settlements, where, without ever speaking, he 
 would help himself to the best food and then 
 leave. My man seemed to fear that now some 
 great misfortune would come to us unless we 
 shifted our base. When the fever came upon me 
 soon afterward, the superstitious fellow was con 
 vinced that the illness was attributable directly 
 to the visit of the human "wild dog." 
 
 "' Aside from the nudity and barbarism of the 
 mysterious stranger, certain personal peculiari 
 ties struck me. One was that his eyes were green. 
 Another was a streak of snow-white hair above 
 one ear. Furthermore, the red paint on his body 
 outlined his skeleton. His ribs, spine, arm- and 
 leg-bones all were portrayed on his tanned skin 
 by those brilliant red streaks. In this connection 
 my Indian asserted that in the tribe to which 
 "The Raposa" probably belonged it was the 
 custom to preserve the bones of the dead and to 
 paint them with this same red dye, after which 
 the bones were hung up in the huts of the de 
 ceased instead of being given burial. Beyond 
 this my informant knew nothing of the "Red 
 Bone" people, except that to enter their country 
 was death." 1 
 
 Knowlton returned the book to his pocket and 
 carefully buttoned the flap. 
 
 "When that appeared," he continued, "efforts 
 were made to get hold of Dexter, with the idea 
 of showing him the photograph of the missing
 
 14 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 man and learning any additional details. Unfor 
 tunately, by the time the book was published 
 Dexter had gone to Africa to seek a race of 
 dwarfs said to exist in the Igidi Desert, and thus 
 was totally out of reach. Then we were called 
 upon to follow up this clew and find the Raposa 
 if possible. Men with green eyes and patches of 
 white hair above one ear are not common. So, 
 though our knowledge of this strange wild man 
 is confined to those few words of Dexter's, we 
 are here to learn more of him and to get him if 
 
 we can." 
 
 He looked expectantly at the onicial. The 
 latter, after staring out through the doorway for 
 a time, shook his head slightly. 
 
 "Something of this Raposa and of those red- 
 streaked people has come to my ears, senhores, 
 but only as rumors," he said, slowly. "And 
 one does not place great faith in rumors. Yet I 
 have repeatedly been surprised to learn, after 
 dismissing a story as an empty Indian tale, that 
 the tale was true. 
 
 " Of the Mayorunas more is known. They are 
 eaters of human flesh, inhabiting both sides of 
 the Javary, deadly when angered, and very 
 easily angered. Their country is not many days 
 distant from here, but as they never attack us 
 we do not attack them. It is an armed neutrality, 
 as you senhores would say. True, we have to 
 be careful in drinking water, for they sometimes 
 poison the streams against real or imaginary
 
 AT SUNDOWN 15 
 
 enemies, and the poisoned waters flow down to 
 us, causing those who drink it to die of a fever 
 like the typhoid. Yet," and he smiled, "there is 
 a saying, is there not, that water is made not to 
 drink, but to bathe in?" 
 
 Knowlton laughed. McKay's eyes twinkled. 
 
 "I'm sorry to say that water's about all a 
 fellow can get to drink in the States now," the 
 blond man said, ruefully. "That is, of course, 
 unless a man knows where to go." 
 
 " Si. It is a pity. But here in Brazil one 
 need not drink water unless he wishes, and 
 often it is better not to. Of the Mayorunas, 
 senhor you do not intend to go among them, 
 seeking this wild man of the red bones? If 
 you should do so it would be a matter of regret 
 to me." 
 
 "Meaning that we should not come out again? 
 That's a risk we have to face. We go wherever 
 it is necessary." 
 
 "I am sorry. I regret also that I can give you 
 no definite information. Yet I wish you all suc 
 cess, senhores, and a safe return. This much I 
 can do and gladly will do: I can send word to 
 another white man who now is in the town and 
 who knows much of the upper river. He may be 
 able to assist you, and without doubt will be 
 eager to do so. He is staying at the hotel, just 
 below here Senhor Schwandorf." 
 
 The eyes of the two Americans narrowed. The 
 official coughed.
 
 16 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Senhor McKay has been a soldier. And 
 Senhor Knowl-ton " 
 
 "I was a lieutenant." 
 
 "Ah! But the war has passed, senhores. 
 Senhor Schwandorf was not a soldier of Ger 
 many he has been in Brazil for more than six 
 years." 
 
 "War's over. That's right," McKay agreed. 
 "But don't bother to send word. We'll find him 
 if he's at the hotel. Going there ourselves. Glad 
 to have met you, sir. Good luck!" 
 
 "And to you also luck, Capitao and Tenente," 
 smiled the official. McKay and Knowlton strode 
 out. 
 
 "Guess this is the hotel," hazarded McKay, 
 glancing at a house which rose slightly above the 
 others. "I'll go in and charter rooms. You get 
 Tim and have somebody rustle our impedimenta 
 up here." 
 
 He turned aside. Knowlton trudged on through 
 the glare of sunset to the river bank where Tim 
 and the army of Remate de Males still loafed 
 up and down, the admired of all beholders. 
 
 "All right, Tun. We're moving to the hotel. 
 No more war, I see." 
 
 "Lord love ye, no," grinned Tun. "Me and 
 this feller are gittin' on fine. He's Joey I f orgit 
 the rest of his names; he's got about a dozen 
 more and they sound like stones rattlin' around 
 inside a can. But Joey's a right guy. After 
 me tour o' duty ends he's goin' to buy me a drink
 
 AT SUNDOWN 17 
 
 and maybe introduce me to a lady friend o' his. 
 Want to join the party, Looey?" 
 
 "Not unless the ladies are better looking than 
 these," laughed the ex-lieutenant, moving his 
 head toward the pipe-smoking females. 
 
 "Faith, I was thinkin' that same meself. 
 Unless he can dig up somethin' fancier 'n what 
 I see so far, I'd as soon have Mademoiselle." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle of Armentieres. Sure, ye know 
 that one, Looey. Goes to the tune o' 'Parley- 
 Voo.'" 
 
 Wherewith he lifted up a foghorn voice and, 
 much to the edification of "Joey" (whose name 
 really was Joao) and the rest of Remate de 
 Males, burst into song: 
 
 "Mademoiselle of Armenteers, 
 
 Pa-a-arley-voo! 
 She smoked our butta and bummed our beers, 
 
 Pa-a-arley-voo I 
 
 She had cockeyes and jackass ears 
 And she hadn't been kissed for forty years, 
 Rinky dinky-parley- voo ! ' ' 
 
 As his musical effort ended, out from the dense 
 jungle hemming in the town burst a hideous 
 roaring howl. Again and again it sounded in a 
 horrible crash of noise. 
 
 "Holy Saint Pat!" gasped Tim, throwing his 
 rifle to port and bracing his feet. "Now look 
 what I went and done! Is that the echo, or a cou 
 ple dozen jaggers all fightin' to oncet?"
 
 18 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Guariba, Senhor Ree-ann," snickered Joao. 
 " Not jaguars no. Only one little guariba mon 
 key. The howler." 
 
 "G'wan! Ye're kiddin' !" 
 
 " But no, amigo. It is as I tell you. One mon 
 key. It is sunset, and the jungle awakes." 
 
 "My gosh! I'll say it does. Sounds like a 
 Sat' day night row in a Second Av'noo saloon, 
 except there ain't no shootin'. Guess you boys 
 have some night life, too, even if ye are away 
 back hi the bush." 
 
 " Tune for us to move, Tim," laughed Knowl- 
 ton. " It '11 be dark in no time. Joao, will you 
 have our baggage moved to the hotel?" 
 
 "Si, senhor. Immediatamente. Antonio 
 Jorge Rosario! And you, too, Meldo vem cd! 
 Carry the bundles of the gentlemen to the hotel, 
 presto! Proceed, senhores. I, Joao d' Almeida 
 Magalhaes Nabuco Pestana da Fonseca, will 
 remain here on guard until all your possessions 
 have been transported. Proceed without fear."
 
 CHAPTER III. THE VOICE OF THE 
 WILDS 
 
 McKAY, eyes twinkling again, awaited 
 them at the top of the hotel's street 
 ladder. 
 
 "Rooms any good, Rod?" hailed Knowlton. 
 
 "Best in the house, Merry." 
 
 "See any insects in the beds?" 
 
 "Nary a bug in the beds." The twinkle grew. 
 "Didn't look in the bureaus or behind the mir 
 rors. Come look 'em over." 
 
 Entering a sizable room evidently used for 
 dining for its chief articles of furniture were 
 two tables made from planed palm trunks 
 McKay waved a hand toward a row of four door 
 ways on the right. 
 
 "First three are ours," he explained. "Only 
 vacancies here. Eight rooms in this hotel the 
 other four over there." He pointed across the 
 room, on the other side of which opened four 
 similar doors. "They're occupied by two sick 
 men, one drunk hear him snore? and one she- 
 goat which is kidding." 
 
 "Huh?" Tim snorted, suspiciously. "I think 
 ye're the one that's kiddin', Cap." 
 
 "Not a bit. I looked. The last room on this 
 side is the Dutchman's, and these are ours. Take 
 your pick. They're all alike."
 
 20 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Knowlton stepped to the nearest and looked 
 in. For a moment he said no word. Then he 
 softly muttered: 
 
 "Well, I'll be spread-eagled!" 
 
 "Me, too," seconded Tim, who had been 
 craning his neck. 
 
 The room was absolutely empty. No bed, no 
 chair, no bureau, no rug nothing at all was in it 
 except two iron hooks. Its floor consisted of 
 split palm logs, round side up, between which 
 opened inch-wide spaces. Its walls were rusty 
 corrugated iron, guiltless of mirrors or pictures, 
 which did not reach to the roof. 
 
 "Observe the excellent ventilation," grinned 
 McKay. "Wind blows up through the floor if 
 there is any wind and then loops over the par 
 tition into the next fellow's room." 
 
 "Yeah. And I'll say any guy that drops his 
 collar button is out o' luck. It goes plunk into 
 the mud, seven foot down under the house. But 
 say, Cap, how the heck do we sleep? Hang our 
 selves up on them hooks?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Kind o' rough on a feller's shirt, ain't it? 
 And the shirt would likely pull off over yer head 
 before mornin'." 
 
 "Yes, probably would. But the secret is this 
 you're supposed to hang your hammock on those 
 hooks. You provide the hammock. The hotel 
 provides the hooks. What more can you ask of 
 & modern hotel?"
 
 THE VOICE OF THE WILDS 21 
 
 "Huh! And if a guy wants a bath, there's the 
 river, all full o' 'gators and cattawampuses and 
 things. And if ye eat, I s'pose ye rustle yer own 
 grub and pay for eatin' it off that slab table 
 there. There's jest one thing ye can say for this 
 dump a feller can spit on the floor. But with 
 all them cracks hi it he might not hit it, at that. 
 Mother o' mine! To think Missus Ryan's liT 
 boy should ever git caught stayin' in a hole like 
 this, along o' drunks and skiddin' she-goats and 
 did ye say a Dutchman?" 
 
 "German. Chap named Schwandorf." 
 
 "Yeah?" Tim's tone was sinister. "Say, Cap, 
 gimme the room next that guy. And if ye hear 
 anybody yowlin' before mornin' don't git worried. 
 It won't be me." 
 
 "None of that, Tun," warned Knowlton. 
 " The war's over " 
 
 "Since when? There wasn't no peace treaty 
 signed when we left the States." 
 
 "Er ahum! Well, technically you're right. 
 But this fellow may be useful to us. He knows 
 the upper river, they say." 
 
 "Aw, well, if ye can use him I'll lay off him. 
 Where is he?" 
 
 "Out somewhere," answered McKay. "I 
 haven't seen him yet. Want this first room, 
 Merry?" 
 
 "Just to play safe, I'll take the one next the 
 German. And if I hear any war in the night, Tun, 
 
 I'm coming over the top with both hands going." 
 
 3 '
 
 22 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Grrrumph!" growled Tim. 
 
 "That goes, Tim," warned McKay. "I'll take 
 this room and you can have the one between us. 
 Here comes the baggage train with our stuff. 
 In here, men!" 
 
 Puffing and grunting, Antonio and Jorge and 
 Rosario and Meldo shuffled in with the boxes and 
 bundles. Under the directions of McKay and 
 Knowlton, these were stowed in the bare rooms. 
 Then the four shuffled out again, grinning happily 
 over a small roll of Brazilian paper reis which 
 McKay had peeled from a much larger roll and 
 handed to them. Immediately following their 
 departure, in came a youth carrying three new 
 hammocks. 
 
 "Our beds," McKay explained. "I sent this 
 lad to a trader's store for them. He's the pro 
 prietor's son. Thank you, Thomaz. Tell your 
 father to put these on our bill, and take for your 
 self this small token of our appreciation." 
 
 More reis changed hands. The young Brazilian, 
 with a flash of teeth, informed them that the 
 evening meal would soon be ready and disap 
 peared through a rear door. 
 
 "Do they really feed us at this here, now, 
 hotel?" Tim demanded. "Then the goat's safe." 
 
 "Meaning?" puzzled Knowlton. 
 
 "Meanin' I didn't know but we had to kill our 
 supper, and I was goin' to git the cap'n's goat. 
 That is, the goat the cap'n's kiddin' I mean 
 the goat that's kiddin' the cap the skiddin' she-
 
 THE VOICE OF THE WILDS 23 
 
 goat Aw, rats! ye know what I'm drivin' at. 
 Me tongue so dry it don't work right." 
 
 Wherewith Tim retreated in disorder to his 
 room and began wrestling with his new hammock 
 and the iron hooks. 
 
 Swift darkness filled the rooms. The sun had 
 slid down below the bulge of the fast-rolling 
 world. Thomaz re-entered, lit candles stuck in 
 empty bottles, and, with a bow, placed one of these 
 crude illuminants at the door of each of the 
 strangers. By the flickering lights McKay and 
 Knowlton disposed their effects according to their 
 individual desires, bearing in mind Tun's obser 
 vation that any small article dropped on the 
 floor would land in the mud under the house, 
 whence sounded the grunts of pigs. Their work 
 was soon completed, and they sauntered together 
 to the small piazza. 
 
 "Nice quiet little place," commented Knowl 
 ton. "Make a good sanitarium for nervous 
 folks." 
 
 The comment was made in a tone which, in 
 the daytime, would carry half a mile. McKay 
 nodded to save a similar effort. The outbreak 
 of the howling monkey which so startled Tim 
 had been only the first note of the night concert of 
 the jungle. Now that the sun was gone the chorus 
 was in full swing. 
 
 Beasts of the village, the jungle, the river, all 
 hurled their voices into the uproar. From the 
 gloom around the houses rose the bellowing of
 
 24 
 
 cows and calves, the howls and yelps of dogs, 
 the yowling of cats, the grunts and squeals of 
 hogs. In the black river, flowing past within a 
 stone's throw of the hotel door, sounded the loud 
 snorts of dolphins and the hideous night call of 
 the foul beast of the mud the alligator. Out 
 from the matted tangle of trees and brush and 
 great snakelike vines behind the town rolled the 
 appalling roars of guaribas, raucous bird calls, 
 dismal hoots, sudden scattered screams. And 
 over all, whelming all other sound by the sheer 
 might of its penetrating power, throbbed the 
 rapid-fire hammering of millions of frogs. 
 
 "Frogs sound like a machine-gun barrage," 
 the blond man added. 
 
 "Or thousands of riveting hammers pounding 
 steel." 
 
 "Queer how much worse it is when you're 
 right in it. We've heard it all the way up two 
 thousand miles of Amazon, but " 
 
 "But you're right beside the orchestra now. 
 Position is everything in life." 
 
 The double-edged jest made Knowlton glance 
 sidelong at his mate. Of the tall, eagle-faced 
 Scot's past he knew little beyond what he had 
 seen of him in war, where he had met him and 
 learned to respect him whole-heartedly. From 
 occasional remarks he had learned that McKay 
 had been in all sorts of places between Buenos 
 Aires and Nome; and from a few intangible hints 
 he suspected that his "position in life" had once
 
 THE VOICE OF THE WILDS 25 
 
 been much higher socially than at present. But 
 he asked no questions. 
 
 "Some orchestra, all right," he responded, 
 casually. " Plenty of jazz. It '11 quiet down after 
 a while." 
 
 For a tune they stood leaning against the wall, 
 staring abstractedly out at the dark. One by one 
 the domestic animals ceased their clamor and 
 settled themselves for the night. The jungle din, 
 too, seemed to diminish, though perhaps this was 
 because the ears of the men had become accus 
 tomed to it. At length through the discordant 
 symphony boomed the voice of Tim. 
 
 "By cripes! I know now what folks mean when 
 they talk about a howlin' wilderness. Always 
 thought 'twas one o' them figgers o' speech, but 
 I'll tell the world it ain't no joke! Gosh! Think 
 of all the things that's layin' out there and 
 bellerin' and waitin' for us pore li'l' fellers to 
 come in amongst 'em and git et up." 
 
 "You'll find the same things in the cities up 
 home," said Knowlton, a bit cynically. "Dif 
 ferent bodies and different methods of attack, 
 but the same merciless animals under the skin. 
 Snakes in silk suits foul-mouthed alligators in 
 dinner jackets hunting - cats and vampires, 
 painted and powdered and all the rest of it." 
 
 "Yeah. Ye said a mouthful, Looey. But say, 
 Tommy's shovin' some grub on the table. Mebbe 
 we better hop to it before the flies git it all." 
 
 After a glance at the vicious attack already
 
 26 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 begun by the aforesaid flies, the pair adopted 
 Tim's suggestion and hopped to it. Manfully 
 they assailed the rubbery jerked beef, black 
 beans, rice, f arinha, and thick, black, unsweetened 
 coffee which comprised the meal. All three were 
 wrestling with chunks of the meat when Tim, 
 facing the door, stopped chewing long enough to 
 mutter: 
 
 "Dutchland overalls. Here's the goose step 
 per." 
 
 The heads of the other two involuntarily moved 
 a little. Then their necks stiffened and they con 
 tinued eating. Tim alone stared straight at a 
 burly, black-whiskered Teuton who had halted in 
 the outer doorway. And Tun alone saw the ugly 
 look crossing the newcomer's visage as he gazed 
 at the khaki shirts, the broad shoulders under 
 them, and the unmistakably Irish and hostile 
 face of Tim himself. 
 
 Catching the hard stare of the red-haired man, 
 he of the black beard advanced at once, his eyes 
 veering to the door of his own room. Straight to 
 that room he marched with heavy tread. He 
 opened the door with a kick, shut it behind him 
 with a slam. The three at the table glanced at 
 one another. 
 
 "Say what ye like," grumbled Tim, "but me 
 and that guy don't hold no mush party. I don't 
 like his map. I don't like his manners. And he 
 looks too much like the Fritz that shot me in the 
 back with a kamerad gun after surrenderin'. I
 
 THE VOICE OF THE WILDS 27 
 
 was in hospital three months. D'ye mind that 
 time, Looey?" 
 
 Knowlton nodded. He remembered also that 
 Tim, shot down from behind and almost killed, had 
 reeled up to his feet and bayoneted his man before 
 falling the second time. Wherefore he replied: 
 
 "He isn't the same one, Tim." 
 
 "Nope," grimly. "That one won't never 
 come back. All the same, if you gents want to 
 chew the fat with this feller I'm goin' slummin' 
 with me friend Joey Mouthgargle Nabisco 
 Whoozis. Then I won't be round here to make 
 no sour-caustic remarks and gum up yer party." 
 
 "Might be a good idea," McKay conceded. 
 
 "There he is now, the liT darlin'! Hullo, 
 Joey, old sock! Stick around a minute while I 
 scoop a few more beans. Be with ye toot sweet 
 vite presto P. D. Q." 
 
 Wherewith he demolished the rest of his meal 
 with military dispatch, proceeded doorward, 
 smote the grinning army of Remate de Males a 
 buffet on the shoulder, and vanished into the 
 night. A moment later his stentorian voice rolled 
 back through the nocturnal racket in an im 
 promptu paraphrase of an old and highly im 
 proper army song: 
 
 "We're in the jungle now, 
 We ain't behind the plow; 
 
 We'll never git rich, 
 
 We'll die with the itch. 
 We're in the jungle now!"
 
 CHAPTER IV. THE GERMAN 
 
 THE door of the German's room opened. 
 The German came out and marched to 
 the table. Two paces away he halted 
 and faced the Americans, ready to speak if 
 spoken to, equally ready to sit and ignore them 
 if not greeted. McKay and Knowlton rose. 
 
 "Herr von Schwandorf?" inquired Knowlton. 
 
 "Schwandorf. Neither Herr nor von. Plain 
 Schwandorf." 
 
 The reply came in excellent English, though 
 with a slight throaty accent. 
 
 "Knowlton is my name. Mr. McKay. The 
 third member of our party, Mr. Ryan, has just 
 left." 
 
 Schwandorf bowed stiffly from the waist. 
 
 "It is a pleasure to meet you. White men are 
 all too few here." 
 
 Seating himself at a place beyond that just 
 vacated by Tun, he continued, "You stay here 
 for a time?" 
 
 "Not long." They reseated themselves. "We 
 go up the river as soon as we can arrange trans 
 portation." 
 
 The black brows lifted slightly. 
 
 "It is a dangerous river. You would do well 
 to travel elsewhere unless you have some pressing 
 reason to explore this stream."
 
 THE GERMAN 29 
 
 With an accustomed sweep of the hand he 
 shooed the flies from the bean dish and helped 
 himself to a big portion. Over the legumes he 
 poured farinha in the Brazilian fashion. 
 
 "We have. We are seeking a tribe of people 
 who paint their bones red." 
 
 Schwandorf's hand, conveying the first mouth 
 ful of beans upward, stopped in air. His black 
 eyes fixed the Americans with an astounded 
 stare. He lowered the beans, stabbed absently 
 at a chunk of beef, sawed it apart, popped a 
 piece of it into his mouth, and sat for a tune 
 chewing. When the meat was down he spoke 
 bluntly: 
 
 "Are there not ways enough to kill yourselves 
 at home instead of traveling to this place to 
 do it?" 
 
 McKay smiled. The directness of the man 
 amused him. 
 
 "As bad as that?" asked Knowlton. 
 
 "As bad as that. Blow your head off if you 
 like. Cut your throat. Take poison. Jump into 
 the river among the alligators. Step on a snake. 
 But keep away from the Red Bones." 
 
 "Why?" shot McKay. 
 
 "Cannibals and worse." 
 
 "Worse?" 
 
 "Truly. Most of the Brazilian savages do not 
 torture. The Red Bones do." 
 
 "Pleasant prospect." 
 
 "Very. Nothing to be gained among them,
 
 30 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 either. If you're hunting gold, try the hills over 
 west of the Huallaga. None here." 
 
 Knowlton filled and lit a pipe. McKay slowly 
 drank the last of his syrupy coffee and rolled a 
 cigarette. Schwandorf continued shoveling food 
 into his capacious mouth. 
 
 "Know anything about the Raposa?" Knowl 
 ton asked. 
 
 The Teuton's eyelashes flickered. He ground 
 another chunk of meat between his jaws before 
 answering. 
 
 "Of course," he said then. "Wild dog. Sharp 
 snout, gray hair, bushy tail. I've shot a couple 
 of them." 
 
 "This one is a man. Green eyes, streak of 
 white hair over the left ear. Paints himself like 
 the Red Bones, as you call them, but is a white 
 man." 
 
 "Oh! That one? Heard of him, yes. Wild 
 man of the jungle. Want to catch him and put 
 him in a circus?" 
 
 "Maybe. We'd like to see him, anyhow. 
 Heard about him awhile ago. Any way to get 
 him that you know of?" 
 
 "Might try a steel trap," the German sug 
 gested, callously. "But I don't know where 
 you'd set it. Best way to get a wild dog is to 
 shoot him, and he isn't much good dead. Or 
 would this one be worth something dead?" A 
 swift sidelong glance accompanied the question. 
 
 "Not a cent!" snapped McKay.
 
 THE GERMAN 31 
 
 "And perhaps he'd be worth nothing alive," 
 added Knowlton. "But we have a healthy 
 curiosity to look him over. Guess the Red Bone 
 country would be the likeliest place. How far 
 is it from here?" 
 
 "Keep out of it," was the stubborn reply. 
 
 The Americans rose. 
 
 "We are not going to keep out of it," Knowl 
 ton declared, coldly. "We are going straight 
 into it. Thank you for your assistance." 
 
 "Not so fast," Schwandorf protested. "If you 
 are determined to go I will help you if I can. 
 Shall we sit on the piazza with a small bottle to 
 aid digestion? So! Thomaz! Bring from my 
 stock the kiimmel. Or would you prefer whisky, 
 gentlemen?" 
 
 "Ginger-ale highballs are my favorite fruit," 
 admitted Knowlton. "Can ginger ale be bought 
 here?" 
 
 "Indeed yes. At one milrei a bottle." 
 
 "Cheap enough. Thomaz, three bottles of gin 
 ger ale and one of North American whisky the 
 best. Cigars also. Out on the piazza." 
 
 "Si, senhores." 
 
 Schwandorf got up. 
 
 "If you will pardon me, I will drink my kum- 
 mel. Frankly, I do not like whisky." 
 
 "And frankly, we do not like kummel. All a 
 matter of taste." 
 
 "Truly. So let each of us drink his own prefer 
 ence. I will join you in a moment."
 
 32 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 The Americans sauntered to the door, while 
 the German strode into his room. 
 
 "Blunt sort of cuss/' Knowlton commented. 
 
 "Ay, blunt. But not candid. Knows more 
 than he's telling." 
 
 Disposing themselves comfortably, they sat 
 watching the lights of the town and the jungle 
 the first pouring from windows and open doors, 
 the latter streaking across the darkness where the 
 big fire beetles of the tropics winged their way. 
 As Knowlton had predicted, the night noise of 
 forest and stream had diminished; but now from 
 the village itself rose a new discord a babel of 
 vocal and instrumental efforts at music emanat 
 ing from the badly worn records of dozens of 
 cheap phonographs grinding away in the stilt- 
 poled huts. 
 
 "Good Lord!" groaned McKay. "Even here 
 at the end of the world one can't get away from 
 those beastly instruments." 
 
 A throaty chuckle from the doorway followed 
 the words. Schwandorf emerged, carrying a big 
 bottle. 
 
 "Yet there is one thing to be thankful for, 
 gentlemen," he said. "In all this town there is 
 not one man who attempts to play a trombone." 
 
 The others laughed. Thomaz appeared with 
 bottles and thick cups. Corks were drawn, 
 liquids gurgled, matches flared, cigars glowed. 
 Without warning Schwandorf shot a question 
 through the gloom:
 
 THE GERMAN 33 
 
 "Have you seen Cabral the superintendent?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ask him about the wild man?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Get any information?" 
 
 "Nothing definite. He suggested that we see 
 you." 
 
 "So." 
 
 A pause, while Schwandorf's cigar end glowed 
 like a flaming eye. 
 
 "The Red Bones live well up the river," he 
 began, abruptly. "Twenty-four days by canoe, 
 five days through the bush on the east shore. 
 That would bring you to their main settlement 
 if you were not wiped out before then. They're 
 a big tribe, as tribes go. Ever been here before?" 
 
 "No. Not here," Knowlton told him. "I've 
 been hi Rio, and McKay here has knocked around 
 in" 
 
 A stealthy kick from McKay halted him an 
 instant. Then, deftly shifting the sentence, he 
 concluded, " in a number of places." 
 
 "So." Another pause. "Then I should ex 
 plain about tribes. Tribes here generally con 
 sist of from fifty to five hundred or more persons 
 living in big houses called 'malocas.' Unless the 
 tribe is very big, one house holds them all. 
 There may be any number of malocas, the in 
 habitants of which are all of the same racial 
 stock; yet each maloca is, as far as government 
 is concerned, a tribe to itself, controlled by a
 
 34 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 chief. No maloca owes any duty to any other 
 maloca. There is no supreme ruler over all, nor 
 even a federation among them. They live 
 merely as neighbors distant neighbors. At times 
 they fight like neighbors. You understand." 
 
 "'When Greek meets Greek '" quoted 
 McKay. 
 
 "Just so. When I say, then, that the Red 
 Bones are a big tribe, I mean that there are about 
 five hundred maybe more individuals in their 
 main settlement. They live in huts, not in one 
 big tribe-house like the Mayorunas. They are 
 not Mayorunas, in fact; they paint differently, 
 are darker of skin, and more cruel. 
 
 "The Mayorunas, by the way, are not so 
 debased as you might think. Though cannibals, 
 they do not kill for the sake of eating 'long pig/ 
 like the cannibals of the South Seas. Neither do 
 they eat the whole body. Only the hands and 
 feet of their dead enemies are devoured. These 
 are carefully cooked and eaten as delicacies along 
 with monkey meat, birds, fish, and other things 
 prepared for a feast in honor of a victory. The 
 eating of human flesh seems to be symbolism 
 rather than savagery. Furthermore, they do not 
 range the jungle hunting for victims. They eat 
 only those who come against them as enemies. 
 
 "So it is quite possible, you see, that strangers 
 might go among them and escape death. It would 
 depend largely on the ability of the strangers to 
 convince the savages that they were friends. The
 
 THE GERMAN 35 
 
 difficulty is that the savages consider all strangers 
 to be enemies until friendship is proved." 
 
 "A sizable difficulty," McKay remarked. 
 
 "Almost insurmountable. Yet it might be done. 
 Mind, I speak now of the Mayorunas, not of the 
 Red Bones. I tell you again that the Red Bone 
 country is closed." 
 
 "And where is the Mayoruna region?" 
 
 "In the same general section. The Mayorunas 
 are much more widely distributed. They are on 
 both banks of the Javary and extend as far west 
 as the Ucayali. 
 
 "Now if I sought to enter the Red Bone region 
 and again I say I would not this would be 
 my way of going at it. I would go first among 
 the Mayorunas near the Red Bones and seek to 
 convince them that I was their friend. I would 
 make the Mayoruna chief as friendly to me as 
 possible. I might even take a Mayoruna woman 
 for a time some of them are handsome, and 
 such a step would make me almost a Mayoruna 
 myself in their eyes. Then I would persuade the 
 chief to send messengers to the Red Bones with 
 word of me and a request that I be allowed to 
 visit their settlement. The request, coming from 
 the Mayoruna chief, probably would be granted. 
 I would then go in with a bodyguard of Mayo 
 runas, do my business, and come out via the 
 Mayoruna route." 
 
 A thoughtful silence ensued. Bottle necks 
 clinked against the cups.
 
 36 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Something in that idea," conceded Knowl- 
 ton. "A good deal in it. Barring the woman 
 part, of course." 
 
 "Ay," spoke McKay, his tone casual as ever. 
 "When you came out what would you do with 
 your woman, mein Herrf" 
 
 Schwandorf, tongue loosened a bit by his 
 kummel, chuckled. 
 
 "Ho-ho! The woman? Leave her, of course, 
 when she had served my purpose. Why bother 
 about a woman here and there?" 
 
 " I see." McKay's face, indistinct in the gloom, . 
 was unreadable, but his tone had a caustic edge. 
 
 Schwandorf laughed again. "You are fresh 
 from the woman-worshiping United States and 
 you disapprove. But this is the jungle, and all is 
 different. 'Cada terra com sen uso,' as these 
 Brazilians say each land with its own ways. 
 Perhaps when you have met the Mayoruna 
 women, looked on their handsome faces and 
 shapely forms they wear no clothing, by the 
 way you will change your ideas. More than one 
 man along this border has risked his life to win 
 one of those women. But that rests with you. 
 And now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have 
 an engagement with a man at the other end of 
 town." 
 
 "Certainly. We are indebted to you for your 
 interest." 
 
 "It is nothing. Remember that I strongly 
 advise you not to go. But if you will go, I shall
 
 THE GERMAN 37 
 
 gladly do whatever lies in my power to aid you 
 in preparing for the trip. Do not hesitate to call 
 
 on me." 
 
 He passed into the house, returning almost at 
 once. 
 
 "By the way," he added, "one of you has the 
 room next mine?" 
 
 "I have it," said Knowlton. 
 
 "Yes. Are you a good sleeper? I sometimes 
 snore most atrociously, I am told. So perhaps " 
 
 "Don't worry. I can sleep in the middle of a 
 bombardment." 
 
 "You are fortunate. Good evening, gentle 
 men." 
 
 When he was gone they sat for a tune smoking, 
 sipping now and then at their highballs. At 
 length McKay said, "Humph!" 
 
 "Amen. Pretty square sort of chap, though, 
 don't you think?" 
 
 "I'm not saying," was the Scot's cautious 
 answer. "Seems to be trying to discourage us 
 and egg us on at the same time. Something up 
 his sleeve, perhaps." 
 
 "Can't tell. But his line of talk rings true so 
 far. Checks up all right with what we've heard 
 about the Mayorunas and so on. And that 
 scheme of working in through the Mayoruna 
 country sounds about as sensible as anything. 
 Desperate chance and all that, but it might work. 
 Say, why did you kick me when I was going to 
 
 tell him you'd been in British Guiana?" 
 4
 
 38 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Don't know exactly. Had a hunch. Seems 
 to me I've seen that fellow before somewhere, but 
 I can't place him. None of his business where 
 I've been, anyhow. We're boobs from the 
 States hunting for a wild man. That's all he 
 needs to know." 
 
 But it was not enough for Schwandorf to 
 know. At that very moment he was on his way 
 to the home of Superintendent Cabral, with 
 whom he had no engagement whatever, to learn 
 all he could concerning the business of these mili 
 tary-appearing strangers; also to impress on 
 that official the fact that he had sought to dis 
 suade them from starting on their mad quest. 
 
 And much later that night, when Knowlton 
 was making good his boast that he was a sound 
 sleeper, a black-bearded face rose silently above 
 the iron partition between his room and that of 
 the German. A hand gripping a small electric 
 flashlight followed. A white ray searched the 
 room, halting on the khaki shirt lying over a box. 
 A tough withe with a barb at one end came 
 over like a slender tentacle, hooked the shirt 
 neatly, drew it stealthily up to the top. Shirt, 
 stick, lamp, hand, face all dissolved into darkness. 
 
 After a time they reappeared. The shirt came 
 down, swung slowly back and forth, was dropped 
 deftly where it had previously lain. The breast 
 pocket holding the grain-leather notebook and 
 the photograph of David Dawson Rand was but 
 toned as it had been, and the notebook bulged
 
 THE GERMAN 39 
 
 the cloth slightly as before. But the contents of 
 that book and the pictured face of Rand now were 
 stamped on the brain of Schwandorf . A sneering, 
 snarling smile curled the heavy mouth of Schwan 
 dorf. And softly, so softly that none could hear 
 it but himself, sounded the ironical benediction of 
 Schwandorf: 
 
 "Sleep well, offizier americanisch! Dream on, 
 poor fool! In time you will wake up. Ja, you 
 will wake up!"
 
 CHAPTER V. INTO THE BUSH 
 
 SLEEPY EYED and frowzy haired, with shirt 
 unbuttoned and breeches and boots un 
 laced, Tun emerged from his iron-walled 
 cell into the cool-shadowed main room, blinked 
 at McKay and Knowlton lounging over their 
 morning coffee and cigarettes, stretched his harry 
 arms, and advanced sluggishly to the table. 
 
 " Yow-oo-hum!" he yawned. "Ain't they cute! 
 All dressed and shaved like they was goin' to 
 visit the C. 0. And here's pore Timrny Ryan 
 lookin' like a 'drunk and dirty' jest throwed 
 into the guardhouse, and feelin' worse. Top o' 
 the mornin' to ye, gents!" 
 
 "Same to you, Tun," McKay nodded. 
 
 "Who hit you?" asked Knowlton, squinting 
 at bumps and scratches on Tim's forehead. 
 
 "Nobody. Couple fellers tried to, but they 
 was out o' luck. Oh, I see what ye mean! I done 
 that meself while I was gittin' to bed." 
 
 "Waves must have been running high on the 
 ocean last night. Better drink some coffee. 
 Thomaz, another cup big and black." 
 
 "Thanks, Looey. 'Twas kind of an active 
 night, at that." 
 
 "I heard you come in," vouchsafed McKay. 
 "Were you trying some high diving in your 
 room?"
 
 INTO THE BUSH 41 
 
 "Faith, I done some divin' without tryin', 
 but 'twas ragged work I pulled a belly smacker 
 every time. I got to tame that hammick o' mine. 
 It thro wed me four times hand-runnin', and the 
 only way I could hold it down was to unhook it 
 and lay it on the floor." 
 
 "Sleep well then?" 
 
 "I did not. Cap, I thought I knowed somethin* 
 about cooties, but I take it back I never knowed 
 nothin' about them insecks till last night. Where 
 they come from I dunno, but I'll tell the world 
 they come, and if they wasn't half an inch long 
 I'll eat 'em. They darn near dragged me off 
 whole, and all the sleep I got ye could stick in a 
 flea's eye. Lookit here." 
 
 He extended an arm dotted with swollen red 
 spots. 
 
 "Ants!" said McKay, after one glance. "Ants, 
 not cooties. They're everywhere. Especially 
 under the floor. That's one reason why folks 
 sleep in hammocks down here. Even then they're 
 likely to come down the hammock cords and 
 drive you out." 
 
 "Ants, hey? Never thought o' that. And I'd 
 sooner spend another night fightin' all the man- 
 eatin' j aggers in the jungle than them bugs. It's 
 the little things that count, as the feller said 
 when his wife give him his fourteenth baby." 
 
 He downed the thick coffee brought by Thomaz, 
 demanded another cup, accepted cigarette and 
 light from Knowlton, and sighed heavily.
 
 42 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Who tried to hit you?" Knowlton persisted. 
 
 "Aw, I dunno. Two-three fellers took swipes 
 at me with bottles and things. Me and Joey 
 went to a place where they's card games and so 
 on only place in town where the village sports 
 can git action. Joey offers to buy, and does. 
 Stuff tastes kind o' moldy to me, so I asks have 
 they got any American beer. They have. It's 
 bottled and warm, but it's beer and tastes like 
 home. It goes down so slick I buy another round, 
 and then one more, lettin' in a thirsty-lookin' 
 stranger on the third round. That makes seven 
 bottles altogether. Then I think mebbe I better 
 pay up now before I lose track. Looey, guess 
 what them seven bottles o' suds come to in Amer 
 ican money." 
 
 "M-m-m! Well, say about three and a half 
 or four dollars." 
 
 "That's what I figgered," mourned Tim. "But 
 them highbinders want thirty-two dollars and 
 twenty cents, American gold." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Sad but true. Seems the stuff sells here for 
 four bucks and sixty cents a bottle. Thinkin' 
 I'm gittin' rooked because I'm a tenderfoot, I 
 raise a row to oncet and start to climb the guy. 
 Other folks mix in and things git lively right off. 
 But after I've dropped a couple o' fellers Joey 
 winds himself round me and begs me not to make 
 him arrest me, and also tells me I'm all wrong 
 that's the regular price. So o' course that makes
 
 INTO THE BUSH 43 
 
 me out a cheap skate unless I come acrost, and I 
 do the right thing." 
 
 "Lucky you had the money on you," said 
 McKay, eying him a bit oddly. 
 
 "I didn't," chuckled Tim. "All the dough I 
 had was one pore lonesome ten-spot the one I 
 got from ye yesterday, Cap. But I don't tell 
 'em that. I jest wave my hand like thirty-two 
 plunks wasn't nothin' in my young life, and 
 start to work meself out o' the hole. After the 
 two guys on the floor are brought back to their 
 senses I order up drinks for all hands and git 
 popular again. Then I git out the bones." 
 
 "Oh! I see!" McKay laughed silently. 
 
 "Sure. Remember they told us on the boat 
 that these guys will gamble on anything? And 
 that a feller without shoes on may be some rub 
 ber worker packin' a roll that would choke a 
 horse? Wai, I make a few passes with them dice 
 o' mine and their eyes light up like somebody had 
 switched on the current. Then I scrabble me 
 hand around in me pants pocket, like I was peel- 
 in' a bill off a roll so big I didn't want to flash the 
 whole wad, and haul out that pore liT ten and 
 ask would anybody like to play a man's game. 
 
 "They would. I'll say they would. And they 
 got the coin to back up their play, too. Before I 
 come home I was buyin' beer by the case instead 
 o' the bottle. And it's all paid for, and I got 
 more 'n a hundred dollars left, besides givin' 
 Joey a fistful o' money jest for bein' a good feller.
 
 44 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 This ain't a bad town at all, gents. Outside o' 
 that buckin' -broncho hammick and the man- 
 eatin' ants I had a lovely evenin'." 
 
 "How about Joao's lady friend?" quizzed 
 Knowlton. 
 
 "Huh? Oh, I didn't git to see her. When bones 
 and beer are rollin' high and handsome I got no 
 time for women. Besides, I found out she was 
 mostly Injun and fat as a hog. Nothin' like that 
 for liT Timmy Ryan. Oh, say, before I forgit 
 it I asked Joey about this Dutchman here, and 
 he says " 
 
 McKay scowled, shook his head, pointed 
 toward the closed door of Schwandorf . Tun lifted 
 his brows, winked understanding, and went on 
 with a break: " that this guy Sworn-off is a 
 reg'lar feller and knows this river like a book. 
 Says he's one fine guy and a man from hair to 
 heels." 
 
 Following which he grimaced as if something 
 smelled bad, adding in a barely audible whisper, 
 "And that's the worst lie I ever told." 
 
 "We met Mr. Schwandorf last night after you 
 went," Knowlton said, easily, drawing down one 
 eyelid. " Very likable sort of chap. He's going to 
 help us get started upriver." 
 
 "Uh-huh. When do we go? To-day?" 
 
 "If possible." 
 
 "Glad of it. This big-town sportin' life would 
 be the ruination of a simple country kid like me. 
 Yo-hum! Wonder how all our neighbors are this
 
 INTO THE BUSH 45 
 
 mornin' the goat and the drunk and the two 
 sick fellers. Kind o' quiet over that side o' the 
 room." 
 
 Thomaz entered just then with more coffee. 
 Knowlton turned to him. 
 
 "Are the sick men better to-day, Thomaz?" 
 
 "Much better, senhor," the lad said, carelessly. 
 "They are dead." 
 
 "Huh?" Tim grunted, explosively. 
 
 "Dead," the youth repeated. "They were 
 taken out at dawn. Do not be alarmed. It was 
 the swamp fever, which is not what you say? 
 catching." 
 
 "Humph! Sort of a reg'lar thing to die of fever 
 here, hey?" 
 
 Thomaz shrugged as if hearing a foolish ques 
 tion. 
 
 "Si. Swamp fever, yellow fever, smallpox, beri 
 beri to-day we live, to-morrow we are dead." 
 
 "True for ye. They's allays somethin' hidin* 
 round the corner waitin' to jump ye, no matter 
 where ye are. If 'tain't one thing, it's another." 
 
 Despite his philosophical answer, however, Tun 
 fell silent, his eyes going to the doors of the rooms 
 where Death had stalked last night while he was 
 gambling. Like most men in whose veins red 
 blood runs bold and free, he had no fear of the 
 sort of death befitting a fighter sudden and 
 violent but a deep repugnance for those two 
 assassins against which a victim could not fight 
 back disease and poison. The Brazilian youth's
 
 46 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 nonchalant fatalism aroused him to the fact that 
 here both those forms of death were very near 
 him; the one in the air, the other on the ground 
 fever and snakes. 
 
 For the moment he was depressed. Then curi 
 osity awoke. 
 
 "If this here, now, Javary fever ain't catchin', 
 how does a feller git it?" 
 
 "Mosquitoes," McKay enlightened him. "The 
 anopheles. It bites a man who has fever, then 
 bites a well man and leaves the fever in him. 
 Inside of ten days he's sick, unless he takes a 
 huge dose of quinine right away. Mosquito 
 attacks perpendicular to the skin. That is, it 
 stands on its head. If you ever notice one 
 of them biting that way get busy with the 
 quinine." 
 
 "Huh! Fat chance a feller's got o' seein' just 
 how all these bugs bite him. And one muskeeter 
 standin' on its head does all that, hey?" 
 
 "So they say. Also they say it's only the 
 female that bites." 
 
 "Yeah. I believe it. I been stung more 'n 
 once by females before now. How about the 
 yeller fever? Git that the same way?" 
 
 "Same way, only a different mosquito the 
 stegomyia. When you begin to vomit black 
 you're gone. And if you get beriberi you're 
 gone, too. First symptoms of that are numbness 
 of the fingers and toes. Muscular paralysis goes 
 on until your heart stops."
 
 INTO THE BUSH 47 
 
 "Uh-huh. Nice cheerful place to die in, this 
 Ammyzon jungle. Aw well, what's the odds?" 
 
 Wherewith he inhaled more coffee, nipped his 
 cigarette butt at a small lizard on the floor not 
 far away, yawned once more, and swaggered out 
 to the piazza, bawling: 
 
 "And when I die * 
 
 Don't bury me a-tall, I 
 But pickle me bones 
 In alky-hawl " 
 
 When his roar had subsided and the two for 
 mer officers had sat silent a moment, smiling 
 over his nocturnal adventures, the door of 
 Schwandorf's room opened abruptly and the 
 German stepped out. 
 
 "M or gen" he grunted, striding to the table. 
 "Thomaz!" 
 
 "Si, Senhor Sssondoff." The youth faded 
 away into the kitchen quarters. 
 
 "Always feel grumpy until I eat," grumbled 
 the blackbeard. "None of this coffee-cigarette 
 breakfast for me. A real meal, coffee with gin in 
 it, a cigar then I feel human. Sleep well?" 
 
 His bold gaze never flickered as it encountered 
 Knowlton's. 
 
 "Fine. If you snored I didn't know it. Didn't 
 hear the bodies taken out this morning, either." 
 
 "Bodies! Oh! Those fellows dead?" He 
 tilted his head toward the doors behind which 
 the sick men had lain. "Glad of it. Best for
 
 48 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 them and everybody else. Hate to have sick 
 people in the place." 
 
 The Americans said nothing. They lit new 
 cigarettes and waited for the other to become 
 "human." And when his substantial breakfast 
 was down, his gin-flavored coffee had disappeared, 
 and his big cigar was aglow, he did. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, have you decided to take 
 good advice and let your Raposa alone?" he 
 asked, affably. 
 
 "Who ever follows good advice?" Knowlton 
 countered. Schwandorf chuckled. 
 
 "Niemand. Nobody. So you will go." He 
 shook his head solemnly. "I have said all I can 
 without offense. But if you persist I can only 
 help you to start. If possible I should like to go 
 with you up the river to the place where you will 
 take to the bush; but I must go to Iquitos, in 
 Peru, on the monthly launch which is due in a 
 day or two, so all my business is in the other 
 direction. If now I can aid in the matter of a 
 crew " 
 
 "That is what we were about to ask of you." 
 
 "So. Then let us be about it. I have been 
 thinking, since you showed your determination 
 last night, and have made inquiries about men. 
 There are now in Nazareth, the little Peruvian 
 town across the river, several men from whom you 
 can pick an excellent crew. Men of the river 
 and the bush, not worthless loafers like these 
 townsmen here. Men who are not afraid of hell
 
 INTO THE BUSH 49 
 
 or high water, as the saying is. Not remarkable 
 for either beauty or brains, but good men for 
 your work by far the best you can obtain. I 
 would suggest a large canoe and six or eight of 
 those men as crew." 
 
 The others smoked thoughtfully. Then McKay 
 said, "We should prefer Brazilians." 
 
 "Not if you knew the people hereabouts as 
 well as I. It, of course, makes no personal dif 
 ference to me what sort of crew you get, but I 
 tell you that these men are best. What does it 
 matter which side of the river they come from? 
 Men are men." 
 
 "True," McKay conceded. 
 
 "Can't be too fussy here," Knowlton added. 
 "Let's see the men." 
 
 All rose. But then Schwandorf suggested: 
 
 "No need of your going to Nazareth. Better 
 stay here, unless you want to go through a great 
 deal of ceremonious foolishness over there. It's 
 Peruvian ground and the barefooted ignoramuses 
 of officials may insist on showing their importance 
 by demanding your papers and all that. I can go 
 across, get the men, and be back here before 
 you'd be half through the preliminaries. Saves 
 time." 
 
 "All right, if it's not too much trouble." 
 
 "A good deal less trouble than if you went, to 
 be frank. I'm known, and I can go straight 
 about the business. So sit down and wait. 
 Thomaz! My hat!"
 
 60 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Out he tramped to the piazza, where he paused 
 a moment to run a swift eye over the disheveled 
 figure of Tim, who had fallen sound asleep in a 
 chair. Then, without a further word or glance, 
 he descended the ladder and swung away down 
 the street. The Americans, watching him from 
 the doorway, observed that children in his path 
 hastened to get out of it, and that he spoke to 
 nobody. 
 
 "Prussian," rasped McKay. 
 
 "M-hm! Done time in the Kaiser's army, too, 
 even if he has been here since before the war. 
 But he's treating us pretty white." 
 
 The captain made no answer. Their eyes fol 
 lowed the big figure until they saw it go sliding 
 away toward Peru in a canoe propelled by two 
 languid townsmen. Then McKay dropped a 
 hand on Tim's shoulder. The red-lashed eyes 
 flew open instantly. 
 
 Briefly, quietly, Knowlton told of what had 
 passed while he napped, then asked what infor 
 mation he had gleaned from Joao. 
 
 "He says," answered Tim, " this guy is a queer 
 duck. Been around here quite a while, but Joey 
 don't know what's his game. He goes off on 
 trips upriver, stays quite a while, comes back 
 unexpected, and nobody knows where he's been 
 or why. He don't use Brazilian boatmen gits 
 his men on the other side. And the Peru boys 
 themselves dunno where he goes, or, anyways, 
 they say they don't.
 
 INTO THE BUSH 51 
 
 "Two of 'em come over here awhile back and 
 got drunk, and Joey tried to pump 'em, but all 
 the dope he got was that this here Fritz goes 
 away upstream to a liT camp, and from there he 
 goes off into the bush alone, and the Peru guys 
 jest hang around the camp till he gits back. 
 Sounds kind o' fishy to me, and Joey says it does 
 to him, too, but he couldn't work nothin' more 
 out o' the drunks because about that tune 
 Sworn-off himself comes buttin' in and asks these 
 guys what they think they're doin' on this side 
 the river, and they beat it back to Peru toot 
 sweet. He's got their goat, all right, and I 
 wouldn't wonder if he's got Joey's, too. Any 
 ways, Joey tells me he's off this geezer and advises 
 me to lay off him, too, though he can't name a 
 thing against him." 
 
 "Queer," said Knowlton, looking again at the 
 canoe out on the water. 
 
 "Gun running?" suggested McKay. 
 
 "Nope," Tun contradicted. "I thought o' 
 that, but Joey says they's nothin' to it; they 
 watched this sourkrout close, and he don't never 
 git no guns from nowheres. Besides, they's 
 nobody up there to run guns to but Injuns, and 
 them Injuns are so wild they don't want no guns; 
 they stick to the bow and arrer and such stuff, 
 which they sure know how to use. Whatever his 
 game is, he plays a lone hand as far's this town 
 knows. Got no pals here, and nobody wants to 
 walk on his corns."
 
 52 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "May be perfectly all right, too," mused 
 Knowlton. "A little gold cache or something 
 though he said there was none in this region. 
 Oh, well, what do we care? We have our hands 
 full with our own business, and all assistance is 
 appreciated." 
 
 An hour drifted past. Men of the town lounged 
 by, looking curiously at the strangers, some nod 
 ding and voicing a friendly, "Boa dia" Women, 
 too, watched them from windows and doors, and 
 children slyly peeped around corners until some 
 thing more important such as a cat, a goat, or 
 a gorgeous butterfly came their way. Tun went 
 inside and slicked up a bit by buttoning and lacing 
 his clothes and combing his rebellious hair. At 
 length a long boat put out from the farther shore 
 and came surging across the sun-gleaming river. 
 
 "Handle themselves well," McKay approved, 
 noting the easy grace of the crew. In the bow a 
 tall, slender fellow stood with arms folded, bal 
 ancing himself to the sway of the rather clumsy 
 craft and watching the water ahead. In the 
 stern, on a little platform whence he could look 
 over the heads of the others and catch any signal 
 from the lookout, a squat, dark-faced steersman 
 lounged against his crude rudder. Between 
 these two the paddlers stood, each with one foot 
 on the bottom of the long dugout and the other 
 on the gunwale, swinging hi nonchalant unison 
 as their blades moved fore and aft. Under the 
 curving roof of a rough-and-ready cabin, open at
 
 INTO THE BUSH 53 
 
 the sides to allow free play of air, Schwandorf 
 lolled like some old-time barbarian king. 
 
 Down to the landing place trudged the three 
 Americans, and there the employers and the pro 
 spective employees looked one another over with 
 interest. Eight men had come with Schwandorf, 
 and a hard gang they were. The bowman, hawk 
 nosed, slant eyed, black mustached, with hairy- 
 chest showing under his unbuttoned cotton shirt, 
 had the face and bearing of a buccaneer chief tain; 
 and the effect was intensified by a flaring red 
 handkerchief around his head and the haft of a 
 knife protruding from his waistband. The rowers 
 behind him, though of varying degrees of swarthi- 
 ness and height, all had the same sinewy build > 
 the same bold stare, the same devil-may-care 
 insolence of manner; and though none but the 
 lookout wore the piratical red around his brow 5 
 more than one knife hilt showed at then* waists. 
 The steersman, whose copper-brown skin and 
 flat face betokened a heavy strain of Indian 
 blood, gazed stolidly at the Americans with the 
 unwinking, expressionless eyes of a snake. Back 
 into the minds of McKay and Knowlton came 
 Schwandorf 's words, "Men not afraid of hell or 
 high water." They looked it. 
 
 "Here they are," announced the German, 
 stepping ashore deliberately. "Jose*, the pun- 
 tero" his hand indicated the lookout "Fran 
 cisco, the popero" pointing to the steersman 
 
 "and six bogas. Good men." 
 5
 
 54 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 McKay ran a cold eye along the line of faces, 
 
 his gaze plumbing each. Under that chill scru 
 
 tiny the third man's stare wavered and dropped. 
 
 , That of the next also veered aside. The rest 
 
 fronted him eye to eye. 
 
 "Two of them will not do," he asserted, hi the 
 brusque tone of a captain inspecting his com 
 pany. "Numbers Three and Four fall out!" 
 
 Literal obedience would have put Three and 
 Four into the river, wherefore they stood fast. 
 But, though they did not quite understand the 
 meaning of the words, they grasped the fact that 
 they were not wanted. One laughed impudently, 
 the other slid a poisonous glance at the bleak- 
 faced officer. The squat Francisco scowled. So 
 did Schwandorf. 
 
 "No man who cannot look me hi the eye is 
 needed on this trip," McKay declared. "Also, 
 six men are enough. If necessary we will bear a 
 hand at the paddles ourselves. Jose", you have 
 been told by Senhor Schwandorf what we want?" 
 
 "Si." 
 
 "You can start at once?" 
 
 What pay?" 
 
 We leave that to you." 
 
 Um! A dollar a day for each man?" 
 "Money or goods?" 
 "American gold." 
 "Si. Bueno." 
 "Very well. Take those two men back to 
 
 "
 
 INTO THE BUSH 55 
 
 Nazareth, get what belongings you need, return 
 here, and report to me at the hotel. I am captain. 
 Understand?" 
 
 11 Si Capitan." 
 
 "All right. On your way!" 
 
 As the boat drew out the two rejected men 
 bade the Americans an ironical "adios," and one 
 spat in the stream. In the faces of the others, 
 however, showed something like respect for the 
 crisp-spoken captain, and Jose* snarled some 
 thing at the ill-mannered Three and Four. 
 
 "You might need those men," mumbled 
 Schwandorf. 
 
 "Guess not," McKay answered, serenely, turn 
 ing toward the hotel. " Come on, boys. Let's get 
 our stuff ready to ride." 
 
 Less than two hours later their rooms were 
 vacant, their duffle was stowed hi the long dug 
 out, the Peruvian crew stood arrogantly eying 
 the Brazilians who had gathered to witness the 
 departure, and the Americans were bidding good- 
 by to Remate de Males in general and its German 
 resident in particular. 
 
 "Mr. Schwandorf, we thank you for your 
 efficient aid," said Knowlton, extending a hearty 
 hand. "You have helped us to get going with 
 all dispatch, and we trust that we can repay the 
 favor soon." 
 
 "You owe me no thanks," was the curt reply. 
 "I would expect you to do as much for me if 
 our positions were reversed. I wish you luck."
 
 56 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Get aboard, Tim!" McKay ordered, setting 
 the example himself. Tim obeyed, first giving 
 the important Joao d' Almeida Magalhaes Nabuco 
 Pestana da Fonseca a real American handgrip 
 and getting in return a double embrace from that 
 worthy official. Whereafter he winked and 
 grinned expansively at several women garbed 
 hi violent hues of red, yellow, and green, frowned 
 slightly at Schwandorf, lit the last cigar he was 
 to smoke for many a long day, and, as the dugout 
 began to move, erupted into a more or less musical 
 farewell to the females of the species: 
 
 "The Yanks are goin' away, 
 
 Pa-a-arley-voo ! 
 They're movin' on to-day, 
 
 Pa-a-arley-voo! 
 
 The Yanks are goin' away, they say, 
 Leavin' the girls in a heartless way, 
 
 Rinky dinky-parley- voo ! ' ' 
 
 With one final wave of his cigar to the gesticu 
 lating Joao and the grinning women he turned 
 his back on the town and faced the little-known 
 river and the inscrutable jungle. But neither his 
 eyes nor his thoughts traveled beyond the bow 
 of the boat. Through narrowed lids he studied 
 the swaying paddlers and the piratical Jose". And 
 in his mind echoed the whispered warning of 
 Joao, delivered during the effusive embrace at 
 parting: 
 
 "Comrade, watch those bastardos Peruanos."
 
 CHAPTER VI. IN THE NIGHT WATCH 
 
 DAY by day the long canoe crawled into the 
 vast unknown. Day by day the down- 
 flowing jungle river pushed steadily, sul 
 lenly against its prow, as if striving to repel the\ 
 invasion of its secret places by the fair-skinned 
 men of another continent. Day by day it slid 
 past in resentful impotence, conquered by the 
 swinging blades of the Peruvian bogas. And day 
 by day the close companionship of canoe and 
 camp seemed to weld the voyagers into one com 
 pact unit. 
 
 Through hours of blazing sun, when the mer 
 cury of the thermometer which Knowlton had 
 hung inside the shady toldo cabin fluctuated well 
 above 100 degrees, the hardy crew forged on. 
 Through drenching rains they still hung doggedly 
 to their work, suspending it only when the water 
 fell in such drowning quantities that they were 
 forced to tie up hastily to shore and seek cover 
 'ji order to breathe. When sunset neared they 
 picked with unerring eye a spot fit for camping, 
 attacked the bush with whirling machetes, cleared 
 a space, threw up pole frameworks, swiftly 
 thatched them with great palm leaves, and thus 
 created from the jungle two crude but efficient 
 huts one for themselves and one for their 
 patrones. When night had shut down and all
 
 58 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 hands squatted around the fire in a nightly smoke 
 talk they regaled their employers with wild tales 
 of adventures hi bush and town, some of which 
 were not at all polite, but all of which were 
 mightily interesting. And despite all discomforts, 
 fatigue, and the minor incidents and accidents 
 which often lead fellow travelers hi the wilder 
 ness to bickering and bitterness, no friction devel 
 oped between the men of the north and the men 
 of the south. 
 
 Not that the Peruvians were at all obsequious 
 or servile. They were a reckless, lawless, Godless 
 gang, perpetually bearing themselves with the 
 careless insolence which had characterized them 
 at first, blasphemous of speech toward one an 
 other but never toward the North Americans. 
 Disputes arose among them with volcanic sud 
 denness, and more than once knives were half 
 drawn, only to be slipped back under the tongue- 
 lashing of the hawk-nosed puntero, Jose", who 
 damned the disputants completely and promised 
 to cut out the bowels of any man daring to lift 
 his blade clear of its sheath. Five minutes after 
 ward the fire eaters would be on as good terms 
 as ever, shrugging and grinning at their passen 
 gers particularly Tun, who, shaking his head 
 disgustedly, would grumble: 
 
 "Aw, pickles! Another frog fight gone bust!" 
 
 Yet Tim, for all his disparagement of these 
 
 abortive spats, knew full well that any one of 
 
 them held the makings of a deadly duel and that
 
 IN THE NIGHT WATCH 59 
 
 Josh's lurid threats were no mere Latin hyperbole. 
 He realized that the red-crowned bowman ruled 
 his crew exactly as any of the old-time buccaneers 
 whom he resembled had governed their free- 
 booting gangs by the iron hand; and that, 
 though these men sailed no Spanish Main and 
 flew no black flag, the iron-hand government was 
 needed. He saw also that the rough-and-ready 
 courtesy of this crowd toward their passengers 
 was due largely to the attitude of Captain 
 McKay, who had enforced their respect at the 
 start by his soldierly bearing and retained it 
 ever since by his military management. 
 
 For the captain, experienced in directing men, 
 conducted himself at all times as a commanding 
 officer should: he saw all, said little, treated 
 Jos6 as a subordinate officer, and left the handling 
 of the crew entirely to him. His aloofness fore 
 stalled any of that familiarity which, with such a 
 gang, would have led to contempt. On the other 
 hand, his avoidance of any assumption of med 
 dlesome authority prevented the irritation and 
 dislike which free men inevitably feel for the 
 self-important type of leader. Thus he cannily 
 steered himself and his mates between the two 
 rocks which might have wrecked the expedition 
 before it was well started. And Knowlton, ex- 
 lieutenant, and Tim, ex-sergeant, seeing and un 
 derstanding, followed his example. 
 
 So the days and nights rolled by, the miles of 
 never-ending jungle shore fell away behind, and,
 
 60 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 save for the occasional outbreaks between mem 
 bers of the crew, all was serene. To all appear 
 ances the Peruvians were whole-heartedly inter 
 ested in serving their employers faithfully, and 
 the North Americans were gliding onward with 
 no thought of insecurity. Yet appearances fre 
 quently are deceptive. 
 
 In the heat of the day hi fact, before the broil 
 ing sun neared the zenith Tun and Knowlton 
 habitually fell asleep inside the toldo, not to 
 awake until two hours before sunset, when, 
 according to the routine agreed upon, the night's 
 camping place would be sought and two or three 
 of the Peruvians would go into the bush with 
 rifles, seeking fresh meat. McKay never slept 
 during the day's traverse. Nothing escaped his 
 eye from the time when he emerged from his 
 mosquito net in the misty morning until he en 
 tered it again by firelight. The men in the boat; 
 the floating alligators and wading birds of the 
 water; the flashing parrots, jacamars, toucans, 
 trogons, and hummers of the air; the yard-long 
 lizards and nervous spider monkeys of the tangled 
 tree branches alongshore all these he watched 
 quietly as the boat forged on. And the sinister 
 Francisco, watching him in turn, and the pad- 
 dlers throwing occasional glances his way, came 
 to regard him as the only alert member of the 
 trio. Wherein they erred. 
 
 The truth was that every one of the three 
 adventurers was on his guard. Tim had not for-
 
 IN THE NIGHT WATCH' 61 
 
 . j 
 
 gotten the last words of his boon companion, 
 Joao, and at the first opportunity he had quietly 
 passed on that warning. Moreover, McKay and 
 Knowlton, without discussing the matter, had 
 meditated on the unexpected assistance of 
 Schwandorf, the speed with which the crew had 
 been obtained, the promptness of Jose" to accept 
 the first payment offered, and other things. 
 Wherefore it had come about that at no hour of 
 the twenty-four was every eye and ear closed. 
 And the real reason why red Tim and blond 
 Knowlton slept by day was that they thus made 
 up the slumber lost at night. 
 
 Not that either of them patrolled the camp in 
 sentry go. So far as the Peruvians knew, they 
 slept as soundly as McKay. But, lying in their 
 hammocks, they divided the night watches be 
 tween them on a schedule as regular as that of a 
 military camp, though the shifts necessarily were 
 longer. As sunset came always at six o'clock 
 and all hands sought their hanging beds two 
 hours later, Tim's "tour of duty" lasted until 
 one in the morning. When the phosphorescent 
 hands of his watch pointed to that hour he 
 stealthily reached out and jabbed Knowlton, 
 sleeping beside him. When a barely audible 
 "All right" reached his ears he was officially 
 relieved. 
 
 Night followed night, became a week, length 
 ened into a fortnight. Still, so far as the crew was 
 concerned, nothing happened. A little rough
 
 62 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 banter among them as they smoked their last 
 cigarettes, then sleep and snores; and that was 
 all until morning. Men less experienced in night 
 vigils than the ex-soldiers would have abandoned 
 their watches long before this if, indeed, they 
 had ever adopted them. But these three were 
 schooled in patience. Moreover, neither Tim nor 
 Knowlton had ever before penetrated the jungle, 
 and at times the light of the waxing moon 
 revealed to their eyes strange things which they 
 never would have seen by day. So the tedium 
 of the long hours of wakef ulness might be broken 
 at any moment. 
 
 Once they camped close to a conical hillock of 
 compact earth, some four feet high and almost 
 stone hard, from which radiated narrow covered 
 galleries the citadel and viaducts of a commu 
 nity of termites. Tim, still harboring vivid recol 
 lections of his ant battle at Remate de Males 
 though by this tune he had trained himself to 
 sleep in his hammock, where he was compara 
 tively safe looked askance at it when told what 
 it was, and was only partly reassured by the 
 information that termites were eaters of wood 
 rather than of flesh. After sleep had embraced 
 the rest of the camp he still was uneasy, lifting 
 his net at long intervals and squinting at the 
 moonlit mound as if expecting a horde of pincer- 
 jawed insects to erupt from it and charge him. 
 And during one of these inspections he saw some 
 thing totally unexpected.
 
 IN THE NIGHT WATCH 63 
 
 From the black shadows of the forest had 
 emerged another shadow, so grotesque and mis 
 shapen that it seemed a figment of indigestion 
 and weird dreams a thing from whose shaggy 
 body protruded what appeared to be only a long 
 tubular snout where a head should be, and which 
 looked to be overbalanced at the other end by a 
 great mass of hair. It stood stone still, and for 
 the moment Tim could not decide which end of 
 it was head and which was tail, or even whether 
 it were not double-tailed and headless. Then, 
 slowly, the apparition moved. 
 
 Into that hard-packed earth it dug huge hooked 
 claws, and from its tapering muzzle a wormlike 
 tongue licked about, gathering the outrushing 
 white ants into its gullet. For minutes Tim lay 
 blinking at it, wondering if he really saw it. 
 
 Then, picking up his rifle, he slipped outside his 
 net and advanced on the creature. 
 
 The animal turned, sat back on its great tail, 
 lifted its terrible claws, and waited. Six feet 
 away, just out of its reach, Tim stopped and 
 stared anew. Then he grinned. 
 
 "You win, feller," he informed the beast. 
 "What ye are I dunno, but any critter that's 
 got the guts to ramble right into camp and offer 
 to gimme a battle is too good a sport for me to 
 shoot. Help yourself to all the ants in the world, 
 for all o' me. I'm goin' back to bed. Bon sewer, 
 monseer." 
 
 Wherewith, still grinning, but warily watch-
 
 64 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 ing, he backed until sure the big invader would 
 not spring at him. Knowing nothing of ant 
 bears, he did not know it was hardly a springing 
 animal. 
 
 Its claws looked sufficiently formidable to dis 
 embowel a man as, indeed, they were, if the 
 man came near enough. But when Tim had 
 withdrawn and the sluggish brute had decided 
 that it would not need to defend itself, it sank to 
 all-fours and passed stiffly away into the shades 
 whence it had come. 
 
 On another night, when Tim slept, Knowlton 
 detected a creeping, slithering sound which made 
 him slip off the safety catch of his heavy-bulleted 
 pistol and peer at the hut where slept the crew. 
 No man was moving there. Still the sound per 
 sisted. Lifting his net, he spied beyond the hut 
 of the Peruvians a moving mass on the ground 
 a cylindrical bulk which looked to be two feet 
 thick, and which glided past like a solid stream 
 of dark water flowing along above the dirt. Its 
 beginning and end were hidden in the bush, and 
 not until it tapered into nothing and was gone 
 did he realize fully that he had been gazing at 
 an enormous anaconda. Then he kicked himself 
 for not shooting it. But before long he congratu 
 lated himself for letting it go. 
 
 Perhaps an hour later the startled forest re 
 sounded with an agonized scream, so piercing 
 and so appallingly human that all the camp 
 sprang awake. The outcry came but once, sound-
 
 IN THE NIGHT WATCH 65 
 
 ing from some place not far off, near the water's 
 edge, and in the direction toward which the huge 
 serpent had disappeared. Before the watcher 
 had time to tell the others of what he had seen, 
 one of the boatmen discovered the rut left in 
 the soft ground by the reptile. Thereafter Knowl- 
 ton kept his own counsel, listening to the excited 
 curses of the men and observing their pallor 
 and their nervous scanning of the shadows. Jose* 
 said the screech undoubtedly was the death 
 shriek of some animal caught and crushed in the 
 snake's tremendous coil. McKay concurred with 
 a nod. And when Knowlton casually said it was 
 tough that nobody had been awake to shoot the 
 thing as it passed the camp, Jose" emphatically 
 disagreed. 
 
 A bullet fired into that fiendish giant, he 
 averred, would have meant death to one or more 
 men; for the serpent's writhing coils and lashing 
 tail would have knocked down the sleeping-hut 
 and shattered the spines of any men they struck. 
 No, let Sefior Knowl-ton thank the saints that 
 the awful master of the swamps had gone its 
 way unmolested. For the rest of that night 
 Knowlton kept his watch openly, accompanied 
 by Jose* and three of the paddlers, who refused 
 to sleep again until they should be miles away 
 from the vicinity of that dread monster. 
 
 Two nights afterward the camp was aroused 
 again. Tim alone saw the start of the disturb 
 ance, and he kept mum about it because he did
 
 66 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 not choose to let the Peruvians know he had 
 been on the alert. Out from the gloom and 
 straight past the huts a thick-bodied, curve- 
 snouted animal came charging madly for the 
 river, carrying on its back a ferocious cat creature 
 whose fangs were buried deep in its steed's neck 
 a tapir attacked by a jaguar. With a resound 
 ing plunge the elephantine quarry struck the 
 water and was gone. The tiger cat, forced to re 
 linquish its hold or drown, swam hurriedly back 
 to the bank below the encampment, where it 
 roared and spat and squalled in a blood-chilling 
 paroxysm of baffled fury. And though every 
 man was awakened, not one left the flimsy shel 
 ter of his net. Nor did anyone so much as speak 
 until Tim, wearying of the noise, announced his 
 intention to "go bust that critter in the nose 
 and give him somethin' to yowl about." 
 
 The proposal met with instant and peremptory 
 veto. 
 
 "As you were!" snapped McKay. "Let him 
 alone! You wouldn't have a Chinaman's chance 
 in that black bush. A jaguar is bad all the time, 
 and when he's mad he's deadly. Never fool with 
 one of those beasts, Tim. I've met them before 
 and I know what they can do." 
 
 To which Jos6 agreed with many picturesque 
 oaths, declaring that a jaguar was no mere 
 beast it was a devil. Tim, grumbling, obeyed 
 orders. The jaguar, hearing their voices, 
 stopped its noise and probably reconnoitered
 
 IN THE NIGHT WATCH 67 
 
 the camp. But no man saw the brute, and its 
 next roar sounded from some spot far off in 
 the jungle. 
 
 Other things, too, passed within Tun's range 
 of vision from time to tune hi the moonlit hours: 
 a queer bony creature which he took for some new 
 kind of turtle, but which really was an armadillo; 
 a monstrous hairy spider which slid like a streak 
 up his net, hung there for a time, decided to go 
 elsewhere, and departed with such speed that the 
 man inside rubbed his eyes and wondered if he 
 was "seein' things that ain't"; a couple of vam 
 pires which flitted in from nowhere like ghoulish 
 ghosts, wheeled and floated silently on wide wings, 
 seeking an exposed foot protruding from the 
 hammocks, found none, rested a moment on the 
 roof poles, chirping hoarsely, and veered out 
 again into the night. 
 
 To Knowlton's watch came a strange owl- 
 faced little monkey with great staring eyes and 
 face ringed with pale fur one of those night apes 
 seldom seen by man; a small troop of kinkajous, 
 slender, long-tailed animals which looked to be 
 monkeys, but were not, and which leaped deftly 
 among the branches like frolicsome little devils 
 let loose to play under the jungle moon; a big' 
 scaly iguana, its back ridged with saw teeth and 
 its pendulous throat pouch dangling grotesquely 
 under its jaw; and more than one deadly snake 
 and huge alligator, the first gliding past with 
 venomous head raised and cold eye glinting, the
 
 68 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 second lying quiescent except for occasional 
 openings of horrific jaws. 
 
 To the ears of both the hammock sentinels 
 came the mournful sounds of living things un 
 seen. From the depths beyond drifted the weird 
 plaint of the sloth, crying in the night, "Oh me, 
 poor sloth, oh-oh-oh-oh!" Goat suckers repeated 
 by the hour their monotonous refrains, "Quao 
 quao," or "Cho-co-co-cao," while a third ear 
 nestly exhorted, "Joao corta pao!" ("John, 
 cut wood!"). Tree frogs and crickets clacked 
 and drummed and hoo-hooed, guaribas poured 
 their awful discord into the air, and on one 
 bright breathless night there sounded over and 
 over a call freighted with wretchedness and 
 despair the wail of that lonely owl known 
 to the bushmen as "the mother of the moon," 
 whose dreadful cry portends evil to those who 
 hear it. 
 
 Sometimes the air shook with the thunderous 
 concussion of some great falling tree which, long 
 since bled to death by parasitical plant growths, 
 now at last toppled crashing back into the dank 
 soil whence it had forced its way up into a place 
 in the sun. Other noises, infrequent and unex- 
 plainable, also drifted at long intervals from the 
 mysterious blackness. And in all the medley of 
 night sounds not one was cheerful. The burden 
 of the jungle's cacophonic cantanta ever was the 
 same despair, disaster, death. 
 
 Then came the fifteenth day. It dawned red,
 
 IN THE NIGHT WATCH 69 
 
 the sun fighting an ensanguined battle with the 
 heavy morning mists and throwing on the faces 
 of the early-rising travelers a sinister crimson 
 hue. Before that sun should rise again some of 
 those faces were to be stained a deeper red. 
 6
 
 CHAPTER VII. COLD STEEL 
 
 OME two hours after the start, while 
 Knowlton and Tim loafed at the fore end 
 of the cabin, enjoying the comparative 
 coolness of the early day, another boat hove in 
 sight up ahead a longish craft manned by 
 eight paddlers and without a cabin. 
 
 As it came into view its bowman tossed his 
 paddle in greeting. The Peruvians ignored the 
 salutation. The bowman, after shading his 
 eyes and peering at the flamboyant figure of 
 Jose", resumed paddling without further cere 
 mony, evidently intending to pass in silence. 
 But then McKay arose, waved a hand, and told 
 Jose" to steer for the newcomers. Jose", with a 
 slightly sour look, gave the signal to Francisco, 
 and the course changed. 
 
 The other canoe slowed and waited. Its men 
 watched the tall figure of McKay. Tun and 
 Knowlton scanned the bronzed faces of those 
 men and liked them at once. The paddlers evi 
 dently were Brazilians, but of a different type 
 from the sluggish townsmen of Remate de Males 
 alert, active-looking fellows, steady of eye, 
 honest of face, muscular of arm in all, a more 
 clean-cut set of men than the Peruvians. All 
 three of the Americans noticed that no word 
 was exchanged between the two crews.
 
 COLD STEEL 71 
 
 " Boa dia, amigos!" spoke McKay. "Who are 
 you and whence do you come?" 
 
 "We are rubber workers of Coronel Nunes, 
 senhor," the bowman answered, civilly. "We 
 go to make a new camp. This land is a part of 
 the seringel of the coronel, and we left his head 
 quarters yesterday." 
 
 "Ah! Then the headquarters is above here?" 
 "One more day's journey," the man nodded. 
 "I thank you. Good fortune go with you." 
 "And with you, senhor. May Godprotectyou." 
 With the words the Brazilian glanced along 
 the line of Peruvian faces and his eyes narrowed. 
 Though his words were only a respectful fare 
 well, his expressive face indicated that McKay 
 might be badly in need of divine protection at 
 no distant date. As his paddle dipped and his 
 men nodded their leave-taking, Francisco, the 
 popero, sneered raucously: 
 
 "Hah! Mere caucheros! Workers! Slaves!" 
 And he spat at the Brazilian boat. 
 Fire shot into the eyes of the bowman and his 
 comrades. Their muscles tensed. 
 
 "Better be slaves better be dogs than Peru 
 vian cutthroats!" one retorted. "Go your way, 
 and keep to your own side of the river." 
 
 "We go where we will, and no misborn Bra 
 zilians can stop us," snarled Francisco. To which 
 he added obscene epithets directed against Bra 
 zilians in general and the men of Coronel Nunes 
 in particular.
 
 72 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 The unprovoked insults angered the Americans 
 as well as the Brazilians. Knowlton leaped 
 through the toldo and confronted Francisco. 
 
 "Shut your dirty mouth!" he blazed. 
 
 For reply, the evil-eyed steersman spat at him 
 the vilest name known to man. 
 
 An instant later, his lips split, he sprawled 
 dazedly on his platform, perilously close to the 
 edge. Knowlton, the knuckles of his left fist 
 bleeding from impact with the other's teeth, 
 stood over him in white fury. Francisco's right 
 hand fumbled for his knife. Knowlton promptly 
 stamped on that hand with a heavy boot heel. 
 
 "Good eye, Looey!" rumbled Tim's voice at 
 his back. "Boot him some more for luck. Hey, 
 you! Back up or I'll drill ye for keeps!" This 
 to a pan- of the Peruvian paddlers who had come 
 scrambling through the cabin. 
 
 After one searching stare into Tim's hard blue 
 eyes and a glance at his fist curled around the 
 butt of his belt gun, the bogas backed up. A 
 moment later they were thrown boldly into their- 
 own part of the boat by Jose", who blistered them 
 with the profanity of three languages at once. 
 Then McKay came through and took charge. 
 
 "That '11 do, Tun! Same goes for you, Merry! 
 Jose", I'll handle this. You, Francisco ! Get up!" 
 
 The curt commands struck like blows.- Every 
 man obeyed. And when the squat steersman 
 again stood up McKay went after him roughshod. 
 In the colloquial Spanish of Mexico and the
 
 COLD STEEL 73 
 
 Argentine, in the man talk of American army 
 camps, he flayed that offender alive. Jose" him 
 self, efficient man handler though he was, stared 
 at his captain in awe. And Francisco, though 
 not given to cringing, skulked like a beaten dog 
 when the verbal flagellation was finished. 
 
 Turning then to the Brazilians, McKay for 
 mally apologized for the insults to them. 
 
 "It is nothing, senhor," coolly answered the 
 bowman though his glance at the Peruvians 
 said plainly that it would have been something 
 but for the swift punishment by the Americans. 
 "Again I say may God protect you! Adeos!" 
 
 The Brazilian boat glided away. The Peruvian 
 craft crawled on upstream in silence. 
 
 When the next camp was made all apparently 
 had forgotten the affair. The men badgered one 
 another as usual, though none mentioned Fran 
 cisco's split mouth; and Francisco, himself, albeit 
 sulky, betrayed no sign of enmity. After night 
 fall the regular camp-fire meeting was held and 
 at the usual tune all turned in. One more night 
 of listening to the sounds of the tropical wilder 
 ness seemed all that lay ahead of the secret 
 sentinels. 
 
 Sleep enveloped the huts. Snores and gurgles 
 rose and fell. Tim himself, for the sake of effect, 
 snored heartily at intervals, though his eyes 
 never closed. Through his mosquito bar he could 
 see only vaguely, but he knew any man walking 
 from the crew's quarters must cast a very
 
 74 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 visible shadow across that net, and to him the 
 shadow would be as good a warning as a clear 
 view of the substance. But the hours crept on 
 and no shadow came. 
 
 At length, however, a small sound reached his 
 alert ear a sound different from the regular 
 noises of the bush a stealthy, creeping noise 
 like that of a big snake or a huge lizard. It came 
 from the ground a few feet away, and it seemed 
 to be gradually advancing toward his own ham 
 mock. Whatever the creature was that made it, 
 its method of progress was not human, but 
 reptilian. Puzzled, suspicious, yet doubtful, Tim 
 lifted the rear side of his net, on which no moon 
 light fell. Head out, he watched for the crawling 
 thing to come close. 
 
 It came, and for an instant he was hi doubt 
 as to its character, for around it lay the deep 
 shadow of some treetops which at that point 
 blocked off the moon. It inched along on its 
 stomach, its black head seeming round and 
 minus a face, its body broad but flat a thing 
 that looked to be a man but not a man. Then, 
 pausing, it raised its head and peered toward 
 the hammock of Knowlton. With that move 
 ment Tim's doubts vanished. The lifting of the 
 head showed the face the face of Francisco, 
 the face of murder. In its teeth was clamped 
 a bare knife. 
 
 Forthwith Tim applied General Order Number 
 Thirteen.
 
 COLD STEEL 75 
 
 In one bound he was outside his net, colliding 
 with Knowlton, who awoke instantly. In another 
 he was beside the assassin, who, with a lightning 
 grab at the knife in his mouth, had started to 
 spring up. Tim wasted no time in grappling or 
 clinching. He kicked. 
 
 His heavy boot, backed by the power of a 
 hundred and ninety pounds of brawn, thudded 
 into the Indian's chest. Francisco was hurled 
 over sidewise on his back. Another kick 
 crashed against his head above the ear. He 
 went limp. 
 
 "Ye lousy snake!" grated Tim. "Crawlin' on 
 yer belly to knife a sleepin' man, hey? Blast 
 yer rotten heart " 
 
 " What's up?" barked McKay from his 
 hammock. 
 
 "Night attack, Cap. If ye' re comin' out bring 
 along yer gat. Hey, Looey, got yer gun on? 
 Some o' these other guys might git gay. They're 
 comin' now." 
 
 True enough, the Peruvian gang was jumping 
 from its hut. With another glance at the pros 
 trate Francisco to make sure he was unconscious, 
 Tim whirled to meet them, fist on gun. 
 
 "Halt!" he roared. "First guy passin' this 
 corner post gits shot. Back up!" 
 
 The impact of his voice, the menace of his ready 
 gun hand, the sight of Knowlton and McKay 
 leaping out with pistols drawn, stopped the rush 
 at the designated post. But swift hands dropped,
 
 76 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 
 
 and when they rose again the moonlight glinted 
 on cold steel. 
 
 "Capitan, what happens here?" demanded 
 Jose, ominously quiet. 
 
 "Knife work," McKay replied, curtly. "Your 
 man Francisco attempted to creep in and murder 
 Senor Knowlton. If you and the rest have 
 similar intentions, now's your time to try. If 
 not, put away those knives." 
 
 "Knives! Par Dios, what do you mean?" 
 
 "Look behind you." 
 
 Jose" looked. At once he snarled curses and 
 commands. Slowly the knives slipped out of 
 sight. The paddlers edged backward to their 
 own shack, leaving their puntero alone. 
 
 "The capitan has it wrong," asserted Jose". 
 "We awake to find our popero being kicked in 
 the head. We want to know why. If Francisco 
 has done what you say I will deal with him. That 
 I may be sure, allow me to look." 
 
 "Very weU. Look." 
 
 Jose" advanced, stooped, studied the ground, 
 the position of Francisco's body, the knife still 
 clutched in the nerveless hand. Tim growlingly 
 vouchsafed a brief explanation of the incident. 
 When Jose" straightened up, his mouth was a 
 hard line and his eyes hot coals. 
 
 "Si. Es verdad. To-morrow we shall have a 
 new popero." 
 
 With which he stooped again, grasped the prone 
 man by the hair, dragged him into the moonlit
 
 COLD STEEL 77 
 
 space between the huts, and flung him down. 
 "Juan, bring water!" he ordered. 
 
 One of the paddlers, looking queerly at him, 
 did so. Jose deluged the senseless man. Fran 
 cisco, reviving, sat up and scowled about him. 
 His eyes rested on the three Americans standing 
 gjimly ready, shoulder to shoulder, before their 
 hut; veered to his mates bunched in sinister 
 silence beside their own quarters; shifted again to 
 meet the baleful glare of Jose". His hand stole 
 to his empty sheath. 
 
 "Your knife, Francisco mio?" queried Jose", 
 a menacing purr in his tone. "I have it. It 
 seems that you are in haste to use it. Too much 
 haste, Francisco. But if you will stand instead 
 of crawling as before, you may have your knife 
 again and use it, too." 
 
 Francisco, staring sullenly up, seemed to read 
 in the words more than was evident to the 
 Americans. He lurched to his feet, staggered, 
 caught his balance, braced himself, stood waiting. 
 
 "You know who commands here," Jose* went on. 
 " You disobey. You seek to stab in the night " 
 
 "Now or later what is the difference?" 
 
 " and now the boat is too small for both of 
 us." Jose" ignored the interruption. "Here is 
 your knife. Now use it!" 
 
 He flipped the weapon at the other, who caught 
 it deftly. Jose" dropped his right hand to his 
 waist. An instant later naked steel licked out 
 at Francisco's throat.
 
 78 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 The steersman's knife flashed up, caught the 
 reaching blade, knocked it with a scraping clink. 
 For a few seconds the two weapons seemed 
 welded together, their owners each striving to 
 bear down the other's wrist. Then they parted 
 as the combatants sprang back. 
 
 Jose" side-stepped twice to his right. Francisco, 
 turning to preserve his guard, now had the light 
 full in his face. But the moon rode so high that 
 the steersman's disadvantage was negligible, and 
 the next assault of the puntero was blocked as 
 before. And this time the wrist of the popero 
 proved a bit the better; he threw the attacking 
 steel aside and struck hi a slashing sweep at his 
 antogonist's stomach. 
 
 A convulsive inward movement of the bow 
 man's middle, coupled with a swift back-step, 
 made the slash miss by a hair's breadth. With 
 the quickness of light Jose" was in again. His 
 knife hand, still outstretched sidewise, stopped 
 with a light smack of flesh on flesh. Then it 
 jerked outward. His steel now was red to the 
 hilt. 
 
 One more rapid step back, a keen glance at 
 his opponent, and Jose" stood at ease. From 
 Francisco burst a bubbling groan. He staggered. 
 His knife dropped. His hands rose fumblingly 
 toward his neck. Suddenly his knees gave way 
 and he toppled backward to the ground. The 
 silvery moonlight disclosed a dark flood welling 
 from his severed jugular.
 
 COLD STEEL 79 
 
 With the utmost coolness Jose" ran two fingers 
 down his wet blade, snapped the fingers in air, 
 and spoke to his crew: 
 
 "As I said, we shall have a new popero. To 
 morrow, Julio, you will take the platform." 
 
 A rumble ran among the men. Their eyes 
 lifted from Francisco to the Americans, and in 
 them shone a wolfish gleam. The bowman 
 turned sharply and faced them. 
 
 "Who growls?" he rasped. "You, Julio?" 
 
 "Si, yo soy," Julio answered, harshly, fingering 
 his knife. "I will be steersman, but I steer 
 downstream, not up. Francisco spoke the truth. 
 Now or later what is the difference? Let it 
 be now!" 
 
 A louder growl from the others followed his 
 words. One stepped back into the shadow of 
 the hut. 
 
 "Perros amarillos! Yellow dogs! You go 
 upstream, fools! The Americans must be 
 taken " 
 
 A raucous sneer from Julio interrupted him. 
 Simultaneously the paddler's hand leaped up 
 ward, poising a knife. 
 
 "The gringos stay here and you, too, you 
 Yanqui cur!" 
 
 The poised knife hissed through the air at Jose". 
 
 Out from the crew house shot a streak of fire 
 and a smashing rifle report. 
 
 Jose" dodged, staggered, screeched in feline 
 fury, the knife buried in his left arm.
 
 80 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 McKay grunted suddenly, fell, lay still. 
 
 " God! "yelled Tim. "Cap's gone! Clean 'em, 
 Looey!" 
 
 With the words he leaped aside and pulled 
 his pistol, just as another rifle flare stabbed out 
 from the other hut and a bullet whisked through 
 the space where he had stood. An instant later 
 he was pouring a stream of lead at the spot 
 whence the burning powder had leaped. 
 
 Knives flashing, teeth gleaming, the other 
 paddlers charged across the ten-foot space be 
 tween the huts. 
 
 Jose", his left arm helpless, but his deadly right 
 hand still gripping his knife, hurled himself on 
 Julio, who had seized a machete from somewhere. 
 
 Knowlton slammed a bullet between the eyes 
 of the foremost boga, who pitched headlong. He 
 swung the muzzle to the other man's chest 
 yanked at the trigger got no response. The 
 gun was jammed. 
 
 With a triumphant snarl the blood-crazed 
 Peruvian closed in, slashing for the throat. 
 Knowlton slipped aside, evaded the thrust, swung 
 the pistol down hard on his assailant's head. 
 The man reeled, thrust again blindly, missed. 
 Knowlton crashed his dumb gun down again. 
 It struck fair on the temple. The man collapsed. 
 
 Tim was charging across the open at the crew 
 house. Jose" and Julio were locked in a death 
 grapple. No other living man, except Knowlton, 
 still stood upright. Stooping, he peered into the
 
 COLD STEEL 81 
 
 red-dyed face of McKay. Then he laid a hand 
 on the captain's chest. Faint but regular, he 
 felt the heart beating. 
 
 "Thank God!" he breathed. With a wary 
 eye on the battling Peruvians he swiftly raised 
 the captain and put him into Tim's hammock. 
 As he turned back to the fight Tim emerged 
 from the other hut, carrying a body, which he 
 dropped and swiftly inspected. At the same 
 moment the fight of Jos6 and Julio ended. 
 
 With a choked scream Julio dropped, writhed, 
 doubled up. Then he lay still. Jose", his face 
 ghastly, stared around him. His mouth stretched 
 in a terrible smile. 
 
 "So this ends it," he croaked, his gaze dropping 
 to Julio. " Adios, Julio! The machete is not 
 so good as the knife unless one has room to 
 swing it " 
 
 He chuckled hoarsely and sank down. 
 
 For an instant Knowlton hesitated, his glance 
 going back and forth between McKay and Jose". 
 Swiftly then he ran his finger tips over McKay's 
 head. With a murmur of satisfaction he turned 
 from his comrade and hurried to the motionless 
 bowman, over whom Tim now bent. 
 
 "Bleedin' to death, Looey," informed Tim. 
 "Ain't cut bad excep' that arm. That flyin' 
 knife must have got an artery. Can we pull 
 him through? He's a good skate." 
 
 "I'll try. You look after Cap. He's only 
 knocked out bullet creased him "
 
 82 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Glory be! He's all right, huh? Sure I'll 
 fix him up. Everybody else dead? I got that 
 guy in the bunk house drilled him three times." 
 
 "Look out for that fellow over there. Maybe 
 I brained him, but I'm not sure." 
 
 Knowlton was already down on his knees 
 beside Jose*, working fast to loop a tourniquet 
 and stop the flow from the pierced arm. With a 
 handkerchief and his pistol barrel he shut off 
 the pulsating stream. 
 
 "Yeah, he's done," judged Tim, rising from 
 the man whom Knowlton had downed at last. 
 "Skull's caved in. What 'd ye paste him with?" 
 
 "Gun. Cursed thing stuck." 
 
 "Uh-huh. Them automats are cranky. Say, 
 lookit the mess Hozy made o' that guy Hooley-o." 
 
 Knowlton glanced at Julio and whistled. Josh's 
 oft-repeated threat to disembowel a refractory 
 member of the crew had at last been literally 
 fulfilled. 
 
 But the lieutenant had seen worse sights in 
 the shell-torn trenches of France, and now he 
 kept his mind on his work. Wedging the gun 
 to hold the tourniquet tight, he lifted his patient 
 from the red-smeared mud and bore him to the 
 nearest hammock in the crew quarters. Striding 
 back, he found Tim alternately bathing McKay's 
 head and giving him brandy. In a moment the 
 captain's eyes opened. 
 
 "Some bean ye got, Cap," congratulated Tim, 
 vastly relieved at sight of McKay's gray stare.
 
 COLD STEEL 83' 
 
 "Bullet bounced right off. Here, take another 
 swaller. Attaboy! Hey, Looey, we better pack 
 this crease o' Cap's, huh? She keeps leakin'." 
 
 "Yep. Dip up the surgical kit. And give 
 Jose" a drink. I'll have to tie his artery, too. 
 How do you feel, old chap?" 
 
 "Dizzy," McKay confessed. "What's hap 
 pened?" 
 
 "Lost our crew," was the laconic answer. 
 "All gone west but Jose*, and he's bled white. 
 We'll have to paddle our own canoe now." 
 
 For a time after his head was bandaged McKay 
 lay quiet, staring out at the tiny battlefield and 
 atfhis two mates working silently on the wounded 
 arm of Jose*. When they came back he spoke 
 one word. 
 
 "Schwandorf." 
 
 "Yeah! He's the nigger in the woodpile, I bet 
 my shirt. But why? What's his lay, d'ye s'pose?" 
 
 "Perhaps Jose* knows," suggested Knowlton. 
 "But he's in no shape to talk now. Let's see. 
 Schwandorf said he was going to Iquitos?" 
 
 "Yes, but that doesn't mean anything." 
 
 "Probably not. Well, maybe Jose" can ex 
 plain." 
 
 There were some things, however, which Jose" 
 could not have told if he would, for he himself 
 did not know them. One was that Schwandorf 
 really had gone to Iquitos, where was a radio 
 station. Another was that from that radio 
 station to Puerto Bermudez, thence over the
 
 84 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Andes to the coast, and northward to a New 
 York address memorized from Knowlton's note 
 book, already had gone this message: 
 
 McKay expedition killed by Indians. Rand search most 
 dangerous, but if empowered I attempt locate him for fifty 
 thousand gold payable on safe delivery Rand at Manaos. 
 Reply soon a^ possible. 
 
 KARL SCHWANDORF.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. THE DOUBLE-CROSS 
 
 NOON, sweltering hot. A blazing sun pour 
 ing vertical rays down on a blinding river. 
 A long canoe wearily creeping up the glar 
 ing waters, minus a lookout, heedless of the ever- 
 present danger of sunken tree trunks; propelled 
 by three sun-blistered white men, one of whom 
 wore a bandage around his head; steered per 
 functorily by a pallid pirate whose left arm 
 hung in a sling. Atop the right bank an un 
 broken, endless tangle of jungle growth. Ahead, 
 on the left shore, a gap gouged out of the forest 
 and a number of boats at the water's edge. 
 
 "Guess that's it," panted Knowlton, shielding 
 his eyes and squinting at the clearing. "One 
 more day's journey, the Brazilian chap said. 
 We've been two and a half." 
 
 "One day's journey for six hardened river- 
 men, 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 tub like this here one- 
 handed after losin' a couple gallons o' juice is in 
 good shape yet, I'll say. If ye had both legs 
 shot off and yer arms broke and yer head stove 
 in, now, ye might call yourself sort o* helpless. 
 
 Ease her over to the left a li'P more, so's we'll 
 7
 
 86 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 hit the bank right at the corner o ; that gap. 
 Me, I don't want to take one stroke 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 more punch 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 the paddlers 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 watchers answered: 
 
 "Si, senhor. The headquarters of the coronel. 
 Do you come to visit him?" 
 
 "Right." 
 
 "Then permit me to help you. The path is a 
 little ahead. Pull up and tie to this stake." 
 
 The tall fellow came dropping swiftly downward. 
 At the same time the other Brazilian stepped back 
 and was gone. 
 
 With a dexterous twist the man of Nunes 
 moored the boat to the designated stake. Then 
 he reached a hand toward Tim to help him out. 
 
 "I ain't no old woman, feller," Tim refused, 
 and hopped aground unassisted. McKay and 
 Knowlton followed. But Jose*, after moving
 
 THE DOUBLE-CROSS 87 
 
 languidly forward and contemplating the sharp 
 slope, hesitated and then shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I am tired, senores," he said. "And perhaps 
 it would be well for one to stay here and watch," 
 
 The tall Brazilian's eyes narrowed. 
 
 "There is no danger of loss," he asserted, with 
 dignity. "We men of the coronel are not 
 thieves." 
 
 The slight emphasis of his last sentence might 
 have been taken as an intimation that some one 
 else not far away would bear watching. Josh's 
 mouth tightened. For a moment Brazilian and 
 Peruvian eyed each other in obvious dislike. 
 Then, with a glance at his crippled arm, Jose* 
 shrugged again. 
 
 "Better come along, Jose*," McKay said. 
 "Stuff's safe enough." 
 
 "As you will, Capitan." 
 
 He lounged to the edge, hesitated, wavered 
 slightly. At once the Brazilian darted out a hand 
 and gave him support. And while the four 
 clambered up the slope he retained a grip on the 
 Peruvian's arm, aiding him to the top. When 
 they emerged on the level, however, he dropped 
 his hand immediately. Jose" gave him a half- 
 mocking bow of thanks, to which he replied with 
 a short nod. Then he stepped back and let the 
 Peruvian precede him toward a number of sub 
 stantial pole-supported houses a hundred yards 
 away. 
 
 "No love lost between them two," thought
 
 88 THE PATHLESS TRAIL ^ 
 
 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 he needs 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 a friendly 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 in the warm eyes. 
 
 "It is not words that give offense, senhor, but 
 the way they are spoken and the man who 
 speaks them. One man may growl, but you like 
 him. Another may speak smoothly, but you itch 
 to strike him. Is it not so? I am Pedro Andrada, 
 a seringwiro who should be tapping trees instead 
 of loafing here. But my partner and I have just 
 come in from a long trip into the sertao wilder 
 ness and are resting." 
 
 "Yeah? Was that yer buddy I seen with ye? " 
 
 "My ah buddee? Partner? Yes, that was 
 he Lourengo Moraes, the best comrade one 
 ever had. He has gone to tell the coronel of your 
 arrival. Have you met with an accident down 
 river?" 
 
 He moved a thumb meaningly toward the only 
 remaining member of the crew. 
 
 "Yeah," grimly. "Bad accident."
 
 THE DOUBLE-CROSS 89 
 
 Tim tapped his pistol significently, raised five 
 fingers, winked, and twitched his head toward the 
 Peruvian. Pedro lifted his brows, nodded quick 
 understanding, pointed to the bad arm of Jose", 
 and made motions as if pulling a trigger. Tim 
 shook his head and enacted the pantomime of 
 drawing and throwing a knife. Whereat the 
 Brazilian, aware that Jose* was not a prisoner and 
 probably knowing that North Americans were 
 not knife throwers, looked much puzzled. But 
 their sign manual went no farther, for they now 
 approached the house which evidently formed 
 the dwelling and 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 
 thumb upward. Above, in the doorway, waited 
 an elderly Brazilian of medium height and spare 
 figure, standing with soldierly erectness and 
 garbed in white duck of semimilitary cut. He 
 beamed down at McKay and Knowlton, but as 
 his black eyes encountered those of Jose* they 
 seemed suddenly to become very sharp. Then 
 his gaze rested on Tun's broad face and he 
 smiled again. 
 
 "Enter, gentlemen," he invited. "Esta casa 
 e a si/as or denes this house is at your disposal." 
 
 McKay, with a bow, climbed the ladder, fol 
 lowed by Knowlton. Jose", with a swaggering 
 stare at the wide-shouldered man, who stared 
 straight back without facial change, also went up.
 
 90 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Tim came fourth and last, for Pedro stopped 
 beside his countryman, who evidently was 
 Lourengo. 
 
 The travelers found themselves in a room 
 which, in view of its distance from civilization, 
 seemed palatial. Its floor was tight, its furniture 
 modern, its walls decorated with a few excellent 
 pictures, of which the largest was a superb view 
 of the rugged harbor of Rio de Janeiro. Com 
 fortable chairs were ranged along the walls, and 
 the middle of the room was occupied by a massive 
 square-cornered table on which lay a jumble of 
 hand-written business papers, a number of books, 
 a high-grade violin and bow. Beyond the table 
 stood a swivel chair, evidently the usual seat of 
 the coronel. Table and chair were so arranged 
 that the master of this house sat always with his 
 back to a wall and his face toward the door. 
 And on a couple of hooks on that wall, ready for 
 instant service, hung a high-power rifle. 
 
 On their way up the river the Americans had 
 passed, at long intervals, a few small rubber 
 estates, whose headquarters consisted mainly of a 
 crude shack or two, hardly better than the dingy 
 houses of Remate de Males. This place was more 
 imposing. They had observed, while crossing 
 the cleared space, that it was at least half a mile 
 square; that its warehouse for supplies was big 
 and solid; that a goodly number of barracaos, or 
 rubber workers' huts, surrounded the house of 
 the master at a respectful distance; and that the
 
 THE DOUBLE-CROSS 91 
 
 owner's home was no one-room cabin, but big 
 enough to contain six or eight rooms. This well- 
 appointed reception room and the formal yet 
 sincere courtesy of its owner showed that Coronel 
 Nunes was no mere native of the frontier. Later 
 they were to learn that he was a gentleman of 
 Rio who, exiling himself from the capital after the 
 death of his wife, had carved from this forbidding 
 jungle a fortune in the rubber trade. 
 
 With the correct touch of Latin punctilio 
 McKay spoke the introductions and stated that 
 they were on their way upriver to explore the 
 hinterland. With equal politeness the coronel 
 bowed and begged his illustrious guests to be 
 seated. Then he touched a small bell. A door 
 at one side opened and a white-suited negro 
 appeared. 
 
 "Cafe"," the coronel ordered. As speedily as 
 if these visitors had been long expected, the serv 
 ant brought in a tray bearing cups of syrupy 
 coffee. Each of the guests accepted one. Where 
 after the decorum of the occasion was shattered 
 by Tim, who, at the imminent risk of scalding 
 himself, gulped his refreshment and vociferated 
 his satisfaction. 
 
 "0-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 laughed outright the throaty, 
 infectious laugh of his race. The coronel's eyes
 
 92 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 twinkled. 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 went a-glimmering. 
 
 11 A quern madruga Deus ajuda" laughed the 
 coronel. "Or, as you North Americans put it, 
 'God helps those who help themselves.' Let us 
 not be ceremonious, gentlemen. 'Tonio, bring 
 more coffee. And cigars. And " 
 
 Down behind his table, where only the servant 
 saw the motion, he twitched a finger as if pulling 
 a cork. 'Tonio, his ebony countenance split by 
 a grin, ducked his head and vanished into the 
 other room. 
 
 "How is the rubber market, sir?" asked 
 Knowlton, seeking to divert attention 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 shall 
 abandon this seringal and go out to spend the 
 rest of my life on the coast. With rubber selling 
 at a mere five hundred dollars a ton in New 
 York and the artificial plantations of the Far 
 East growing greater yearly, there is no longer 
 much profit in bleeding the wild trees of our 
 jungle. I really do not know why I stay here 
 now, unless it is because I have become so much 
 accustomed to this life." 
 
 "Why, I understood that there was much 
 money in rubber!"
 
 THE DOUBLE-CROSS 93 
 
 "You speak truth there was. Now there is 
 not. The world moves and times change. Years 
 ago foreigners came into Brazil, helped them 
 selves to the seed 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 hundred dollars. Now, 
 in this year nineteen-twenty, the price is only 
 one-thirteenth of what it was in those days. It 
 scarcely pays for the gathering. I hope you have 
 not come expecting to make fortunes in rubber." 
 
 "No. We are here to find a race of men known 
 as Red Bones." 
 
 The coroners brows lifted. They kept on 
 lifting, and he opened his lips twice without 
 speaking. After a long stare at Knowlton he 
 looked at McKay, at Tim, and finally at Jose". 
 A frown grew on his face. And the Americans, 
 following his look at the Peruvian, were surprised 
 to see that Jose" himself was staring blankly 
 at the speaker. 
 
 " Jose" Martinez!" snapped the coronel, leveling 
 a finger pistollike at the punter o. "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 the humble puntero of 
 the crew engaged by these senores. My only 
 work has been to earn my pay. And you may 
 ask el capitan whether I have earned it."
 
 94 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Ay, he has," corroborated McKay. "Killed 
 two of his own crew in our defense." 
 
 The coronel's jaw dropped. He blinked as if 
 disbelieving his ears. 
 
 "He Jose"? Not possible!" he stuttered. 
 "Jose* this man defended you against his 
 companions?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 The Brazilian slowly shook his head. Then 
 suddenly he nodded as if an illuminating 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, bearing more coffee, 
 long cigars, and squat glasses in which glowed a 
 golden liquid. Tun sat up with a grunt and 
 helped himself with both hands. When the 
 coronel's turn came he disregarded the drinks, 
 but lit the cigar as if he needed it. 
 
 "De noite todos os gatos sao pardos," he said. 
 "At night all cats are gray. I am much in the 
 dark, gentlemen. If you would be so good as 
 to enlighten me " 
 
 He paused, looking sidewise again at Jose* as 
 if the puntero had suddenly grown wings or 
 horns. 
 
 "All right," nodded Knowlton, biting and 
 lighting his cigar. "We are somewhat in the 
 dark ourselves as to why Jos6 has been so 
 zealous, for he has been very taciturn since the
 
 THE DOUBLE-CROSS 95 
 
 recent fight at our camp. Perhaps Jose" also is 
 a bit hazy about our expedition he looked 
 rather surprised just now. So here is the 
 situation." 
 
 Briefly then he outlined the object of the 
 search, stating that the identity of the mysterious 
 Raposa was a matter of some concern to cer 
 tain persons in the United States and that the 
 expedition had been formed with the view of 
 settling the question. From the time of the 
 landing at Remate de Males, however, he nar 
 rated 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 frown deepened. Also, Jose" 
 gradually assumed the expression of a thunder 
 cloud. And when the tale was done the puntero 
 exploded. 
 
 "Sangre de Cristo!" he yelled. "El Aleman 
 the German he told you we would go among 
 the cannibals? We? Peruvians? Madre de 
 Dios! If ever I 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 take 
 Mayoruna women? He told you they were 
 shapely of body and tried to put into your minds 
 the thought of making them your paramours? 
 The snake!
 
 96 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "He did not tell you, then, that the Mayonma 
 men allow no trifling with their women; that 
 any alien man attempting to embrace one of 
 them would be killed. But it is true. If you 
 should succeed in establishing friendly relations 
 with the men which is not at all likely you 
 would forfeit all friendship, and your lives as 
 well, by the slightest dalliance with any of the 
 women. 
 
 "He told you that more than one man has 
 risked his life to win a Mayoruna woman? That 
 is true. But he gave you a false impression as 
 to the way in which the risk was incurred. He 
 did not tell you that Peruvian caucheros have 
 sometimes raided small isolated melocas of the 
 Mayorunas, shooting down the men and carrying 
 off the girls to be victims of their bestial lust. 
 He did not tell you that for this reason any 
 Peruvian is considered their enemy and is killed 
 without mercy wherever found. Yet he tried 
 to send you with Peruvian guides into their 
 country. He knew the Peruvians would be 
 killed on sight and you with them."
 
 CHAPTER IX. FIDDLERS THREE 
 
 BLACK looks passed among the men as the 
 duplicity of Schwandorf lay plain before 
 their eyes. Tim growled. Jose" hissed 
 curses. The coronel whirled to him. 
 
 "Jose"! What was his object in trying to 
 destroy you and your crew? You have been 
 his man. You know much about him. He 
 wanted to stop your mouth, yes? Dead men 
 tell no tales." 
 
 The puntero's eyes glittered. For a moment 
 the others thought he was about to reveal im 
 portant secrets. Then his face changed. 
 
 "I know no reason why we should be killed," 
 he declared. 
 
 "I do not believe you," the coronel declared, 
 bluntly. 
 
 Jose" shrugged, calmly drank the coronel's 
 wine, lighted the coronel's cigar, leaned back 
 in the coronel's chair, and eyed the coronel with 
 imperturbable insolence. 
 
 "See here, Jose"," demanded McKay, "you've 
 had something up your sleeve all along. Now 
 come clean! What is it?" 
 
 Jose" puffed airily at the cigar, saying nothing. 
 
 "What orders did Schwandorf give you?" 
 
 This time the reply came readily enough. 
 
 "To take you twenty-four days up the river
 
 98 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 and put you ashore. To prevent any trouble 
 before that time." 
 
 "Ah! And after that?" 
 
 "Nothing. At least, nothing to me. What 
 may have been said to the other men I do not 
 know. Schwandorf came to me last, after he 
 had picked all the others." 
 
 "And what do you know about Schwandorf?" 
 
 "What is between me and Schwandorf will be 
 settled between me and Schwandorf. My duty 
 to you senores lies only in handling the crew. 
 Now that there is no crew my duty ends. Also, 
 Capitan, I would like my pay now." 
 
 "You quit?" 
 
 "Why not? I have done my best. I can do 
 no more. I am crippled. I am of no further 
 use to you. Give me my pay, a little food, a 
 small canoe, and I go." 
 
 "It is possible, Senhor Jose*," spoke the coronel, 
 with ironic politeness, "that you may not go 
 so soon. You have killed two men recently. 
 You refuse to reveal some things which should 
 be known about the German. Perhaps the 
 law" 
 
 Jos6 burst into a jeering laugh. 
 
 "Law? You speak of law? There is no law 
 up the river but the law of the gun and the knife. 
 And if there were, senor, what then? I killed 
 hi a fair fight. I killed men who would do 
 murder. I killed on the west bank of the river 
 Peru. Neither you nor any other Brazilian
 
 FIDDLERS THREE 99 
 
 can lay hand on me. And though I now have 
 only one good arm, it will not be well for anyone 
 to try to hold me. My knife and my right hand 
 still are ready." 
 
 "By cripes! the lad's right!" Tim blurted, 
 impulsively. " And I'll tell the world I'm for him. 
 He's got a right to keep his mouth shut if he 
 wants to. He don't owe us nothin'. Mebbe 
 he's got somethin' up his sleeve, at that; but he 
 stuck with us in the pinch, and " 
 
 "And we'll give him a square deal, of course," 
 Knowlton cut in. "Jose", your own wages to 
 this point, at a dollar a day, are eighteen dollars. 
 The wages of the five other men to the place 
 where they quit would aggregate seventy-five 
 dollars. Grand total, ninety-three. The others 
 chose to take their pay in lead instead of gold, 
 so their account is closed. Therefore I suggest 
 that their pay go to you as puntero, popero, 
 and good sport. What say, Rod?" 
 
 "Make it a hundred flat," McKay agreed. 
 
 "Right. A hundred in gold. Satisfy you, 
 Jose-?" 
 
 "Indeed yes, senor. I did not expect such 
 generosity." 
 
 " That's all right, then. We'll fix you up before 
 we move on, and Say! Are you in Schwan- 
 dorf's pay, too?" 
 
 Jos6 hesitated. Then he replied: 
 
 "Since you mention it, I will admit that el 
 Akman offered me certain inducements to make
 
 100 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 this journey. I now see that he had no intention 
 of meeting his promises. But you can leave it 
 to me to collect from him whatever may be 
 due." 
 
 Even the coronel nodded at this. The gleam 
 in the Peruvian's eyes presaged unpleasantness 
 for Schwandorf. 
 
 "You gentlemen, of course, will not attempt 
 to continue your journey for the present," the 
 coronel suggested. "You are fatigued and I shall 
 greatly appreciate the pleasure of your com 
 panionship. New arrangements also will be nec 
 essary in the matter of a boat and men." 
 
 "We've been wondering about getting another 
 boat and a new crew," Knowlton said, frankly. 
 "The canoe we have is too big for three men to 
 handle, and I'll admit we're tired. Jose, too, 
 is in no shape to travel yet " 
 
 "Jose", of course, is my guest also," the old 
 gentleman interrupted. "The question of new 
 men can be solved. But there is time for every 
 thing, and now is the time for all of you to rest. 
 As our proverb has it, l Devagar se vae ao longe' 
 he goes far who goes slowly." 
 
 McKay arose, glass in hand. 
 
 "To our host," he bowed. The toast was 
 drunk standing. Whereafter the host tapped 
 the bell twice and 'Tonio reappeared with a tray 
 of fresh glasses. A toast to the United States by 
 the coronel followed, and as soon as the black 
 man arrived with a third round the Republic of
 
 FIDDLERS THREE 101 
 
 Brazil was pledged. Then the coronel directed 
 the servant: 
 
 "'Tonio, if Pedro and Lourengo are outside, 
 ask them to move the belongings of the gentle 
 men from the canoe. And make ready rooms 
 for the guests." 
 
 'Tonio disappeared down the ladder. The 
 coronel raised the violin, tendered it to the 
 others, accepted their pleas to play it himself, 
 and for the next half hour acquitted himself with 
 no mean ability. Snatches of long-forgotten 
 operas and improvisations of his own flowed from 
 the strings in smooth harmony, hinting at by 
 gone years amid far different surroundings for 
 which his soul now hungered and to which he 
 would return. Pedro and Lourengo, transporting 
 the equipment, passed in and out soft-footed and 
 almost unnoticed. At length the player, with a 
 deprecatory smile and a half apology for " boring 
 his guests," extended the instrument again to 
 ward the visitors. And McKay, silent McKay, 
 took it. 
 
 Sweet and low, out welled the haunting melody 
 of "Annie Laurie." Tun, who had listened with 
 casual interest to the coronel' s music, now grinned 
 happily. And when the plaintive Scotch song 
 became "Kathleen Mavourneen" he closed his 
 eyes and lay back in pure enjoyment. "The 
 River Shannon" flowed into "The Suwanee 
 River," and this in turn blended into other heart- 
 tugging airs of Dixieland. When the last strain
 
 102 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 died and the captain reached for his half-smoked 
 cigar the room was silent for minutes. 
 
 Then, to the astonishment of all, Jose* spoke : 
 
 "Senores, there was a time when I, too, could 
 draw music from the violin. If I may " His 
 eyes rested longingly on the instrument. 
 
 "Certamente, if you can use the arm," the coro- 
 nel acquiesced. With a little difficulty Jose" 
 drew his arm from the sling, balanced his left 
 elbow on the chair arm, and poised the violin. 
 A half smile showed in the eyes of the coronel as 
 he glanced at his guests. He, and they as well, 
 expected a discordant, uncouth attempt to scrape 
 out some obscene ditty of the frontier. 
 
 But as Jose*, after jockeying a bit, began drift 
 ing the bow across the strings, the suppressed 
 smiles faded and eyes opened. Here was a man 
 who, as he said, once could play. And he wasted 
 no time on airs composed by others and known 
 to half the world. Under his touch the mellow 
 wood began to talk, and hi the minds of the 
 listeners grew pictures. 
 
 City streets, blank-walled houses, patios, the 
 rattle of the hoofs of burros over cobbles, the 
 shuffle of human feet, the toll of bells from a con 
 vent tower. Gay little bits of music, laughter, 
 flashing eyes, a voluptuous love song repeated 
 over and over. A sudden wild outbreak, fighting 
 men, shots, the clash of steel again a tolling bell 
 and a requiem for the dead. A horse galloping hi 
 the night. Mountain winds crooning mournfully,
 
 FIDDLEB.S THREE 103 
 
 rising to the scream of tempest and the crash of 
 thunder. Dreary uplands, the hiss of rain, the 
 sough of drifting snow, the patient plod of a mule 
 along a perilous trail. And then the jungle: its 
 discordant uproar, its hammering of frogs, its 
 hoots and howls, the dismal swash of flood waters. 
 A monotonous ebb and flow of life, punctuated by 
 sudden flares of fight. Then a long, mournful 
 wail and silence. 
 
 His bow still on the strings, Jose* sat for a 
 minute like a stone image, his eyes straight 
 ahead, his pale face drawn, his red kerchief 
 glowing dully in the semishadow like a cap of 
 blood. For once his face was empty of all in 
 solence, changed by a pathetic wistfulness that 
 made it tragic. Then, wordless, he lowered the 
 violin, held it out to the coronel, fumbled absent 
 ly at his sling, and slowly incased his wounded 
 arm. When he looked up his old mocking ex 
 pression had come back and he once more looked 
 the reckless buccaneer. 
 
 For a time no one spoke. Each felt that he had 
 glimpsed something of this man's past; felt, too, 
 that he who now was a bloody-handed borderer 
 had once been a cabaliero, moving in a much 
 higher circle. Certainly he could not play like 
 this unless he had been of the upper class in his 
 youth. The coroneFs face was thoughtful as he 
 took back the violin. When at length he began 
 to talk, however, it was on a topic as remote as 
 possible from music and present personalities
 
 104 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 the reconstruction of Europe as the result of the 
 World War. 
 
 With this and kindred subjects, aided by the 
 attentive ministrations of 'Tonio, the afternoon 
 passed swiftly. Dinner proved a feast, the piece 
 de resistance being tender, well-cooked meat 
 which the Americans took for roast beef, but 
 which really was roast tapir. More cigars, 
 coupled with the fatigue of the past two days of 
 paddling, eventually caused the visitors to seek 
 their rooms, where McKay and Knowlton paired 
 off and Tim took Jos6 as his "bunkie." 
 
 When Tim awoke the next morning he found 
 himself deserted. 
 
 To Knowlton, who drew from the small gold- 
 chest the hundred dollars allotted to Jose and 
 handed it to him before redressing his wound, 
 the puntero quietly revealed his intention to go 
 before sunrise. 
 
 "Say nothing, senor," he requested. "You 
 need know nothing of it, if you like. I am here 
 to-night I am gone to-morrow that is all. I 
 am of no further use to you, I am unwelcome in 
 this house of Nunes, and I go. Oh, have no 
 fear for me! I have my gun, my knife, and my 
 good right arm, and I can take care of myself 
 very well. No doubt the coronel will be aston 
 ished to find that on leaving to-night I have 
 neither cut anyone's throat nor stolen anything 
 ha! I have a black name on this river, and it 
 is well earned, perhaps. Yet few men are as
 
 FIDDLERS THREE 105 
 
 bad as those who dislike them think they are. 
 I may borrow a small canoe, but any Indian 
 would do the same. An unoccupied canoe is 
 any man's property. 
 
 "Before our ways part, senor, let me say that 
 as Jos6 Martinez never forgets his enemies, so 
 he never forgets friends. Where some men 
 would have turned me loose like a sick dog with 
 my eighteen dollars, you and Senor McKay give 
 me a hundred. And far more than that, you 
 saved my life at a time when many men would 
 have said, 'Bah! let the bloody one die! He is 
 nothing but scum of the border and leader 
 of that murdering crew.' You had only to let 
 me lie a few minutes longer and you would be 
 rid of me. No, Jos6 does not forget. 
 
 "That is all, except if you will, in parting, 
 take the hand of a man known as a killer and 
 other things " 
 
 Knowlton gripped that hand with swift hearti 
 ness. He would have protested against such a 
 departure, but the other's steady gaze betokened 
 inflexible purpose. So he merely said: 
 
 "Then good luck, old chap! And if you meet 
 Schwandorf give him our affectionate regards." 
 
 "Si, senor," was the sardonic answer. "I 
 will do that thing. And here is something that 
 may be of interest to you. I happen to know 
 that before we left Remate de Males a swift 
 one-man canoe left Nazareth, and that the man 
 in it was an Indian who is in the German's con-
 
 106 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 trol. It went upstream while we were loading 
 your supplies, and it has not returned. By this 
 time it must be many hours above this place. 
 I do not know what message that Indian carries, 
 nor where he goes. But he is a short man, and 
 his left leg is crooked. If you meet such a one 
 make him talk. Good-by, senor." 
 
 Just how and when the puntero catfooted his 
 way out that night none ever knew but himself. 
 But before the next dawn he had vanished from 
 the Brazilian shore.
 
 CHAPTER X. BY THE LIGHT OF 
 STORM 
 
 " /^\ NE thing I can't understand," Knowlton 
 
 If said, toying with his coffee cup the next 
 morning, "is why Schwandorf should 
 double-cross us. We never did anything to him. 
 Another thing I don't quite get is how he expected 
 to have the Peruvians wiped out when he knew 
 blamed well they were aware of the enmity of 
 the cannibals. They'd hardly be likely to go 
 into the bush with us under those circumstances." 
 
 "My guess is this," McKay replied. "He set 
 a trap. He is on a friendly footing with some of 
 the savages above here, no doubt. He dispatched 
 that Indian messenger to stir them up with some 
 false tale and bring them to some place where 
 they'd be pretty sure to get us. He pruned the 
 crew to jump us at the same place, perhaps. 
 Then the crew would kill us or we'd kill them, and 
 whichever side won would be smeared by the 
 Indians. Sort of a trap within a trap. Why he 
 did it doesn't matter much. He double-crossed 
 us, he double-crossed the crew, he double-crossed 
 Jose". First thing he knows he'll find he's double- 
 crossed himself." 
 
 "Yeah," Tim grunted. "He better beat it 
 before we git back!" 
 
 "He wanted no killing before we reached the
 
 108 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 cannibal country," McKay went on, "because 
 then it would all be blamed on the savages and 
 he could show clean hands. Francisco's venge- 
 fulness tipped over his cart." 
 
 "Still, he might have known we'd stop here for 
 a call on the coronel, and that there was a big 
 chance for us to be warned here about the feud 
 between Mayorunas and Peruvians." 
 
 "That probably was provided for. Crew 
 doubtless had orders to prevent any such visit, 
 by lying to us or in other ways. We probably 
 would have gone surging past here at top 
 speed." 
 
 "Wai, it don't git us nothin' to talk about 
 things that 'ain't happened," interposed the 
 practical Tim. "Question is, where do we go 
 from here? And how?" 
 
 All eyes went to the coronel, who sat lan 
 guidly smoking his morning cigar. 
 
 "Coronel, we are in your hands," McKay said, 
 bluntly. "Your men, I presume, are all out at 
 work hi various parts of the bush. We want a 
 crew and, if possible, guides. Can you help us? " 
 
 The coronel flicked off an ash and spoke slowly: 
 
 "I have two men, senhores, who have no peers 
 as bushmen. They are the two whom you saw 
 yesterday. Frankly, they are most valuable to 
 me, and I hesitate about sending them on so dan 
 gerous a mission as yours. Yet they might suc 
 ceed where most men would fail, for they have 
 repeatedly gone into the bush on risky journeys
 
 BY THE LIGHT OF STORM 109 
 
 and returned unharmed. Their adventures 
 would fill books. 
 
 "The older of these two, Lourengo Moraes, 
 has been more than once among the cannibals of 
 this region, and so he knows something of them. 
 Naturally he did not live long among them; he 
 left them as soon as he could. But he has the 
 faculty of extricating himself from hopeless 
 positions or perhaps it would be better to say 
 that his cool head and good fortune together have 
 preserved him thus far. ' Tanta vez vae o cantaro 
 afonte ate que urn dia lafica' the pitcher may go 
 often to the spring, but some day it remains 
 there. 
 
 "Pedro Andrada, the younger, is not so steady 
 and cool-headed as Lourengo. Yet he is a most 
 capable man, and the two together they are 
 always together make a very efficient team." 
 
 "I bet they do," Tim concurred, heartily. "I 
 like that Pedro lad fine." 
 
 "So do I," the coronel smiled. "Now, gentle 
 men, I will not order these men to go with you. 
 If they go it must be of then* own choice. They 
 have only recently returned from a hazardous 
 mission and they are entitled to rest. Yet I have 
 little doubt that they will jump at the chance to 
 risk their lives in a new venture. If they choose 
 to go, I suggest that you place yourselves entirely 
 in their hands and give them free rein. You 
 would look far for better men." 
 
 "And we're lucky to get them," Knowlton ac-
 
 110 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 quiesced. "To them and to you we shall be 
 greatly indebted." 
 
 "Not to me, senhor," the coronel demurred. 
 "I do nothing but bring you men together. 
 Theirs is the risk. 'Tonio! Find Pedro and 
 Lourengo. Shall we go into the office, gentle 
 men?" 
 
 Chairs scraped back and an exodus from the 
 dining room ensued. Outside, the lusty voice of 
 the negro bawled. Soon he was back, and at his 
 heels strode the lithe Pedro and the quiet Lou 
 rengo. They ran their eyes over the group, then 
 stood looking inquiringly at then- employer. 
 
 "Be seated, men. Roll cigarettes if you like," 
 said the coronel. Coolly they did both. Pedro, 
 catching Tim's friendly grin, flashed a quick 
 smile in return. Lourengo, unsmiling, looked 
 squarely into each man's face in turn and seemed 
 satisfied with what he saw. Both then glanced 
 around as if missing some one. 
 
 "Your friend Jose has left us," the coronel 
 informed them, dryly, interpreting the look. 
 "He disappeared in the night." 
 
 "Ah! That is why one of our canoes is gone," 
 said Pedro. "We are ready to start." 
 
 "You mistake," the old gentleman laughed. 
 "We do not want him back. Nothing else is 
 missing." 
 
 Whereat Pedro looked slightly surprised. 
 Lourengo's lips curved in a fault grin. Neither 
 made any further comment.
 
 BY THE LIGHT OF STORM 111 
 
 The coronel plunged at once into the business 
 
 for which they had been summoned. Succinctly 
 
 he stated the purpose of the North Americans 
 
 in coming here, pointed out their need of guides 
 
 * and stopped there. He said nothing of the 
 
 ' dangers ahead, mentioned no reward, did not 
 
 even ask the men whether they would go. He 
 
 merely lit a fresh cigar and leaned back hi his 
 
 chair. 
 
 A silence followed. Again Lourenco looked 
 searchingly into the face of each American. 
 Pedro contemplated the opposite wall, taking 
 occasional puffs from his cigarette. At length 
 Knowlton suggested, tentatively: 
 
 "We will pay well" 
 
 Both the bushmen frowned. The coronel 
 spoke in a tone of mild reproof: 
 
 "Senhor, it is not a matter of pay. These men 
 can make plenty of money as seringueiros. " 
 
 "Pardon," said Knowlton, and thereafter held 
 his tongue. 
 
 Deliberately Lourengo finished his smoke, 
 pinched the coal between a hard thumb and fore 
 finger, and spoke for the first time. 
 
 "May I ask, senhor, if you are the com 
 mander?" His gaze rested on McKay. 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "And do I understand that we shall at all 
 times be subject to your orders?" 
 
 " In case any orders are necessary yes. But I 
 assume that you will not need commands."
 
 112 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 A quiet smile showed in the bushman's eyes. 
 He glanced at Pedro. The latter met the look 
 from the corner of his eye, without wink, nod, or 
 other sign. But when Lourengo turned again 
 to McKay he spoke as if all were arranged. 
 
 "When do we start, Capitao?" 
 
 Tun slapped his leg and cackled. 
 
 "By cripes! there ain't no lost motion with 
 these guys. Hey, Cap?" 
 
 McKay smiled approvingly. 
 
 "We shall get on together," he said. "Lou- 
 rengo and Pedro, this is not a one-man party. 
 We are three comrades, who now become five. 
 If at any tune one man needs to command, I, as 
 senior officer, will take that command. Other 
 wise we are all on an equal footing." 
 
 "Just so," Lourengo agreed. "If it were 
 otherwise you would still be three men not five. 
 Since that is plain, let me say frankly that your 
 big canoe had best stay here, also everything 
 you do not need in the bush. Two light canoes 
 are faster, easier to handle and to hide. Pedro 
 and I have our own canoe and will provide our 
 own supplies. We will pick out a three-man 
 boat for you and load it with what you select 
 from your equipment. After that every man 
 swings his own paddle." 
 
 "Cada qual par si e Deus por todos. Each for 
 himself and God for us all," Pedro summarized. 
 
 "That's the dope," applauded Tim. "Now 
 say, Renzo, old feller, what d'ye know about
 
 BY THE LIGHT OF STORM 113 
 
 these here, now, Red Bones up above here? And 
 have ye got anything on that Raposy guy?" 
 
 Lourenso shook his head. 
 
 "I know little of the Red Bone people, for I 
 have never met them. That is one reason why I 
 now should like to meet them. I have heard of 
 them, yes; and the things I have heard are not 
 pleasant. Yet it may be that the tales are worse 
 than the people. I have also heard terrible stories 
 of the light-skinned cannibals, the Mayorunas; 
 yet I have been among the cannibals and found 
 them not so bad though it is true that they eat 
 the flesh of their enemies; I have seen it done. But 
 it makes a very great difference how they are 
 approached and who the men are who approach 
 them. It is possible that we may go unharmed 
 among even los Ossos Vermelhos the Red Bones. 
 We shall see. 
 
 "Of the Raposa I think I do know something. 
 I have seen him." 
 
 Everyone except Pedro sat up with a start. 
 
 "You have seen him?" exclaimed the coronel. 
 "When? Where? How? Why have you not 
 spoken of it?" 
 
 "Because, Coronel, I forgot it until now. It 
 meant nothing to us yes, Pedro was with me 
 except that it was one more queer thing in the 
 bush. In time I might have remembered it 
 and told you. But you know we have been 
 busy." 
 
 "True. But go on."
 
 114 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "It was only a little time ago. We were re 
 turning from the scouting trip on which you sent 
 us to locate new rubber trees. We were seven 
 eight seven " 
 
 "Eight days' journey from here," prompted 
 Pedro. 
 
 "Si. We were in our canoe when a sudden 
 storm broke and we got ashore to wait until it 
 was over. The place was on an ygarape a 
 creek about two days away from the river. The 
 trees were large and the ground free from bush. 
 In a flash of lightning we saw a man peering out at 
 us from a hollow tree. 
 
 "He was naked and streaked with paint 
 that was all we saw in the flashes that came and 
 went. The rain was heavy, and we stayed where 
 we were until it ended. Then we ordered that 
 man to come out. 
 
 "He came, and he held bow and arrow ready 
 to shoot. We, too, were ready to shoot, but we 
 held back our bullets and he held back his arrow. 
 We saw that his paint was red and that it traced 
 his bones; that his skin was that of a tanned 
 white man and his hair was dark with a white 
 streak over one ear. No, we did not notice the 
 color of his eyes the light was not good and he 
 stood well away from us. 
 
 "We looked around for other men, but saw 
 none. We asked him who he was and what he 
 wanted, but he gave no answer. He looked at 
 us for a long time, and we at him. Then he began
 
 BY THE LIGHT OF STORM 115 
 
 walking away sidewise, watching us steadily, 
 holding his arrow always ready. Finally he dis 
 appeared among the trees and we saw him no 
 more. But we heard him, senhores; twice before 
 we lost sight of him he spoke out hi a queer voice 
 like that of a parrot. And the thing he said 
 was, 'Poor Davey!" 
 
 McKay thumped a fist on his chair. 
 
 "Davey! David Rand!" 
 
 "Perhaps so, Capitao. I do not know. But 
 he spoke English." 
 
 "By thunder! David Rand! Merry, where' s 
 that picture?" 
 
 Knowlton was already unbuttoning his pocket 
 flap. Quickly he produced the photograph. 
 
 "That the fellow?" 
 
 Lourengo studied the face. The eagerly an 
 ticipated affirmative did not come. 
 
 "I cannot say surely. This is a full-faced, 
 clean-shaven man with hair close trimmed. 
 That one's face was gaunt, covered partly with 
 beard and partly by long hair, and we were not 
 close to him, as I have said. I would not say 
 the two were the same until I could have a better 
 look at the wild man." 
 
 "You didn't follow him?" 
 
 "No. Why should we? He had done nothing 
 to us and we let him go his way. We did look 
 at his hollow tree, though. But it was only an 
 empty tree, not his home; a place where he had 
 stepped in out of the storm. We had other things
 
 116 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 to do, so we got into our canoe again and paddled 
 off." 
 
 "You can find the place again?" 
 
 "Yes. But I much doubt if we shall find him 
 there." 
 
 "Never mind. We've something to start with 
 now, and that's worth a lot. Get busy with 
 your boats and supplies, boys, right away. Tim 
 and Merry, let's dig out our essentials and start. 
 We're on a hot trail at last. Let's go!"
 
 CHAPTER XI. OUT OF THE AIR 
 
 ArAIN the sun fought the mists of a new day, 
 casting a pallid, watery light on the livid 
 green roof of the limitless jungle. High 
 up under that roof, more than a hundred feet 
 above the ground, the morning alarm clock went 
 off with a scream, the sudden chorus of monkeys 
 and macaws awaking after a few hours of silence. 
 Down on the eastern shore of the river, in a little 
 natural port where the shadows still lay thick, 
 men stirred under their black mosquito nets, 
 yawned, and waited for more light before starting 
 another day's journey. 
 
 To three of the five men housed under those 
 flimsy coverings the somber hue of their nets 
 was new. On leaving Remate de Males the insect 
 bars had been clean white; and though they had 
 grown somewhat soiled from daily handling, 
 they never had approached the drab dinginess 
 of the barriers draping the hammocks of the 
 Peruvian rivermen. In fact, their owners had 
 been at some pains to keep them as clean as 
 possible, folding them each morning with military 
 precision and stowing them carefully. Wherefore 
 they were somewhat taken aback when informed 
 that nice white nets were decidedly not the thing 
 in this part of the world. 
 
 "Up to this place, senhores, they have done no
 
 118 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 harm," Pedro said, before leaving the coronel's 
 grounds. "But from here on they will not do at 
 all. The weakest moonlight yes, even starlight 
 would make them stand out in the darkness 
 like tombstones. A few days more and we shall 
 be in the cannibal country. And it is an old trick 
 of those eaters of men to skulk along the shore 
 by night, watching a camp until all are asleep, 
 and then sneak up with spears ready. A rush 
 and a swift stab of the spears into those white 
 nets, and you are dead or dying from the poisoned 
 points. I would no more sleep under a white net 
 than I would lie in my hammock and blow a 
 horn to show where I was. Your light nets must 
 stay here. We will find dark ones for you." 
 
 Thus the voyagers learned another of those 
 little things on which sometimes hinges life or 
 death. Even McKay, with his experience of 
 other jungles, had never thought it necessary to 
 drape himself in invisibility at night. But when 
 his attention was called to it he recognized its 
 value at once, and the white nets were forthwith 
 abandoned. 
 
 Now, on the first morning out from the Nunes 
 place, the three Americans stretched themselves 
 in lazy enjoyment after a night passed without a 
 sentinel. The stretching evoked sundry grunts 
 due to the discovery that then* muscles still were 
 lame. The long steamer journey from their own 
 land, followed by the daily confinement of the 
 Peruvian canoe, had afforded scant opportunity
 
 OUT OF THE AIR 119 
 
 for keeping themselves fit, and the sudden neces 
 sity for doing their own paddling had found every 
 man soft. But they now were hardening fast, and 
 the steady swing of the paddles was proving a 
 physical joy. These were men ill accustomed to 
 sitting in enforced idleness for weeks on end. 
 
 Matches flared under the nets and cigarette 
 smoke drifted into the air, rousing to fresh 
 activity the mosquitoes humming hungrily out 
 side. Gradually the shadows paled and the weak 
 light reflecting from the fog-shrouded water 
 beyond grew into day. The nets lifted and the 
 bloodthirsty insects swooped in vicious triumph 
 on the emerging men. But again matches 
 blazed, flame licked up among kindlings, a fire 
 grew, and in its smoke screen the voyagers found 
 some surcease from the bug hordes. Soon the 
 fragrance of coffee floated into the air. 
 
 Tim yawned, coughed explosively, and swore. 
 
 "Fellers can't even take a gape for himself 
 without gittin' these cussed bugs down his 
 throat," he complained, and coughed again. 
 "Gimme some coffee! I got one skeeter the size 
 of a devil's darnin' needle stuck in me windpipe." 
 
 "A devil's darning needle? What is that, 
 Senhor Tim?" inquired Pedro, passing him a cup 
 of hot coffee. When the liquid and the "skee 
 ter" had passed into Tim's stomach he en 
 lightened the inquirer. 
 
 "Ye dunno what's a devil's darnin' needle? 
 Gosh! I'm s'prised at ye. I seen lots of 'em right
 
 120 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 on this here river. He's a bug about so long" 
 he stuck out a finger "and he's got jaws like a 
 crab and a long limber tail a with reg'lar needle 
 hi the end, and inside him is a roll o' tough silk 
 tough as spider web. And he's death on liars. 
 Any tune a feller tells a lie he's got to look out, 
 or all to oncet one o' them bugs '11 come scootin' 
 at him and grab him by the nose with them jaws. 
 Then he'll curl up his tail the bug, I mean 
 and run his needle and thread right through the 
 feller's lips and sew his mouth up tight. Then he 
 flies off lookin' for another liar." 
 
 "For Deus! And the liar starves to death? " 
 
 "Wai, no. 0' course he can git somebody to 
 cut the stitches. But the needle is a good thick 
 one and it leaves a row o' holes all along the 
 feller's lips. Any tune ye see a guy with li'F 
 round scars around his mouth, Pedro, ye '11 know 
 he's such an awful liar the devil bug got him." 
 
 McKay coughed. Knowlton blew his nose into 
 a big handkerchief. Lourengo squinted sidewise 
 at Tim, who was solemn as an owl. Pedro, his 
 eyes twinkling, bent forward and scrutinized 
 Tim's mouth. 
 
 "You have been fortunate, senhor," he said, 
 simply and stepped around to the other side of 
 the fire. 
 
 "Huh? Say, lookit here, ye long-legged 
 gorilla " 
 
 Knowlton exploded. McKay and Lourengo 
 snickered.
 
 OUT OF THE AIR 121 
 
 "It's on you, Tim!" vociferated Knowlton. 
 "You dug the hole yourself. Now crawl in and 
 pull it in after you." 
 
 Tim snorted wrathfully, but his eyes laughed. 
 
 "Aw, what's the use o' trying to educate you 
 guys?" 
 
 "You swallowed a mosquito just now, but I 
 cannot swallow that devil bug," Pedro grinned. 
 
 Tim rumbled something, solaced himself with a 
 cigarette, then squatted and joined the others in 
 their frugal breakfast of coffee and chibeh a 
 handful of farinha mixed with water hi a gourd. 
 When it was finished McKay, who never smoked 
 in the morning until he had eaten, filled a pipe 
 and suggested: 
 
 "Guess we'd better plan our campaign. We 
 didn't take time yesterday. In case we find no 
 trace of the Raposa at the place where you 
 fellows saw him, what's your idea?" 
 
 Lourenc.o, puffing thoughtfully, stared into the 
 fire. 
 
 "There will be tune enough to decide that, 
 Capitao, after we have visited that place," 
 he said, slowly. "Still, perhaps it is best to 
 make some plan; it can be changed at any 
 time." 
 
 For a moment longer he looked at the dying 
 flame. Then, dropping his cigarette stub into it, 
 he continued: 
 
 "If I were going alone to find a man among the 
 Red Bones, I should go first to the Mayorunas
 
 122 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 and work through them to make sure of a friendly 
 reception by the other people. I would " 
 
 "Why, that's the very thing Schwandorf 
 suggested!" 
 
 "Yes? I have not heard what he said. Tell 
 me." 
 
 McKay did so. Lourengo smiled. 
 
 "Sometimes, Capitao, the devil puts into the 
 hands of men a weapon which is turned against 
 himself. So it is now. That AUemao, Schwan 
 dorf, never expected you to reach the people you 
 seek, but the plan is good. It would not be good 
 if you followed it exactly as he laid it out, but 
 things have changed; and what you could not 
 do with Peruvian companions, or alone, you 
 perhaps can do with us. I will show you. 
 
 "It happens that I have been twice among the 
 cannibals living hi a certain maloca which I can 
 find again. Perhaps you know that those people 
 live in scattered malocas, each ruled by its own 
 chief" 
 
 "Yes, we know about that." 
 
 "Good. Now if we went to any maloca where 
 we were not known we might be killed at once. 
 But at that maloca of which I speak I am known 
 to the chief and all his righting men, for I once led 
 them on a raid into Peru. So they will remem 
 ber me " 
 
 "What's that?" Knowlton interrupted, in 
 amazement. "You led a cannibal tribe on the 
 warpath?"
 
 OUT OF THE AIR 123 
 
 "Just so, senhor. It is a long story, but these 
 are the facts: 
 
 "There was in Peru a gang of killers, robbers 
 and worse who called themselves the Peccaries. 
 They raided one of the coronel's camps where I 
 was hi charge, killed all my gang except myself 
 and one other, and used us two as slaves and 
 beasts of burden. 
 
 "The other man died from poison. I lived only 
 to revenge myself on those foul outlaws. There 
 was much rubber of the coronel's, worth much 
 money at that time, in the camp they had raided. 
 So, after driving me like a beast to their strong 
 hold in the hills of Peru, they came back with 
 boats and Indian porters to get out that rubber. 
 
 "On that return journey I tried to kill the 
 leader, who was called El Amarillo yellow- 
 skinned. I failed, and he had me nailed with 
 long thorns to a tree where I might hang in tor 
 ment for days, dying slowly. See. Here are 
 the marks." 
 
 All three of the Americans had noticed on the 
 previous day that each of LourenQo's hands was 
 disfigured by a scar which looked as if a spike 
 had been driven through. Now he held those 
 hands forward for their inspection. Then he 
 pulled off his loose shirt and rolled up his trousers. 
 They saw other scars in the big muscles before 
 the armpits, in the soft flesh under the ribs, in the 
 thighs and calves. 
 
 "The dirty Hun!" Tim grated.
 
 124 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "That was not all, Senhor Tim. They also 
 put fire ants on me, which bit so cruelly that I 
 nearly lost my mind from pain. Then they 
 went on, intending to have more sport with me 
 when they came back with the rubber. But 
 after they left me two hunters of the cannibal 
 tribe who had been following a tapir's track 
 found me and took me down from the tree. 
 
 "Now the Peccaries before this had stolen 
 some women from a Mayoruna maloca and were 
 treating them like dogs I saw one of those 
 women brutally murdered while I was captive in 
 the outlaw camp. I managed to tell the two 
 hunters I could lead them to the Peccary strong 
 hold and give them revenge. They carried me to 
 their maloca I could not walk and told their 
 chief what I had said. The chief caused my 
 hurts to be cured, and then I kept my promise. 
 
 "I guided the savages to the outlaw camp; they 
 surrounded it, and in the fight that followed 
 every Peccary was killed except then- leader. 
 Now that cannibal chief has not forgotten me " 
 
 "Wait a minute," protested Knowlton. "Did 
 that Peccary leader escape?" 
 
 "No. He was kept alive until a big herd of 
 peccaries was met. Then, because he called him 
 self 'King of the Peccaries/ he was nailed to a 
 tree, as I had been, and told to make the pec 
 caries take out the thorns. The wild pigs tore 
 him into ribbons with their tusks." 
 
 Calmly he donned his shirt again. Tim,
 
 OUT OF THE AIR 125 
 
 staring at him, twitched his shoulders as if a chill 
 had gone down his back. 
 
 "Ugh!" muttered Knowlton. 
 
 "So now," Lourengo resumed, "if I can find 
 that chief again he may have been killed in 
 some tribal fight before now he may be friendly 
 to all of us. Or he may not. Savages cannot be 
 relied on with much certainty. But if any of the 
 Mayorunas will help us, he will. It is worth 
 trying." 
 
 "And if he is not friendly " Knowlton 
 paused. 
 
 "We do not come back," Pedro finished. 
 "Have you a better plan?" 
 
 All shook their heads. 
 
 "Laurengo's idea is excellent," said McKay. 
 " I was thinking along the same line, though I did 
 not know he had any such friendly relations with 
 a chief. That makes it all the more advisable to 
 try it, unless we find the Raposa first. We, of 
 course, will not land at the place where Schwan- 
 dorf told us to go ashore, seven days from here." 
 
 "By no means," Lourengo concurred. "In 
 five days we leave the river and travel along the 
 ygarap. If we go to the maloca it will be from 
 another direction than the river." 
 
 He began preparing to travel. The others also 
 went about the work of breaking camp. By the 
 time the canoes were loaded the mists had lifted 
 and the river lay open and empty before them. 
 In the bush around and beyond, gloom still lay
 
 126 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 thick and the forest life yelped, howled, clattered, 
 and wailed. But out on the water it was broad 
 day, and far overhead sounded the harsh cries of 
 unseen parrots flying two by two in the sunlight 
 above the matted branches. The world of the 
 pathless tropic wilderness, ever dying, ever living, 
 was about its daily business. The five invaders 
 were about theirs. 
 
 As the paddlers dipped, however, Knowlton 
 held back. 
 
 "Say, Rod, we didn't tell these fellows about 
 Schwandorf's Indian. Hold up a second, men." 
 
 While all rested on their paddles he spoke of 
 the mysterious messenger dispatched from Naz 
 areth. Pedro and Lourengo contemplated the 
 river, then frowned. 
 
 "That may be of importance, senhores," said 
 Lourenc.o. "It may change everything for us. 
 We saw a lone Indian go past the coroner s place, 
 traveling fast, three days before you came. I 
 would give much to know where he is now and 
 what word he carries. A short man with a bad 
 left leg, you say. We shall keep watch for such a 
 man. Perhaps we may meet him." 
 
 Wherein he predicted more accurately than 
 he knew. 
 
 The canoes swung out and the paddlers settled 
 into the steady stroke to which they were growing 
 accustomed. Hour after hour they forged on, 
 the Brazilians adjusting their speed to that of 
 the Americans, who had not yet attained the
 
 OUT OF THE AIR 127 
 
 muscular ease of habitual canoemen. The miles 
 flowed slowly but surely behind them, the sun 
 rolled higher and hotter, the silence of approach 
 ing noon crept over the jungle on either side. 
 Then, as the time drew near when they would 
 land for a more hearty meal than that of the 
 morning, Pedro pointed ahead. 
 
 Up out of the bush on the Peruvian shore rose 
 a vulture. It flapped sullenly away as if dis 
 appointed. The bushmen, quick to note any 
 thing that might be a sign, paid no attention to 
 the bird's flight, but marked with unerring eye 
 the spot whence it had taken wing. 
 
 "Let us cross, comrades, and see what we may 
 see," Pedro called. "If nothing is there, we 
 can eat." 
 
 But something was there. All saw it before 
 they landed the stern of a small, speedy canoe 
 almost concealed in a narrow rift at the bottom 
 of the bank. In the soil of the rising slope were 
 the prints of bare feet. And Pedro, scanning the 
 tracks narrowly after he and the others reached 
 shore, asserted, "These were not made to-day." 
 
 Up the bank they climbed, silent and watchful. 
 At the top Lourengo took the lead. In under 
 big trees the five passed in file. A short distance 
 from the edge Lourenc.o stopped, looking at the 
 ground. The others spread out and stared at the 
 thing he had found. 
 
 Between the buttress roots of a tall tree was a 
 crude shelter of palm leaves. Before this lay the
 
 128 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 scattered bones of a man. The skull had been 
 crushed by a mighty blow. 
 
 The bones were picked clean had been stripped 
 and torn asunder days before, and the vulture 
 which had just left had gotten nothing for its 
 belated visit. Among them were remnants of 
 cloth, a belt and a machete, and strands of coarse 
 black hair. A few feet away lay a cheap "trade" 
 gun. Lourengo inspected the weapon and laid it 
 back. 
 
 "Did he shoot before he was downed?" asked 
 Knowlton. 
 
 "No. The gun is loaded. His death came 
 from above." The bushman ran his eye up the 
 towering tree, then pointed to a large dark object 
 on the ground near by. 
 
 "Castanha Brazil-nut tree," he explained. 
 "That heavy nut fell and smashed the Indian's 
 skull like an egg. Indian, yes. His gun, his 
 shelter, and his hair show that. And" stooping 
 and pointing at one of the bones "that bone 
 shows who he was. See, Capitao." 
 
 McKay looked down on a leg bone. At some 
 time the leg had been broken and badly set, if set 
 at all. The bone was crooked. 
 
 "A short Indian with a crooked leg. Schwan- 
 dorf's messenger!" 
 
 "Si. No man will ever receive the message 
 he bore. He camped here days ago. Now he 
 camps here forever."
 
 CHAPTER XII. THE ARROW 
 
 SLOWLY, silently, two canoes glided along 
 the still, dark water of a gloomy creek over 
 arched by the interlaced limbs of lofty trees. 
 
 The first, propelled by the slow-dipping blades 
 of two Brazilian bushmen, seemed to be seeking 
 something; for it nosed along with frequent 
 pauses of the paddles, during which it drifted 
 almost to a stop while its crew searched the 
 solemn jungle depths reaching away from the 
 right-hand shore. The second, carrying three 
 bronzed and bearded men of another continent, 
 was only trailing the leader. It moved and 
 paused like the first, but the recurrent scrutiny of 
 the farther gloom by its paddlers was that of men 
 who saw only a meaningless, monotonous bulk of 
 buttresses and trunks and tangle of looping 
 lianas. In this dimness and bewildering chaos 
 the trio might as well have been blind. The eyes 
 of the tiny fleet were in the first boat. 
 
 The progress of the dugouts was almost 
 stealthy. Not a paddle thumped or splashed, 
 not a voice spoke. They moved with the alert 
 caution born not of fear, but of wary readiness 
 for any sudden event like prowling jungle 
 creatures which, themselves seeking quarry, 
 must be ever on guard lest they become the 
 hunted instead of the hunters.
 
 130 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 For the past two days they had moved thus. 
 The last fresh meat had been shot miles down 
 the river, where a well-placed bullet from the 
 rifle of McKay had downed a fat swamp deer. 
 Since that day not a gun had been fired. The 
 'rations now were tough jerked beef and monkey 
 meat, slabs of salt pirarucu fish, and farinha, 
 varied by tinned delicacies from the stores of the 
 Americans. Henceforth gunfire was taboo unless 
 it should become necessary in self-defense. 
 
 At length the fore canoe halted with an abrupt 
 ness that told of back strokes of the blades hidden 
 under water. McKay, bowman of the trailing 
 craft, also backed water, while his mates held 
 their paddles rigid. The two boats drifted to 
 gether. 
 
 "This is the place," Lourengo said, speaking 
 low. 
 
 The Americans, scanning the shore, saw 
 nothing to differentiate the spot from the rest of 
 the wilderness growth. Yet Lourenc.o's tone was 
 sure. Pedro's face also showed recognition of 
 his surroundings. With no apparent motion of 
 the paddles though the wrists of the paddlers 
 moved almost imperceptibly the canoe of the 
 bushmen floated to the bank. They picked up 
 their rifles, twitched their bow up on land, and 
 turned their faces to the forest. 
 
 "Stay here," was Pedro's subdued command, 
 "until you hear the bird-call which we taught 
 you down the river."
 
 THE ARROW 131 
 
 He and Louren$o faded into the dimness and 
 were gone. 
 
 "Beats me how them guys find their way 
 'round," muttered Tim. "I could land here 
 twenty times hand-runnin', but if I went away 
 and then come back I'd never know the place." 
 
 "It's all in the feel of it," was McKay's low- 
 toned explanation. "They find places and travel 
 the bush as an Indian does by a sixth sense. 
 Take them to New York City, guide them 
 around, then turn them loose and they'd be 
 hopelessly lost in ten minutes." 
 
 The others nodded agreement and sat watch 
 ing. In the shadows no creature moved. Afar off 
 some bird cried mournfully like a lost soul con 
 demned to wander forever alone in the grim 
 green solitudes. No other sound came to the 
 listeners save the ever-present hum of the big 
 forest mosquitoes, to which they now had become 
 indifferent. For all they could see or hear of their 
 two guides, they might as well have been alone. 
 Yet they knew the Brazilians were not far away, 
 threading the maze with sure step and scouting 
 hawk-eyed for any sign of danger. 
 
 At length a long soft whistle sounded hi the 
 bush ahead. Any Indian hunter hearing that 
 sound would straightway have begun scanning 
 the high branches, for the liquid call was that of 
 the mutum, or curassow turkey. But the waiting 
 trio knew it for Pedro's signal that all was clear. 
 At once they slid their canoe to shore, lifted its
 
 132 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 bow to a firm grip on the clay, and, after plumbing 
 the shadows, quietly advanced in squad column. 
 
 A few steps, and they halted suddenly and 
 whirled. A voice had spoken just behind them. 
 There, squatting leisurely between the root 
 buttresses of a huge tree, Lourengo looked up at 
 them in amusement. They had passed within 
 rifle length of him without seeing him. 
 
 "Of what use are your eyes, comrades?" he 
 chaffed. "In the bush one should see in all 
 directions at once. You were looking at that 
 patch of sunlight just ahead, yes? But danger 
 lurks in the shadows, not in the glaring light." 
 
 Without awaiting an answer, he arose and took 
 the lead. At the edge of the small sunlit space 
 beyond he halted. 
 
 "You were heading for the right place," he 
 added then. "Look around. Do you see any 
 thing?" 
 
 Swiftly they scrutinized the gap left by the 
 fall of a great tree whose gigantic trunk had 
 bludgeoned weaker trees away in its crushing 
 descent. Seeing nothing unusual, they then 
 peered around them. Tim suddenly snapped up 
 his rifle. 
 
 "Holler tree there and a man in it! Hey! 
 come out o' there!" 
 
 "Your eyes improve," Lourenco complimented. 
 "But the man is Pedro." 
 
 Tim lowered the gun as Pedro, grinning, came 
 out of his concealment.
 
 THE ARROW 133 
 
 "That is the tree of the Raposa," Lourengo 
 went on. "The lightning flashing in from above 
 showed us the man. But now, senhores, I think 
 we must tramp the bush for some tune before 
 we find that Raposa again. There is no trace 
 of him here." 
 
 " Hm ! " said Knowlton. Striding to the hollow 
 tree, he peered about inside it. The cavity was 
 almost big enough to sling a hammock in, but it 
 was empty of any indication of habitation, 
 human or otherwise. A temporary refuge that 
 was all. 
 
 "No sign anywhere around here, eh?" queried 
 McKay. 
 
 "We have found none. We shall look farther, 
 but I have small hope. If you senhores will 
 make the camp this time we shall start at once 
 and stay out until dark. Build no fire until we 
 return. And if you hear the call of the mutum, 
 pay no attention to it; we may use it to locate 
 each other if we separate, and also perhaps as a 
 decoy. Any wild man, red or white, hearing that 
 call would seek the bird making it, for a fine fat 
 mutum is well worth killing. Keep quiet and 
 be on guard." 
 
 "Right. Go ahead." 
 
 The bushmen turned at once and stole away. 
 The others returned to the canoes, transported 
 the necessary duffle to the base of the hollow tree, 
 made camp with a few poles, and squatted against 
 
 the trunk to smoke, watch, and wait. Several 
 10
 
 134. THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 times they heard mutum calls receding in the 
 distance. Then came silence. 
 
 The sun-thrown shadows in the gap crawled 
 steadily eastward. Knowlton tested the feed of 
 his automatic, which, since its balkiness in the 
 fight with the Peruvians, he had kept carefully 
 oiled and free from the slightest speck of rust. 
 Tun arose at intervals and paced up and down hi 
 sentry go, eyes and ears alert a useless activity, 
 but one which provided an outlet for his restless 
 energy. McKay let his gaze rove over the small 
 area visible from their post, studying the con 
 tours of the towering trunks, the prone giant 
 whose fall had opened the hole in the leafy roof, 
 the parasitical vines twined about other trees, 
 the thin, outflung buttresses supporting the 
 mighty columns all familiar sights to him, but 
 the only things to occupy his vision. So limned 
 on his brain did the scene become that after a 
 tune he could close his eyes and see it hi every 
 important detail. 
 
 It might have been two hours after Pedro and 
 Lourenso had departed the shadows had grown 
 much longer when over McKay stole the feeling 
 that he was being watched. He glanced at his 
 companions and found that neither of them was 
 looking at him. Knowlton, sitting with hands 
 clasped around updrawn knees, was dozing. Tim, 
 though wide awake, was staring absently at a 
 fungus. The captain's eyes searched the short 
 vistas all about, spying nothing new. Still the
 
 THE ARROW 135 
 
 feeling persisted. Then all at once his roaming 
 gaze stopped, became fixed on a point some 
 forty feet away. 
 
 There rose a rough-barked red-brown tree, and 
 from it, near the ground, projected a blackish 
 bole. McKay was very sure the protuberance 
 had not been there before. He had stared 
 steadily at that tree more than once, and its 
 shape was quite clear in his mind. Was that 
 bump an insensate wood growth now revealed 
 for the first time by the changing sun slant, or 
 
 For minutes he watched it. It did not move. 
 Then Tim, restless again, rose directly in Mc 
 Kay's line of sight, yawned silently, swung his 
 gun to his shoulder, and began another slow 
 parade of his self-appointed post. When he had 
 stepped aside McKay looked again for the 
 puzzling bole. 
 
 It was gone. 
 
 With a bound the captain was up and dashing 
 toward the tree, drawing his pistol as he ran. 
 But within three strides he went down. A tough 
 vine, unnoticed on the ground, looped snakily 
 around one ankle and threw him hard. His gun 
 flew from his hand. As he fell a tiny whispering 
 sound flitted past, followed by a small blow some 
 where behind him. Ensued a gruff grunt from 
 Tim and the swift clatter of a breech bolt. 
 
 Raging, McKay kicked his foot loose and 
 heaved himself up. Empty handed, he con 
 tinued his rush for the tree. But when he
 
 136 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 reached it he found nothing behind it. If any 
 thing had been there it now was gone, and the 
 vacant shadows beyond were as inscrutable as 
 ever. 
 
 Feet padded behind him and Tim and Knowl- 
 ton halted on either side. A moment of silent 
 searching, and Tim broke into reproach. 
 
 "Cap, don't never do that again! If ye take a 
 tumble hi my line o' fire, for the love o' Mike 
 stay down till I shoot! I come so near drillin' 
 ye when ye hopped up that I'm sweatin' blood 
 right now." 
 
 In truth, the veteran was pale around the 
 mouth and his broad face was beaded with cold 
 drops. 
 
 "I seen more 'n one time in France when 
 I felt like shootin' my s'perior officer, but I 
 never come so near doin' it as jest now. I 
 had finger to trigger and had took up the 
 slack, and a hair's weight more pull would 
 have spattered yer head all around. And be 
 sides givin' me heart failure ye let that guy git 
 away. We'll never find him " 
 
 "You saw him?" McKay cut in. 
 
 "I seen somethin' beyond ye couldn't make 
 out what 'twas, but from the way ye was goin' 
 over the top I knowed it must be a man. And 
 then when the arrer come " 
 
 "Arrow?" 
 
 "Sure. Missed ye when ye took that flop, and 
 stuck in the tree over Bonder. What 'd ye rush
 
 THE ARROW 137 
 
 the guy for, anyways? Whyn't ye drill him 
 from where ye was?" 
 
 In the reaction from his sudden fright Tim was 
 as wrathfully ready to "bawl out" his captain 
 as if he were some raw rookie. McKay, with a 
 cool smile, explained his abrupt action, meanwhile 
 reconnoitering the dimness for any further sign of 
 the vanished assailant. None showed. 
 
 While Tun stood vigilant guard the other two 
 stooped and moved around the base of the tree, 
 narrowly examining the ground. Beyond it they 
 paused at one spot, fingered the soil lightly, and 
 lit a match or two. 
 
 "No ghost," said Knowlton. "Barefoot man. 
 Didn't leave much trace, but enough to show he 
 was here. Let's look at that arrow." 
 
 Back to the hollow tree they went, retrieving 
 McKay's pistol on the way. About a yard above 
 the earth a long shaft projected from the bark. 
 Knowlton reached for it, but McKay held him 
 back and drew it out. 
 
 "M-hm! Thought so!" he muttered. "Poi 
 soned." 
 
 "Oof! Nice, gentle sort of a cuss," rumbled 
 Tim. "That smear on the point is that poi 
 son?" 
 
 "Poison. Quickest and deadliest kind of 
 poison. Mixes instantly with blood. Paralysis 
 convulsions death. The least scratch and 
 you're gone. Wicked head on this thing, too: 
 looks like a piece of serrated bone. See all those
 
 138 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 little barbs along the edges? War arrow, all 
 right." 
 
 "Meanin' that we'll be jumped pretty soon by 
 more Injuns. If that guy's on the w^arpath he 
 ain't alone." 
 
 "Wouldn't be a bad idea to take cover," 
 nodded McKay. Turning the five-foot shaft 
 downward, he plunged its head into the soft 
 ground and left it sticking there, harmless. 
 
 "Tim, go down and guard the canoes. Merry, 
 lie in between these roots and keep watch off 
 that way. I'll go over to that tree where the spy 
 hid." 
 
 For another hour the camp was silent. Each 
 in his covert, finger on trigger, the trio watched 
 with ceaseless vigilance, expecting each instant 
 to detect dusky forms crawling up from tree to 
 tree. Yet nothing of the sort came. Nor did any 
 hostile sound reach them. Somewhere parrots 
 squawked, somewhere else the puppylike yapping 
 of toucans disturbed the solitude; nothing else. 
 
 The wan light faded. The sun crawled up the 
 trees, leaving all the ground in shadow. Then, 
 not far off, sounded the soft whistle of the 
 mutum. Suspicious, the watchers held their 
 places until, with another whistle, Pedro came 
 into view, followed by Lourengo. 
 
 McKay arose, met them, and briefly explained 
 the situation. They nodded, but seemed un 
 disturbed. 
 
 "We can start a fire now, Capitao," Lourengo
 
 THE ARROW 139 
 
 said. "Night comes and we are hungry. There 
 will be no danger before another dawn." 
 
 With which he leaned his rifle against a tree 
 and started immediate preparations for a meal. 
 Pedro continued on to the canoes, made sure 
 they were drawn up high enough to remain hi 
 place in case of any sudden ram, and returned 
 with Tim. Around them now resounded the 
 swiftly rising roar of the nightly outbreak of 
 animal life. The sun vanished. At once black 
 ness whelmed all except the little fire. 
 
 "See anything while you were out?" asked 
 McKay. 
 
 "We found no trace of the Raposa," Lourengo 
 evaded. 
 
 "What do you plan to do now?" 
 
 ' ' Eat smoke talk sleep. ' ' 
 
 McKay eyed the bushman keenly, feeling that 
 he was holding something back. But, feeling also 
 that this pair knew what they were about, he 
 bided his time. When all had eaten and tobacco 
 smoke was blending with that of the burning 
 wood, Lourenc,o drew the arrow from the ground 
 and studied it. Then he passed it to Pedro, who, 
 after a critical examination, held it in the blaze 
 until the deadly head was burned away. 
 
 "A big-game arrow of the cannibal Mayo- 
 runas," said Lourenc,o. "The point, with its saw 
 tooth barbs, is made from the tail bone of the 
 araya, the flat devilfish of the swamp lakes. That 
 fish, as you perhaps know, has a whiplike tail
 
 140 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 I 
 
 armed with that bone; and if he strikes the bone 
 into your flesh it breaks off and stays in the 
 wound, and you are likely to die." 
 
 "But in that case death comes from gangrene," 
 McKay remarked. "This point has been dipped 
 in wurali poison." 
 
 "You have seen such arrows before, Capitao?" 
 
 "Seen the poison before, yes. Over in British 
 Guiana. The Macusi Indians make it from the 
 wurali vine, some bitter root or other, a couple 
 of bulbous plants, two kinds of ants one big 
 and black with a venomous bite, the other small 
 and red a lot of pepper, and the pounded fangs 
 of labarri and couanacouchi snakes. They boil 
 all this stuff down to a thick syrup, and that's 
 the poison. The man who makes it is sick for 
 days afterward." 
 
 "Our cannibals make that poison in much the 
 same way. Yet Guiana is many hundreds of miles 
 from here, and our Indians know nothing of those 
 Macusi people. Queer, is it not, that the same 
 plan should be used by savages thousands of 
 miles apart?" 
 
 "Rather odd. Must have started from some 
 common source hundreds of years ago and spread 
 around. Queerest thing is, though, that a 
 poison so deadly doesn't spoil meat for eating." 
 
 "Huh?" exclaimed Tim. "Mean to say them 
 cannibals can kill us by scratchin' us with a 
 poison arrer and then stummick us afterwards?" 
 
 "Exactly. You'd taste just as sweet as ever,
 
 THE AKROW 
 
 Tim maybe more so. Cheer up! They say it 
 doesn't hurt much to die that way; you're para 
 lyzed so quick you just sort of fade out." 
 
 Tim shook his head, his abhorrence of poison 
 strong as ever. Knowlton spoke. 
 
 "I've heard that this wurali poison is much 
 overrated, that it will kill only birds and monkeys, 
 not men." 
 
 11 Par Deus! Whoever said that was a fool 
 trying to appear wise!" Pedro snorted. "We 
 have seen the poison death, and we know." 
 
 McKay also shook his head. 
 
 "Experiments have been made with the wurali 
 of the Macusis," he stated. "It was tried on a 
 hog, a sloth and a sloth is mighty hard to kill 
 also on mules, and on a full-grown ox weighing 
 almost half a ton. It killed every one of them." 
 
 A momentary silence followed. Tim gazed 
 sourly at the arrow, now harmless but still 
 sinister. 
 
 " Urrrgh ! " he growled. " Cap, ye had a narrer 
 squeak come near gittin' it from in front, and 
 behind, too. Wisht I could have drilled that 
 guy." 
 
 The bushmen grinned. And Loureno's next 
 speech was amazing. 
 
 "Be thankful you did not. That bullet might 
 have killed us all." 
 
 After enjoying their puzzled expressions a 
 moment he continued. 
 
 "We are nearer to a Mayoruna maloca than I
 
 142 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 thought. Not the one I intended to seek, but a 
 smaller one. It is about three days' journey 
 from here, and to reach it we must go through 
 the bush. The man who left this arrow here to 
 day is from that maloca. 
 
 "A week ago his brother went hunting, and he 
 has not returned. So this young savage and 
 three of his comrades now are searching the bush 
 for some sign of him. To-day they separated, 
 each going in a different direction, agreeing to 
 meet again to-night at a place less than half a 
 day's journey from here. This man circled 
 around and worked along this creek, knowing his 
 brother would hardly go beyond the water.- 
 He spied our canoes, then sought the men who 
 had come in them and found you. 
 
 "He watched you for some time, and if you 
 had not rushed at him he would have slipped 
 away without attacking you, for he was alone and 
 he saw your guns. But when you, Capitao, sud 
 denly leaped at him he darted away, then 
 stopped long enough to send an arrow at you. 
 After that he dodged out of sight and ran to the 
 camp of his three friends. He is there now, 
 telling about you." 
 
 "Great guns! You chaps are wizards!" cried 
 Knowlton. "How do you know all this?" 
 
 "Because we met him while on our way back 
 here. He was running hard, and we heard him, 
 so we blocked him. After we convinced him that 
 we were friendly we talked for some time I can
 
 THE ARROW 143 
 
 speak their tongue and he told us about you. 
 He was sure you were enemies to him and his 
 people, and believed also you had killed his 
 missing brother, and he was going first to rejoin 
 his companions and then hasten to the maloca to 
 bring all their fighters against you. It was well 
 that we met him in time. It was well, too, that 
 you did not shoot him or even shoot at him. 
 His companions would have learned of it, and 
 then death for us all." 
 
 "And now what?" 
 
 "Now, comrades, we all go to the maloca 
 of that man. We meet him and the other three 
 to-morrow at the place where we talked to him 
 to-day. I told him we were going to visit that 
 other chief whom I knew, and, though he was at 
 first suspicious of a trap, he finally agreed to lead 
 us to his own chief. So in the morning we march. 
 Now let us sleep." 
 
 Knowlton and McKay glanced at each other 
 and nodded. 
 
 "Luck's with us so far," said the captain. 
 
 "Right. We just march right into Jungle 
 Town with bodyguard and everything. Pretty 
 soft! Wonder if they'll turn out the tomtom 
 band to drum us in." 
 
 Tun said nothing. He squinted again at the 
 headless arrow, then inspected the breech bolt 
 of his rifle.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. THE WAY OF THE 
 JUNGLE 
 
 DAWN came, dismal, damp, and chill. Mois 
 ture dripped drearily from the upper reach 
 es, and under the dense canopy of leaves 
 and limbs the gloom and the fog together made a 
 murk wherein the early-rising bushmen were 
 scarcely visible to the North Americans ten 
 feet away. Yet day had come, or was coming; 
 the noise of the animal world left little doubt of 
 that. 
 
 By the light of a sullen smoky fire and oil- 
 smeared torches Pedro and Lourengo made up 
 their packs, cording them roughly with bark- 
 cloth strips brought from headquarters. The 
 Americans, after eating a more solid meal than 
 the Brazilians seemed to require, also rolled their 
 blankets, hammocks, nets, and other parapher 
 nalia; strapped the outfits into the army pack 
 harnesses which they had transported for thou 
 sands of miles and never yet used; crammed 
 their web belts with cartridges; slung their 
 sheathed machetes down their left thighs; looked 
 to their guns; and announced themselves ready 
 to go. 
 
 While the northerners made these final prepa 
 rations their guides slipped away for a tune. 
 Pedro, on his return, announced that the canoes
 
 THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 145 
 
 had been concealed. Lourengo, bringing back 
 the freshly filled canteens of the ex-army men, 
 delivered with them the marching orders of the 
 day. 
 
 "If you thirst, comrades, drink only from your 
 canteens. If the canteens fail, never fill them 
 from flowing water unless the Indians also drink 
 from the stream. There are always small pools 
 to be found, and, though their water may be 
 warm and stale, it is not likely to be poisoned, as 
 the streams may be. 
 
 "To-day, and every day after we meet the 
 cannibals, make no suspicious moves. Do not 
 speak harshly. Do not laugh or sneer at them. 
 They are unreasoning and easily insulted, and 
 lifelong foes when angered. Let me do the 
 talking. 
 
 , "Do not hold a gun hi a threatening manner 
 or draw pistols unless you must fight. Then kill. 
 
 "Above all, pay no attention to their women. 
 
 "Now we go. I lead." 
 
 He turned and strode away into the fog as 
 easily and surely as if cat-eyed and cat-footed. 
 Pedro swung nonchalantly after him. The others 
 followed in order, hitching at their backstraps. 
 
 The ghostly haze about them now was paler, 
 but through the interstices overhead came no 
 glint of sunshine, nor even the glow of a clear 
 dawn. The whole sky evidently was overcast, 
 and around the marching men the gloom still lay 
 thick. Yet Lourengo's eyes seemed to bore
 
 146 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 through the shades and the dark shroud blurring 
 the trunks, for his steady gait did not falter. The 
 little file hung close together, for all knew that 
 any man straggling would be instantly lost. 
 
 Worming around gigantic columns, crawling 
 over rotting trunks long laid low, changing 
 direction abruptly when blocked by some great 
 butt too high to be scaled, sinking ankle-deep in 
 clinging mud, the venturesome band wound along 
 through the wilderness. Repeated glances at his 
 compass showed McKay that the general trend 
 of the march was southeast; but the impassable 
 obstacles encountered at frequent intervals neces 
 sitated not only detours, but sometimes actual 
 back-tracking. 
 
 "Walk four miles to advance one," was his 
 thought. And for some time it seemed that 
 such was the case. But then the ground changed, 
 the light improved, the trees thinned, and the 
 undergrowth became more dense and, para 
 doxically, the rate of progress improved. 
 
 This was because the smaller growth gave the 
 two leaders a chance to cut their way straight 
 onward instead of dodging about; and cut they 
 did. Their machetes swung with untiring energy, 
 opening a path through what seemed an unpene 
 trable tangle. Now every yard of movement was 
 a yard gained. But the ground was rising and 
 the struggle up some of the sharp slopes winded 
 more than one man. 
 
 Then the slope dipped the other way, and they
 
 THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 147 
 
 slipped down into a ravine where water gleamed 
 darkly. Here a halt was called while the leaders 
 sought for a fallen tree. Tim squatted and 
 mopped his face for the hundredth time. 
 
 "Gosh! This is what I call travelin'!" he 
 panted. "Flounderin' round in mud soup, bit to 
 death by skeeters and them what-ye-call-'em 
 flies piums sweatin* yerself bone dry and 
 totin' forty thousand pounds on yer back, not to 
 mention hardware slung all over ye this ain't no 
 place for a minister's son or a fat guy, I'll tell the 
 world. And this is only the start!" 
 
 A call from Pedro forestalled any answer. The 
 trio struggled along to the spot where the guides 
 waited at the butt of a slanting tree trunk 
 spanning the gulf. As they reached it Pedro 
 walked carefully up the trunk, carrying a long 
 slender sapling, which he lowered and fixed in the 
 bottom of the stream. Then, steadying himself 
 with the upper end of this pole, he continued his 
 journey to the other side, where he flipped the 
 sapling back to Lourengo. One by one the 
 others crossed, slipping, almost losing balance, 
 but managing to evade a fall. Tim, walking the 
 precarious bridge and looking down, saw that the 
 surface of the water was dotted with the heads of 
 venomous snakes. 
 
 "Are you following your trail of yesterday?" 
 demanded McKay. 
 
 "No, Capitao. Yesterday we circled. To-day 
 we go as nearly straight as possible."
 
 148 THE PATHLESS TRAII/ 
 
 "And you can find the appointed place by this 
 new route?" The captain's tone was dubious. 
 
 "Certainly. Else I should go the other way. 
 Come." 
 
 Up another bank they toiled, and on through 
 rugged country which seemed momentarily to 
 become higher and harder to traverse. In the 
 minds of the Americans grew suspicion that, for 
 the first time, the Brazilians were bluffing; it 
 seemed impossible for any man to keep his sense 
 of direction in such a maze. But they said no 
 word and followed on. 
 
 At length the leader paused and sent the long 
 call of the mutum floating through the trees. No 
 answer came. After a moment the line moved 
 on, each man peering ahead with sharper gaze, 
 each holding a little tighter. To the Americans, 
 at least, the thought of possible ambush loomed 
 large. 
 
 Four man-eating savages, hidden hi this laby 
 rinthine tangle and armed with arrows whose 
 slightest scratch meant death, could strike down 
 every man of this expedition without even a 
 wound hi return; for of what avail were high- 
 power guns, automatic pistols, and machetes 
 against invisible enemies? Yet there was assur 
 ance in Lourengo's confident air, and reassurance 
 in the thought that these tribemen would be 
 unlikely to assail a band avowedly on its way to 
 visit their chief. Besides Knowlton smiled 
 grimly even if the Mayorunas hungered for
 
 THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 149 
 
 human flesh it would be more economical of labor 
 to let the meat travel to the slaughterhouse on its 
 own legs than to kill it here and carry it home. 
 
 Again the mutum whistle drifted away. Again 
 no answer came. For a short distance farther the 
 file continued its march. Then, in a small open 
 ing where the uptorn roots of a tree rose like a 
 wall at one side, it halted. 
 
 "The place of meeting," Pedro said. All 
 peered around. None saw anything but the up 
 standing roots, the forest jumble, the misty ser 
 pentine lianas. None heard any sound but their 
 own hoarse breathing, the solemn drip of water, 
 the insect hum, and the occasional melancholy 
 notes of birds. The place seemed bare of life. 
 Yet upon McKay came again that feeling of being 
 watched. 
 
 ' Slowly, deeply, Lourenc,o spoke. The words 
 meant nothing to his mates. They were like no 
 words they knew. His eyes roved about as he 
 talked, and it was evident that he saw no more 
 than did the silent men behind him. But they 
 guessed that he said he and they were there as 
 agreed, with peace in their hearts, and that he 
 was telling the men of the wilderness to come 
 forward without fear. And they guessed rightly. 
 
 As quietly as a phantom of the mist a man took 
 shape at the edge of the tree roots. Tall, straight, 
 slender, symmetrically proportioned, with un 
 blemished skin of light- bronze hue, straight black 
 hair, and deep dark eyes, he was a splendid type
 
 150 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 of savage. Face and body were adorned with 
 glossy paint scarlet and black rings around the 
 eyes, two red stripes from temple to chin, wavy 
 lines on arms and chest. He held a bow longer 
 than himself, with a five-foot arrow fitted 
 loosely to the string and pointed downward, but 
 ready for instant use. Diagonally across his body 
 ran a cord supporting a quiver, from which the 
 feathered shafts of several arrows projected above 
 his left shoulder. Around his waist looped an 
 other cord from which dangled a small loin mat. 
 Otherwise he was totally nude a bronze statue 
 of freedom. 
 
 Lourengo spoke again in the same quiet tone. 
 The savage stepped warily forward. At the 
 same moment three other naked men appeared 
 with equal stealth from tree trunks which had 
 seemed barren of all life. Like the first, each of 
 these held an arrow ready, but pointing down 
 ward; and each moved with the slow, velvety 
 step of a hunting jaguar. Their eyes searched 
 those of these strange men of another world who, 
 wearing useless clothing, carrying heavy weapons 
 of steel, burdening themselves with queer weights 
 on their backs, now invaded the wilderness which 
 they and their fathers had roamed untrammeled 
 for centuries. The invaders in turn studied the 
 faces of the Mayorunas, of whom so many grue 
 some tales were told. For long silent minutes 
 primitive and civilized man probed each other for 
 signs of treachery and found none.
 
 THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 151 
 
 Tim, forgetting the orders of the day, spoke 
 out abruptly. At the gruff jar of his voice the 
 wild men started and raised their weapons. 
 
 "Say, are those guys cannibals? I was lookin' 
 to see some ugly mutts with underslung jaws and 
 mops o' frizzy hair, like them Feejee Islanders ye 
 see pitchers of. Barrin' the paint, I've seen worse- 
 lookin' fellers than these back home." 
 
 With which he gave the savages a wide, un 
 mistakably approving grin. 
 
 "Shut up!" muttered McKay. 
 
 Lourengo, unruffled, made instant capital of 
 Tim's remarks. 
 
 "My comrade of the red hair," he said in the 
 Indian tongue, " has never before seen the mighty 
 warriors of the Mayorunas, and is astonished 
 to find them such handsome men. He says 
 his own countrymen are not so good to look 
 upon." 
 
 Slowly the menacing arrows sank. As the 
 savages studied Tim's wholesome grin and 
 absorbed the broad flattery of Lourengo a slight 
 smile passed over their faces. They stood more 
 at ease. The whites sensed at once that, for a 
 moment, at least, a friendly footing had been 
 established, and relaxed from their own tension. 
 
 Once more Lourengo spoke, motioning toward 
 the farther distances. The Indian who had first 
 appeared now replied briefly. Two of the others 
 stepped back to their trees and lifted long, hollow 
 tubes.
 
 152 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "What's them?" demanded Tim. 
 
 "Blowguns," Pedro answered. "They use 
 them for small or thin-skinned game. See, the 
 two blowgun men carry also short darts in their 
 quivers, and small pouches of poison." 
 
 "Uh-huh. They like then* poison a dang 
 sight better 'n I do. Say, are them guys goin' 
 to march behind us? I don't want no poison 
 needles slipped into my back, accidental or 
 other ways." 
 
 Two of the savages were walking toward the 
 rear of the line. Knowlton, exasperated, snapped 
 out: 
 
 "They'll walk where they like, and you'll do 
 well to give us more marching and less mouth. 
 You nearly spilled the beans just now, and if 
 Louren<jo hadn't said something that pleased 
 these fellows we all might be in the soup this 
 minute. Pipe down!" 
 
 "Aw, Looey, I only said these guys were good- 
 lookin'. Ain't no fight in words like that." 
 
 "You heard the orders this morning. Let 
 Lourengo do the talking. That goes! We're 
 skating on thin ice so thin that if it breaks we 
 drop plump into hell. Less noise!" 
 
 "Right, sir," was the sulky answer. "I'm 
 deaf and dumb." 
 
 "March," added McKay. The head of the 
 column already was on the move, led by the 
 tallest Indian and a blowgun man, behind whom 
 walked the two Brazilians. The whole line took
 
 THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 153 
 
 up the step in turn and passed on into the un 
 known. 
 
 Again McKay consulted his compass at inter 
 vals, finding that now the route led more to the 
 south, though there still was an easterly trend. 
 After a tune, however, the telltale needle informed 
 him that they were proceeding almost due east, 
 and glances at the surroundings showed that on 
 their right was a densely matted mass of under 
 growth. Not long afterward another interwoven 
 brush wall blocked the way, and this tune the 
 leader veered to the west. Not until an opening 
 appeared did he resume his southward course. 
 It dawned on McKay that the savages, having 
 no bush knives, were accustomed to follow the 
 line of least resistance. This obviously increased 
 the distance traveled. 
 
 The men of Coronel Nunes, too, perceived 
 this. A halt was called, during which Lourengo 
 talked with the guide, tapped his machete, and 
 evidently protested against needless detours. 
 The leader, with a few words, pointed south. 
 Lourengo nodded and replied. The march 
 was resumed, and when the next impenetrable 
 tangle was encountered the Indians in the van 
 stepped aside, the machetes of the Brazilians 
 flashed out, and a way was cut straight through. 
 From that time on the long knives came into 
 frequent play and a direct course was main 
 tained. 
 
 Suddenly, with a grunt of warning, the tall
 
 154 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 tribesman stopped. The plan of chopping 
 through instead of going around had brought 
 the Indians into a part of the forest which they 
 had not heretofore traversed in their search for 
 the missing hunter. Now they stood in a small 
 trough between the knolls, under good-sized 
 trees around which grew little brush. The 
 ground was soft, almost watery. In the damp 
 air, faint but unmistakable, hung the odor of 
 death. 
 
 The savages at the rear came forward at 
 once. All four of them spread out and, sniffing 
 the air, advanced up the trough. A cry broke 
 from one of them. The others, and the white 
 men, too, hastened to the spot whence the call 
 had come. 
 
 Scattered about hi the soft muck were bones, 
 two skulls, bits of tawny fur, a long bow, several 
 big-game arrows. Around them the ground 
 was marked with many tracks. Most of the 
 imprints were of the vultures which had stripped 
 the bones, but there were others those of a 
 barefoot man, of a great cat, and of a couple 
 of wild hogs. The peccary tracks went straight 
 on, but those of the man and the cat showed 
 that a fierce struggle had occurred. And one 
 of the two grinning skulls was that of a jaguar. 
 
 The story was plain. The hunter, following 
 fast on the trail of the hogs, had suddenly 
 met the jaguar. He had shot it; one arrow, 
 blood stained for more than a foot above the
 
 THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE 155 
 
 barb, proved that. But in the few seconds of 
 life left to it the animal had sprung and fatally 
 torn the man. Then, as usual, had dropped the 
 black scavengers of the sky to rend them both. 
 Silently the men of the bush and the men of 
 the north looked down at the brief history writ 
 ten in the mud a story only a week old, yet 
 ancient as human life itself primitive man 
 and ferocious brute destroying each other as in 
 the prehistoric days when saber-toothed tiger 
 and troglodyte hunted and slew for the right 
 to live. And as it had been then, so it was now. 
 The living read the tale of tragedy and passed on, 
 leaving the bones behind them. Only, before 
 they went, the Mayorunas threw the remnants 
 of the jaguar aside and piled the bones of their 
 dead comrade together in one place. Then, 
 bearing with them his bow and arrows, they 
 resumed their way without a word.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. A DUEL WITH DEATH 
 
 RAIN came and went. 
 The first night's camp of the strangely 
 assorted company was a wet one, for 
 well on in the day the skies poured down the 
 watery weight which had been troubling them 
 since morning. Yet even in such miserable 
 weather the four tribesmen of the Mayorunas 
 declined to sleep in the same camp with the 
 whites. They accepted the food tendered them, 
 but when it was eaten they withdrew to some 
 covert of their own to spend the night. Whereby 
 the whites knew that, though their guides now 
 could no longer suspect them of killing the lone 
 hunter, they still were not accepted as friends. 
 
 "Did ye say them guys had a trick o' jabbin' 
 men in then* hammicks at night, Renzo?" was 
 Tim's significant question after the Indians had 
 departed. 
 
 "Have no fear," Lourengo assured him. "They 
 have promised to take us safely to their chief." 
 
 "How much is the word of a cannibal worth?" 
 asked Knowlton. 
 
 "Worth everything, so long as you do nothing 
 to make them forget it, senhor. Being uncivi 
 lized, they are not liars." 
 
 The lieutenant eyed him sharply, half minded 
 to regard the answer as insolent. But there
 
 A DUEL WITH DEATH 157 
 
 was no insolence in the Brazilian's straight 
 forward gaze, and McKay laughed approvingly. 
 
 "Well spoken!" was the captain's comment. 
 
 "Among those people there are but two great 
 crimes," Lourengo added. "They are, to speak 
 falsely or to be a coward." 
 
 "Wherein a goodly portion of the so-called 
 civilized world would fail to measure up to the 
 standards of these cannibals," McKay said. 
 "By the way, have you asked them about the 
 Raposa?" 
 
 "No, Capitao. It is as well not to put into 
 their heads the idea that we are hunting any 
 one here. I shall say nothing of that matter 
 until we reach the chief who knows me." 
 
 "Good idea." 
 
 With that the talk ended and all sought 
 their hammocks, dog tired from the day's travel. 
 No watch was kept, for, as Pedro quaintly 
 phrased it, "We now are in the hands of God 
 and the cannibals." Nor was any watch needed. 
 
 Daybreak brought sunlight. While the break 
 fast coffee was being boiled the four wild men 
 appeared silently and simultaneously, one bring 
 ing a red howling monkey and another a large 
 green parrot as their contributions to the morn 
 ing meal. Neither bird nor animal showed any 
 wound except a slightly discolored spot sur 
 rounding a skin puncture no larger than if 
 made by a woman's hatpin the marks left by 
 poisoned darts from the ten-foot blowguns.
 
 158 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 When the meat was cooked they offered por 
 tions to the whites, of whom Tim alone refused. 
 
 "I'd as quick eat a rat killed with Paris 
 green," he growled. "No poisoned meat gits 
 into my stummick if I know it." 
 
 "Bosh!" scoffed McKay. "It's perfectly 
 wholesome though it's tough as a rubber boot." 
 
 "And I might tell you, senhores, that among 
 these people it is an insult to refuse any food 
 offered you," added Lourengo. "I advise you 
 to forget about the poison hereafter and eat 
 what is put before you, even if it stinks." 
 
 His advice was emphasized by the evident 
 displeasure of the tribesmen, who, though say 
 ing nothing, looked rather grimly at the man 
 who had despised their provisions. But Lou 
 rengo then smoothed over the matter by telling 
 them that the red-haired man was sick at the 
 stomach that morning which, at that par 
 ticular moment, was not far from the truth. 
 
 Soon the triglot column was once more on its 
 way across the hill country, which hourly grew 
 higher and rougher a constant succession of 
 ridges and ravines. Lourengo, pointing out the 
 absence of water marks on the trees of the up 
 lands, said that now the land of the great annual 
 floods had been left behind; for even the sixty- 
 foot rise of waters in the rainy season could not 
 reach to these hilltops. With the entry into this 
 terra firma the travelers had also found the 
 sun again, the dank mist of yesterday having
 
 A DUEL WITH DEATH 159 
 
 vanished. Nevertheless, the going was fully 
 as hard as on the previous day, because of 
 the density of the bush and of the labor of 
 crossing the narrow but deep streams flowing 
 at the bottom of nearly every clove. Few words 
 were exchanged, every man needing his breath 
 for the work of walking. 
 
 As before, the keen machetes of the Brazilians 
 opened a direct route through all opposing 
 undergrowth. When a brief halt was called 
 at noon the Mayorunas, who seemed to know 
 exactly where they were despite the fact that 
 they had never before followed this straight 
 course, informed Lourengo that much circuitous 
 traveling had already been saved, and that by 
 tramping hard until sundown they might suc 
 ceed in reaching the tribal maloca that night. 
 But McKay vetoed the idea of a forced march. 
 
 "This gait is fast enough and hard enough," 
 he declared. "No sense in exhausting our 
 selves to save a few hours' time. Also, we don't 
 want to go staggering into the Mayoruna vil 
 lage with our tongues hanging out and our knees 
 wabbling. First impressions are lasting with 
 such people, and they might get an idea we 
 were weaklings." 
 
 To which all except the savages, who did not 
 understand the language of the white man, 
 assented approvingly. 
 
 Yet it was the Mayorunas themselves who 
 delayed arrival at their maloca the Mayorunas
 
 160 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 and a monkey. When the sinking sun was still 
 two hours high, and while the leader was forcing 
 the pace as it determined to reach home that 
 night whether the rest liked it or not, the 
 monkey upset any such plan. 
 
 He was a big gray monkey, and he was high up 
 in the branches of a tall matamata tree, where he 
 deemed himself safe from the many creatures 
 laboring along the ground below. Wherefore he 
 chattered impudently down at them and, as the 
 tall Indian guide halted, showed his teeth de 
 risively. The savage grunted. The man behind 
 hun also grunted and lifted his blowgun. But 
 the leader growled at him and the blowgun sank. 
 
 With a swift sweep of the hand the guide drew 
 from his quiver one of those long, poisoned arrows 
 and fitted it to the bow cord, which he had laid on 
 the ground. With two toes of each foot he held 
 the cord firmly on the soil. His right hand 
 lightly grasped the arrow and aimed it up at the 
 insolent primate. His left drew the bow up, up, 
 into an arc. 
 
 Twang! the cord thrummed as his lifted toes 
 released it. The arrow whirred aloft. Then a 
 snarl of chagrin from the marksman blended 
 with the grunts of his mates. The arrow had 
 failed to reach the quarry. 
 
 It had missed, however, by a mere hand's 
 breadth missed only because it struck the limb 
 directly under the monkey, where it hung by the 
 tip from the bark. Muttering something which
 
 A DUEL WITH DEATH 161 
 
 may have been a Mayor-Una malediction, the 
 savage moved aside a step or two, drew another 
 arrow, and set it to the cord with more care than 
 before. But while he did this the monkey was 
 not idle. 
 
 Chattering hi rage, the annual leaned down, 
 worked the arrow loose from the bark, and 
 threw it aside. The deadly shaft turned hi air, 
 then plunged aimlessly earthward. At that 
 instant all below were watching the guide, who 
 in turn was looking at his toes and placing the 
 new arrow in position. Unseen, the other missile 
 hurtled down and ripped across the back of the 
 marksman's left hand. 
 
 For an instant the tall cannibal stood as if 
 petrified, staring at his cut hand and the shaft 
 now sticking upright in the ground beside him. 
 Then, in simple symbolism, he reversed the new 
 arrow and stabbed it also into the dirt. Dropping 
 his bow, he lay down on his back. 
 
 "Yuara will draw bow no more. Yuara goes 
 to join the spirits of the dead," he said, calmly. 
 
 Mechanically Lourengo translated the words. 
 McKay sprang forward. 
 
 "No!" he disputed. "Not without a try for 
 life, anyhow! Merry, sling a tourniquet! Quick!" 
 
 Knowlton jumped to the side of Yuara, tied a 
 handkerchief above the elbow, twisted it tight. 
 McKay whipped from a pocket a keen-bladed 
 knife. In one swift ruthless slash he laid open the 
 arm from elbow to knuckles.
 
 162 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Keep that tourniquet tight!" he snapped. 
 "If the blood once gets past it he's gone. Tim, 
 get out the salt bag! Lourengo, tell this fellow 
 to breathe deep and keep it up!" 
 
 While Tim burrowed into his pack for the salt, 
 Lourenco spoke, as much for the benefit of the 
 other tribesmen as for that of Yuara; for the three 
 Mayorunas stood in ominous silence, watching 
 the outrush of blood caused by the knife of the 
 white man. 
 
 "The white man. of the black beard, who is 
 very wise, will save Yuara to draw many a good 
 bow if Yuara will do as he says. Let Yuara 
 breathe deeply, that the spirit of life remain in 
 him to fight against the demon of death. Even 
 now the poison rushes out of the arm of Yuara." 
 
 "Yuara cannot live," was Yuara' s cool reply. 
 "Where once the poison has entered, there fol 
 lows death." 
 
 "Is Yuara then a coward, that he will die 
 without a fight? Then he is no Mayoruna, for no 
 Mayoruna is a coward. Let Yuara die if he will. 
 His comrades shall carry to their maloca the tale 
 that, although the white man would have saved 
 him, he died like an old woman, because he had 
 not the will to live!" 
 
 Fire shot into the eyes of the prostrate man. 
 He ground his teeth and struggled to rise and 
 throttle the insulting Brazilian. 
 
 "No, not that way," Lourenco went on at 
 once. "Yuara can fight the death demon only by
 
 A DUEL WITH DEATH 163 
 
 drawing into himself the air in which is the spirit 
 of life. The wise white man has stopped the 
 poison at the place where the cloth is tied, and he 
 knows the air spirits will help Yuara if Yuara will 
 breathe deep and long. If he will not, then the 
 white man's medicine cannot save him. Yuara's 
 life or death is in his own hands." 
 
 In his heart Lourengo had faint hope that the 
 injured man would live. But he knew the rest 
 of the cannibal tribe must soon hear the tale of 
 this incident from the three now present, and he 
 was preparing an excellent excuse for the failure 
 of McKay to save him. Whether Yuara lived or 
 not, the Mayorunas now would know that the 
 whites had done their utmost for him, and that 
 very fact might make a vast difference. 
 
 Yuara, though his eyes still flamed, sank back 
 under McKay's restraining weight and obeyed 
 orders. After the first couple of breaths he 
 settled into his task and his chest rose and fell 
 rhythmically. 
 
 "Here's yer salt, Cap. What '11 1 do with it?" 
 
 "You come here and hold this tourniquet. 
 Don't let it slip! Merry, fill this chap's mouth 
 with salt. Lourengo, tell him to hold it as long 
 as possible, then swallow it. Now, Merry, fix 
 up a good strong salt poultice. The rest of you 
 make camp. We've got a stiff fight on our hands, 
 and we can't go farther until we've either won 
 or lost." 
 
 The Brazilians glanced at the sun shadows and
 
 164 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 remained where they were. According to their 
 experience, Yuara should be dead within ten 
 minutes at most. Time enough to make camp 
 when they knew how this venture would result. 
 The Mayorunas also stood fast and watched for 
 the shadow of death to blanch the face of their 
 stricken mate. 
 
 But the minutes dragged past and Yuara's eyes 
 did not grow dim. His first resignation over and 
 his fighting blood aroused, he was battling grimly 
 against fate. At tunes his deep respirations were 
 broken by sudden gasps, and spasmodic quivers 
 shook his whole body. But he breathed on, 
 paying no heed to the burning pain of his ripped 
 and salted arm. 
 
 "By cripes! he's puttin' up a man's scrap!" 
 blurted Tim. "Stay with it, old feUer. Ye'll 
 win out yet!" 
 
 And as more minutes passed and the wounded 
 man still breathed, a murmur of wonderment 
 passed among the cannibals and the men of 
 Nunes. Yuara should be dead, yet he was not 
 even paralyzed. Such a thing had never before 
 been known in this bush. 
 
 LourenQO touched Pedro's arm. 
 
 "Find a spot where we can make camp," he 
 said. "I must stay here to speak to the wild 
 men if words are needed." 
 
 Reluctantly Pedro went away. Soon he was 
 back with news of a suitable place. He found 
 all bending closer over Yuara, whose breathing
 
 A DUEL WITH DEATH 165 
 
 had become stertorous and whose eyes seemed 
 fixed. 
 
 "Going!" was the bushman's thought. But 
 the others would not have it so. 
 
 "How 'bout a shot o' booze to jolt his heart, 
 Cap?" suggested Tim, whose whole soul was in 
 the fight. 
 
 McKay nodded. Knowlton quickly produced 
 brandy and poured a stiff dose down Yuara's 
 throat. It took hold at once, and light came back 
 into the Indian's eyes. 
 
 "Got a good chance yet," McKay asserted. 
 "Don't loosen that tourniquet. Let the arm 
 mortify, if necessary, but hold that blood away 
 from the heart at all costs. I'll chop his arm off at 
 the shoulder before I'll give in." 
 
 His hard-set face showed he meant it. 
 
 Lourengo spoke to the Mayorunas, urging 
 that camp be made at once. He and Pedro 
 strode away, and all three of the Indians followed. 
 
 "Really think he'll pull through, Rod?" 
 Knowlton asked, then. "If he does you're a 
 miracle worker." 
 
 "It's an experiment," McKay confessed, 
 watching Yuara with unswerving intentness. 
 "Never saw this done, but it's worth a try and 
 I honestly believe it will work. I saved an Indian 
 over in Guiana once by cutting off his arm as 
 soon as he was hit, but I want to keep this fel 
 low's arm for him if possible. Feed him some 
 more salt." 
 
 12
 
 166 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 1 
 
 Time passed unheeded. Sounds of labor not 
 far off told that camp was being built. Presently 
 the absent five returned, two of the Mayorunas 
 carrying a crude but strong litter constructed 
 from saplings and giant-fern leaves. McKay rose 
 stiffly on cramped legs. 
 
 "All right. You can move him," he consented. 
 
 Carefully Yuara was lifted to the litter and 
 transported to the new camp. There the Amer 
 icans found not only the open shed, or tarribo, 
 usually constructed by the Brazilians, but also 
 a somewhat similar shelter erected by the 
 Indians. In the latter stood two stout crotched 
 stakes, firmly braced the handiwork of Pedro 
 and Lourengo. And to these, with tough bush 
 rope, the Indians fastened the litter of Yuara, 
 thus forming a rude but effective hammock. 
 
 While McKay and Knowlton continued their 
 ministrations to the stricken man the rest of the 
 camp work was completed, the Mayorunas mak 
 ing hanging beds for themselves from withes, 
 leaves, and bush cord, and the Brazilians slinging 
 the hammocks of their own party and opening 
 packs. 
 
 Night fell and the wounded man lived on. 
 Supper was eaten, pipes smoked, the regular 
 activities of the early hours of darkness gone 
 through and Yuara lived on. His deep breath 
 ing had become automatic, and his eyes stared 
 straight up in concentration on his battle with 
 the death demon.
 
 A DUEL WITH DEATH 167 
 
 At length he was seized with violent nausea 
 which convulsed him for a time. But when the 
 spasms passed he lay back more easily, and a 
 faint smile flitted over his face as he looked at the 
 white men. 
 
 ' ' Been expecting that, ' ' said McKay. ' ' Might 
 loosen that ligature now just a few seconds. . . . 
 Tighten it! All right." After watching the sick 
 man a little longer he added : l ' Now I'm going to 
 eat and smoke. Feel like taking a drink, too, but 
 guess I won't. The Indian will pull through now, 
 I think." 
 
 When he had returned to the Indian hut with 
 pipe aglow, Knowlton asked him, "Now tell us 
 how you doped out this cure." 
 
 "Combination of various things. Salt is a 
 partial antidote to venom in the blood, and I got 
 it into him in three ways by mouth absorption, 
 by the stomach, and by the salt poultice, which 
 drew out some of the poison from the forearm 
 and helped neutralize what remained. Ripping 
 his arm of course let out a lot of bad blood. 
 Ligature above the elbow stopped most of the 
 rest though some sneaked past that point, I'm 
 pretty sure. 
 
 "Big thing, though, was the deep breathing. 
 Remember I told you about the experiments that 
 killed mules and an ox? Another experiment was 
 this opening the windpipe of a poisoned mule 
 after the heart stopped, inserting a pair of bel 
 lows, and starting artificial respiration. After
 
 168 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 four hours of this the mule came to life and 
 stayed alive though he was a wreck for a year 
 afterward. 
 
 "I just put all these together, made the Indian 
 do his own breathing and here he is. I'm going 
 to sit up awhile longer and watch him, but the 
 critical period is over. You chaps can turn in." 
 
 But none turned hi until midnight, when no 
 doubt remained that Lourengo's prophecy would 
 come true that Yuara would live to draw bow 
 again. Then, when the slashed arm had been 
 thoroughly cleansed and bound, Lourengo spoke 
 once more to the savages. 
 
 "The medicine of the wise white man and the 
 air spirits have saved Yuara from the death 
 demon. Yuara has fought as a man of his tribe 
 should fight, and so has lived when he would 
 have died. To-morrow Yuara shall once more 
 see his people, the first man of the Mayorunas to 
 come back from the death of poison. And he 
 and his comrades shall tell of the white man's 
 wisdom, without which he now would lie cold on 
 the ground." 
 
 "So shall it be," Yuara himself faintly an 
 swered. "Yuara, son of Rana, second chief of 
 the men of Suba, will not forget." 
 
 "Par Dens!" exclaimed Lourengo. "Com 
 rades, this man is no common hunter, but son 
 of a subchief. Capitao, you have done good 
 work to-day."
 
 CHAPTER XV. THE CANNIBALS 
 
 THROUGH the long, dim shadows of early 
 morning the little column passed on the last 
 leg of its journey to themaloca of Suba, chief 
 of this outlying tribe of the Mayorunas. At its 
 head marched Yuara, his left arm incased hi 
 bandages, his face drawn and pallid, his stride 
 stiff and springless, but still carrying his weapons 
 and stoically setting the pace as befitted the son 
 of a subchief . He had had no sleep ; he had lain 
 in the gates of death; his arm ached cruelly; yet a 
 warm glow shone in his hollow eyes as he reflected 
 on the fact that in all the unwritten history of his 
 people he was the first man to survive the inex 
 orable power of the wurali. As long as he lived 
 this fact would lift him above the level of all his 
 fellows. Even the chief could not boast of such a 
 superhuman feat. 
 
 The undergrowth this morning was not so 
 thick as it had been, and the machetes of Lou- 
 rengo and Pedro stayed in their sheaths. The 
 ground, too, was more level and the footing more 
 firm. After some three hours of walking the 
 Americans found that they had come into a faint 
 path. 
 
 Somewhat to the bewilderment of the white 
 men, who expected the Indians to increase their 
 speed now that the way home lay under their
 
 170 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 feet, the leading pair slowed their gait. More 
 over, they scanned the trail with intent care and 
 watched the trees along the way. At length, 
 with a warning grunt, Yuara stepped out of the 
 path and began a detour. His comrade and the 
 Brazilians followed. The Americans stopped. 
 
 "What's the idea?" demanded McKay, look 
 ing along the innocent-appearing path. 
 
 "Probably a man trap, Capitao," answered 
 Pedro. "Follow us." 
 
 "Let's see the trap first." 
 
 Lourengo called to Yuara, who stopped and 
 grunted two words. 
 
 "Si, it is a trap. A pit, Yuara says." 
 
 Yuara spoke again, and Loureno added : "He 
 says we must not touch it. It is there just before 
 you, covered so cunningly that it looks exactly 
 like the rest of the ground. The cover is a frame 
 work of sticks balanced on a pole, and the instant 
 a man steps on it it gives way. He falls into a 
 nine-foot hole whose sides are dug inward, so that 
 they overhang above him. There the cannibals 
 find him and kill him. I fell into one of those 
 holes when I first came into this Mayoruna 
 country, so I know just how they are made." 
 
 "So? How did you get out?" 
 
 "There were two of us, and I stood on the 
 other man's shoulders while he lifted me high 
 enough to jump out. Then I tied bush rope to a 
 tree and he climbed up the rope. Come. Yuara 
 waits."
 
 THE CANNIBALS 171 
 
 After a short circuit around the danger point 
 the party returned to the path, and as they went 
 on Laurengo explained further concerning the 
 pit: 
 
 "Every approach to the malocas has this kind 
 of trap hidden in it, and others also. The Indians 
 recognize the places by some secret signal known 
 only to themselves a certain kind of stick or 
 vine or something of the kind, placed where it can 
 be seen by those who understand. The traps are 
 made to stop any enemies who try to sneak up on 
 the malocas and catch these people unawares. 
 Another kind of trap is a spring bow or a blowgun 
 shot by a vine stretched across the path. Still 
 another is a piece of ground studded with poi 
 soned araya bones which pierce the bare feet 
 of anyone walking on them. It is well for us that 
 we now have friendly guides." 
 
 "Quite so," McKay agreed, dryly. 
 
 Some distance farther on the leader again left 
 the path, and this tune all filed after him without 
 comment. Pedro pointed significantly at a thin, 
 tight-drawn bush cord stretched across the path 
 at the height of a man's ankle the trigger which 
 would discharge hidden death at anything 
 touching it. At another point, perhaps a hundred 
 feet farther along, a third and last detour was 
 made, and this time the nature of the trap was 
 not revealed by anything on the ground. No 
 questions were asked. 
 , With the passing of these three menaces Yuara
 
 172 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 resumed his former pace and abandoned his cir 
 cumspection. Before long came sounds of com 
 munal life the barking of a dog and shouts of 
 children. Then suddenly the forest thinned, 
 and after a few more strides the marchers found 
 themselves in a clearing. 
 
 Before them rose a big round house, about 
 forty feet high and a hundred feet in diameter, 
 its sides composed of palm logs, and its roof a 
 thick thatch of palm leaves, whence smoke oozed 
 lazily through an opening at the peak. A single 
 low door, not more than four feet high, opened 
 toward a creek a few rods away at the right. 
 Near this doorway a couple of naked children, 
 boy and girl, were playing with the dog, while 
 beyond them a number of women, also nude, 
 were busy at some kind of work. 
 
 As Yuara and his fellow-tribesmen entered the 
 open space the boy shouted a greeting and 
 started running toward them. Then, seeing the 
 white men filing from the bush behind the war 
 riors, the youngster stood as if shocked motion 
 less. After one long stare he screamed and bolted 
 for the shelter of the maloca. Other screams 
 echoed his as the women also saw the bearded 
 outlanders. They, too, dived through the 
 doorway. 
 
 Out from behind the house leaped three war 
 riors, two of whom already had fitted arrows to 
 their bows, while the third a powerful fellow 
 clutched a four-foot war club. Weapons raised,
 
 THE CANNIBALS 173 
 
 faces contracted into fighting masks, they stared 
 speechless at the spectacle of the subchief's son 
 calmly leading gun-bearing whites among them. 
 
 Knowlton, though his attention was riveted on 
 the astonished warriors, caught the quiet snick 
 of Tim's safe-lock being turned off. 
 
 "None of that, Tim!" he warned. "Put that 
 safety on again. And don't hold your gun as if 
 you intended to use it." 
 
 "Aw, I was jest tryin' her to make sure she was 
 all right." 
 
 "Put it on!" snapped the lieutenant. Another 
 tiny click told him the order was obeyed. 
 
 Out from the doorway darted another warrior, 
 stooping low to avoid hitting his head. Others 
 followed instantly, all armed and ready for 
 action. The opening was still vomiting tribes 
 men when Yuara and the rest reached it. But 
 none made a hostile move when it was seen that 
 the son of the subchief was in command and that 
 the strangers seemed friendly. Yuara spoke, 
 briefly but authoritatively, and the weapons 
 sank. Then, with a word to his three com 
 panions, he ducked through the doorway. The 
 other three remained where they were. 
 
 "We shall have to wait now, comrades, until 
 Yuara tells his father and the chief about us," 
 Lourengo said. "So let us take off our packs and 
 rest." 
 
 He set the example by laying his rifle on the 
 ground, unslinging his pack, squatting beside it,
 
 174 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 and coolly rolling a cigarette. Apparently he was 
 paying no attention whatever to the savages, who 
 watched his every move. But McKay, glancing 
 at him as he followed suit, saw that, for all his 
 seeming unconcern, the Brazilian bush rover was 
 keenly watchful and that his gun lay within 
 reach of his hand. 
 
 From within the tribal house sounded the 
 monotonous voice of Yuara. After listening a 
 moment Lourengo quietly addressed the nearest 
 warrior. A slightly surprised looked passed over 
 the cannibal's face. He replied, and a slow con 
 versation ensued. 
 
 Meanwhile the others looked over the array of 
 savage fighting men. Except for difference of 
 stature, build, and expression, they were as like 
 as brothers. All were light skinned hardly 
 darker than the river-tanned whites themselves; 
 all had straight-set eyes, with no hint of the 
 slant often found among the Indians of the 
 Amazon headwaters; and the cheek bones of all 
 were fairly low. Their average stature was a 
 little under six feet, and most of them had an 
 athletic symmetry of physique. Their feet, 
 McKay noticed, were small and shapely. 
 
 All wore tall feather headdresses of parrot and 
 mutum plumes. All had the scarlet and black 
 rings around the eyes, the streaks from temple 
 to chin, the wavy design on their bodies. And 
 each wore in the cartilage of his nose a pair of 
 small feathers slanting outward. At another
 
 THE CANNIBALS 175 
 
 time and under other circumstances the white 
 men might have smiled at those nose feathers, 
 which resembled odd mustaches; but as they 
 studied the austere faces around them they 
 found no occasion for merriment. Nor was the 
 tension lessened by the sight of the weapons 
 grasped in the strong hands of the warriors. 
 
 Great bows and arrows, such as the hunters 
 had borne, were supplemented here by the long 
 clubs of heavy wood and by ugly spears. The 
 clubs terminated in balls studded with jaguar 
 teeth. The spears were triple pronged, each 
 prong ending in a saw-toothed araya bone and 
 each bone darkened by the fatal wurali. Fright 
 ful weapons they were the one designed to 
 smash skulls and tear out brains, the other to 
 stab and poison at the same thrust. 
 
 Lourengo stopped talking, and the others 
 observed that now the wild men stood more 
 easily, their holds on their weapons loosened. 
 
 "I have shown them, Capitao, that I can 
 speak their tongue, and told them we go to visit 
 the chief Monitaya as friend," he explained. 
 "They tell me Monitaya has grown great since 
 last I saw him. Another tribe which lost its 
 chief and sub chiefs by a swift sickness has joined 
 his own, and he now rules two big malocas to 
 gether. He is a powerful fighter, and if he is 
 friendly to us we have a good chance of success. 
 Ah! here is Yuara." 
 
 The son of the subchief came through the
 
 176 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 doorway as he spoke, followed by an older man 
 whose facial resemblance and ornaments in 
 dicated that he was the subchief himself. His 
 headgear was more elaborate than that of his men, 
 and around his shoulders and down his chest 
 hung a brilliant feather dress, while a wide belt 
 of green, blue, and black plumes encircled his hips. 
 Yuara himself had inserted feathers in his nose 
 and donned a headband of tall parrot plumes a 
 trifle more ornate than those worn by the or 
 dinary fighters, and somehow the simple addition 
 seemed to transform him into a bigger, fiercer 
 man. Also, his eyes now held a smoldering light 
 which had not been there before. 
 
 The older man, Rana, the subchief, glanced 
 swiftly along the line of new faces. Then his gaze 
 returned to McKay. His mouth set and his 
 countenance turned hard. He spoke curtly to 
 Yuara, who replied with one word. After an 
 other long, unpleasant look at McKay, who stared 
 coldly back at him, Rana grunted a few words 
 and re-entered the house. 
 
 Lourengo, nonplused by the frigidity of the 
 subchief where he had expected gratitude or at 
 least hospitality, glanced questioningly at Yuara. 
 But the young man stood mute, looking straight 
 ahead. 
 
 "The subchief says we shall enter and see the 
 chief. We must leave our guns outside." 
 
 "Don't like that," muttered McKay. "That 
 subchief looks ugly."
 
 THE CANNIBALS 177 
 
 "But we must obey or provoke a fight, Cap- 
 itao. Besides, our rifles would be useless inside, 
 as they would be instantly seized if we lifted 
 them. So let us make the best of it. But I 
 think you can carry your pistols with you; they 
 are covered by the holsters, and I do not believe 
 these people know what they are. And since 
 Rana spoke only of guns, we will keep our 
 machetes. Come." 
 
 "Wait a second." 
 
 McKay dived a hand into his haversack and 
 brought forth a heavy hunting knife with a 
 gaudy red-and-white bone handle, sheathed and 
 attached to a leather belt. 
 
 "Brought this along as a present for some 
 Indian who might do us a good turn," he ex 
 plained. "Been thinking of giving it to Yuara, 
 but now I'll pass it to the chief. Might make a 
 difference. All right, let's go." 
 
 With confident tread, but with some mis 
 giving, the five advanced, leaving guns and 
 packs on the ground. One by one they bent low 
 and got through the doorway. Yuara, with a 
 word to a clubman and a motion to the equip 
 ment, followed the whites, trailed in turn by his 
 three companions of the forest. The clubman, 
 after a curious inspection of the packs, stood on 
 guard among them, his bludgeon grasped loosely 
 but suggestively, ready to prevent any undue 
 inquisitiveness by the rest. But soon he found 
 himself alone, for the other tribesmen transferred
 
 178 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 their attention and themselves to the interior of 
 the maloca. 
 
 Within the house the soldiers of fortune halted 
 a moment, adjusting their vision to the sudden 
 diminution of light. Except for the sunshine 
 pouring in at the smoke hole above and at the 
 tiny door behind, the only light in the big room 
 came from small cooking fires scattered about 
 the place, and for the moment details were with 
 held from the newcomers' sight. Then they 
 found themselves in what seemed a labyrinth of 
 poles and hammocks. 
 
 Through this confusion Yuara passed with 
 familiar step, and in his wake the travelers went 
 to a central fire around which was a compara 
 tively clear space. Beyond, in a big hammock 
 dyed with the symbolic scarlet and black and 
 tasseled with many squirrel tails, sat a fat, small- 
 eyed, heavy-jawed man whose elaborate feather 
 dress and authoritative air proclaimed him chief. 
 Beside him stood Rana and another subchief , lean 
 and somber-faced. Behind this bulwark of 
 tribal might huddled the women and children, 
 staring wide-eyed. As the visitors stopped and 
 returned the chief's unwinking regard the war 
 riors packed themselves at their backs, blocking 
 all chance of exit. 
 
 When the shuffle of feet had died and no sound 
 was audible, Yuara began to talk. In his de 
 liberate way he told the complete narrative of 
 his journey, which previously he had sketched
 
 THE CANNIBALS 179 
 
 only in outline. His three companions corrob 
 orated his tale from time to time by nods, and 
 when the discovery of the slain hunter's bones 
 was described one of those three stepped forward 
 and laid the dead man's weapons on the ground 
 before the chief. As Yuara went on he touched 
 his bandaged arm and pointed to McKay and 
 Knowlton. And as he concluded he motioned 
 toward Lourengo. 
 
 Ignorant of the Indian language, but guessing 
 the nature of his talk from his motions, the 
 Americans stood patiently awaiting the next 
 move. For a time all three of the chiefs remained 
 silent; but all of them studied McKay, standing 
 bolt upright with arms folded and the belt- 
 wrapped knife partly concealed in the hollow 
 of one elbow. Though it was evident that Yuara 
 had given the captain full credit for saving his 
 life, the faces of the head men showed no sign of 
 friendliness. In fact, their expressions were dis 
 tinctly ominous. 
 
 At length the chief turned his eyes to Lourengo. 
 The veteran bushman promptly stepped forward 
 and said his say. At the end he turned, took from 
 McKay the knife, unrolled the belt, and dangled 
 the weapon before the eyes of the rulers. They 
 stared at it in obvious ignorance of its character. 
 Not until the Brazilian drew the blade from its 
 sheath and the glint of steel struck then* vision did 
 they show recognition. Then Chief Suba grunted, 
 his little eyes lit up, and he reached for it.
 
 180 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 v 
 
 For a few minutes he sat gloating over the gift, 
 admiring the bone handle, hefting the weight of 
 the long blade, while the subchiefs gazed in envy. 
 When he looked up his face was beaming. But 
 then the sour-faced subchief at his left hand 
 muttered something, and Suba's visage darkened. 
 His eyes rested again on McKay, went to the 
 bandaged arm of Yuara, dropped to his knife 
 the first steel knife ever owned by him or any man 
 of the Suba tribe and rose again to the black- 
 bearded captain. Abruptly then he spoke out. 
 
 Lourengo stared in blank astonishment. After 
 a puzzled moment he shook his head as if unable 
 to believe he had heard aright. Suba, scowling, 
 repeated what he had said. Lourengo shook his 
 head again, this time in vehement denial, and 
 began to talk. But Suba, rising with surprising 
 agility for a man of his weight, stopped him im 
 periously and spoke with finality. Slowly the 
 Brazilian nodded and turned to his captain. 
 
 "I do not undertand this, Capitao. But these 
 are the words of the chief: 
 
 "'The white man with the black beard tries 
 a trick, but it does not deceive the free men of 
 the forest. The thing which he thinks to be 
 hidden in his own heart is known to Suba and his 
 chiefs. It is known also to the chief Monitaya, 
 and to his chiefs, and to his men also. The white 
 man is bold. And now his own boldness shall be 
 his death. 
 
 " 'Since the white man has said he goes to visit
 
 THE CANNIBALS 181 
 
 the chief Monitaya, and since by some demon's 
 power the white man has saved the life of Yuara, 
 who is a man of Suba, the men of Suba will allow 
 him to go in peace from this place. But Suba will 
 see that he and his companions go to Monitaya, 
 who will know how to deal with his visitors. The 
 men of Suba will take the strangers at once to the 
 canoes and carry them to Monitaya. 
 
 " 'If the white man of the black beard and 
 the black mind thought the men of the jungle 
 blind to the foulness he would do here, he is a 
 fool. It is useless for him or his men to lie and say 
 they know not what Suba means. Let him look 
 into his own heart and he will know well. 
 
 "'Suba has spoken.' 
 
 "Something is wrong, Capitao, but I do not 
 know what it is. It will do no good to argue. 
 Let us go at once." 
 
 Suba snarled commands to the warriors. They 
 trooped toward the door. Without another word 
 or glance at the three chiefs Lourengo stalked 
 after the Indians, and his comrades followed with 
 stiff dignity. 
 
 Outside, the savages picked up the rifles and 
 packs and carried them to the creek, where small 
 canoes lay. The five strangers were allowed to 
 crowd themselves together in a four-man canoe, 
 but their guns and packs were distributed among 
 four other dugouts, into which armed paddlers 
 entered. Other Indians brought provisions to the 
 outgoing craft. In a very short time the leading
 
 182 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 
 
 canoe started off downstream, followed by the 
 boat of the white men, behind which the other 
 craft pressed close and vigilant. 
 
 They swung in among the trees, and the maloca 
 of Suba was blotted out.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. BLACKBEARD 
 
 "T"TTELL," said Knowlton, after a period of 
 
 V V silent paddling, ' ' we have met the enemy 
 and we are hisn. No harm done so far, 
 though, and if old man Calisaya, or whatever his 
 name is, wants to act nasty we can send him and 
 a few others along the road to glory with our 
 gats. We'll travel the same road, of course, but 
 we'll take company with us." 
 
 "Si, senhor," Pedro agreed. "And besides 
 your pistols we still have our machetes. Yet I 
 believe Lourengo's words to the chief Monitaya 
 will make all well. But I cannot help won 
 dering " He glanced at McKay. 
 
 "I'm wondering, too, Pedro," said the captain. 
 "It's hardly possible that these people know why 
 we're here, and hardly likely that they have any 
 interest in the Raposa. Lord knows I've nothing 
 else up my sleeve. It's a riddle to me." 
 
 It remained a riddle to the rest, for no explana 
 tion could be gleaned from the Mayorunas. At 
 the first halt, which did not come until nearly 
 sundown, the Americans discovered that one of 
 the men in the fore canoe was Yuara, who had 
 been lying in the bottom of the craft and sleep 
 ing all the afternoon. From him Lourengo at 
 tempted to get imformation as to the reason for 
 Suba's enmity but in vain. The tall fellow
 
 184 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 spoke not a word in reply, and his face remained 
 unreadable. 
 
 Camp was made, and by Yuara's direction the 
 packs of the adventurers were restored to them. 
 The rifles, however, remained under guard of 
 savages appointed by the subchief's son. When 
 the night meal was out of the way nothing re 
 mained but to seek hammocks and sleep, for 
 further attempts at conversation by Lourengo 
 met with the same silent rebuff from every 
 cannibal addressed. None showed active hos 
 tility by either look or manner, but it was plain 
 that between wild and civilized men stood a wall 
 a wall not too high for the jungle dwellers to 
 leap over in deadly action if occasion should be 
 given. Wherefore the whites held themselves 
 aloof, said little, and slept early. 
 
 "I am glad Yuara is with us," Laurengo said. 
 "As he promised, he does not forget what was 
 done for him. He will keep this band in control, 
 and unless I am much mistaken he will tell 
 Monitaya all he knows of us, which surely will 
 not do us any harm. At any rate, we can sleep in 
 safety to-night. And since it does no good to 
 puzzle about what is gone by or to worry about 
 what has not yet to come to pass, let us sleep 
 
 now." 
 
 "Ho-hum!" yawned Tun. "Renzo, ye spill 
 more solid sense to the square inch than any feller 
 I seen in a long time. We're here because we're 
 here; to-day's dead and to-morrer ain't bora
 
 BLACKBEARD 185 
 
 yet, and liT Timmy Ryan hits the hay right now. 
 Night, gents." 
 
 | So, surrounded by man eaters, the trailers of 
 the Raposa slept far more securely than on any 
 night down the river when their companions had 
 been supposedly civilized Peruvians. Whether a 
 watch was kept by their guards during the night 
 they neither knew nor cared, since they had no 
 intention of attempting escape. 
 
 They awoke to find the men of Suba diminished 
 in number by half. Yuara, deigning to speak for 
 the first time since leaving the maloca, explained 
 that the absent men had gone hunting for their 
 breakfasts. Before long the hunters came 
 straggling back, bearing monkeys and birds, 
 which were divided among their companions. 
 None of this meat was offered to the prisoners, 
 who ate unconcernedly from their pack rations. 
 Tim, after watching the Indians sink their sharp- 
 filed teeth into broiled monkey haunches and tear 
 the meat from the bones, snorted and turned his 
 back to them. 
 
 "Look like a gang o' bloody-faced devils 
 gobblin' babies," he muttered. "I'll believe now 
 they're cannibals, all right." 
 
 So uncomfortably apt was his simile that the 
 others grimaced and turned their eyes elsewhere 
 until the savage meal was finished. Then their 
 attention became riveted on a queer proceed 
 ing at the canoe wherein Yuara had journeyed 
 yesterday.
 
 186 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 To the gunwales amidships two of the men 
 fastened a couple of small crotched posts. In the 
 forks was laid a pole, crosswise of the boat, and 
 from this, by slender fiber cords, four slabs of 
 wood were hung. Strolling down to the canoe, 
 the travelers found that athwart its bottom had 
 been laid a crosspiece supporting two shorter 
 crotched posts, between which stretched another 
 transverse pole; and from this pole in turn the 
 lower ends of the four slabs had been suspended. 
 Now the savages joined the tips of each pair of 
 slabs by carved end sections, and the contrivance 
 seemed to be complete a sort of grate, its bars 
 sloping at an angle of forty-five degrees. 
 
 As the Americans eyed the arrangement in 
 perplexity, one of the crew picked up from the 
 bow of the canoe a pair of mallets the heads of 
 which were wrapped in hide. With these he 
 struck the slabs in rapid succession. Out rolled 
 four notes of astonishing volume the first four 
 notes of the musical scale. Again and again 
 he ran them over, then stopped. The deep 
 tones thrummed away along the creek and 
 died. 
 
 "By George! a big xylophone!" Knowlton ex 
 claimed, admiringly. 
 
 " It sure talks right out loud," said Tim. " Lot 
 o' class to these guys, at that. Bet this is their 
 brass band, and we'll go rip-snortin' into the 
 next town like we was on parade. Oughter have 
 some flags to hang up in the boats, and mebbe a
 
 BLACKBEARD 187 
 
 drum corps to help out. Wisht I had a tin 
 whistle or somethin' and I'd join the orchester. 
 I can toot a whistle fine." 
 
 "My favorite instrument is the old-fashioned 
 dinner horn," laughed Knowlton. "But I think 
 you're wrong this is some kind of signaling 
 apparatus." 
 
 "You have it right, senhor," Lourengo af 
 firmed. "I have heard this sort of thing used, 
 though I never before saw the instrument itself. 
 Those notes will carry at least five miles, and the 
 cannibals send messages by striking the bars hi 
 different order. This run which we have just 
 heard is always used first, and no message is sent 
 until a reply is received." 
 
 "Bush telegraph," nodded McKay. "First 
 call your operator and then shoot the message hi 
 code. Pretty ingenious for a bunch of absolute 
 savages." 
 
 Lourengo turned to Yuara and asked a ques 
 tion. Yuara curtly replied. 
 
 " He says, Capitao, that this is to tell Monitaya 
 we come. But we now are too far off for Moni- 
 taya's men to hear. The bars are made ready 
 before starting so that they can be used as soon 
 as we are within hearing. He says also that we 
 start now." 
 
 The Mayorunas already were entering their 
 canoes. With cool deliberation the whites 
 gathered up their equipment and settled them 
 selves for the journey at whose end lay either life
 
 188 THE PATHLESS TRAIL"' 
 
 or death. The boat of Yuara started, and once 
 more the flotilla was on its way. 
 
 For an hour or more it swung on among the 
 forested hills before the telegraph instrument was 
 put to use. Then it paused, and the sonorous 
 voice of the xylophone spoke to the jungle. A 
 period of waiting brought no reply. 
 
 The canoe moved on for a mile. Again the 
 mallets beat the wood in the ascending scale of 
 the call. And then, faint, mellow, far off, sounded 
 the answer. 
 
 While every man sat silent the bars boomed out 
 their fateful news. Slow, brief, deep as a bell 
 tolling a dirge, a reply rolled back. And with 
 the solemnity of a funeral cortege the canoes 
 once more moved on, unhurried, inexorable, the 
 measured swing of the paddles beating like a 
 pulse of doom. 
 
 At length the crew of Yuara held their paddles. 
 Yuara himself turned toward the second canoe 
 and talked a minute. A signal to his men, and 
 his boat proceeded. All the others remained 
 where they were. 
 
 "He goes to Monitaya to speak of us/' said 
 Lourenco. "He will return. We have only to 
 wait." 
 
 "Yeah," grunted Tim, disgustedly. "We'll 
 wait till night if he takes as long to go through his 
 rigmarole as he done yesterday. If I got to fight 
 I want to hop to it, not set round in the shade o' 
 the shelterin' palm while them guys are heatin'
 
 BLACKBEARD 189 
 
 up the stewpot. This waitin' stuff gits my 
 goat." 
 
 "You might sing us a song, senhor, to pass 
 the time," Pedro suggested, with a tight-lipped 
 smile. 
 
 "Say, I'll do that, jest to show these guys I 
 don't give a rip. And while their ears are dazzled 
 by me melody I'm goin' to git me holster un- 
 bottoned and me masheet kinder limbered up. 
 Git set. Here it comes: 
 
 "Ol' Hindyburg thought he was swell, 
 
 Para-arley- voo ! 
 He made the kids in Belgium yell, 
 
 Pa-a-arley-voo! 
 
 But the Yanks come over with shot and shell 
 And Hindyburg he run like hell, 
 
 Rinkydinky-parley-voo !" 
 
 Under cover of his outbreak, which made the 
 savages clutch their weapons and glare at him in 
 mingled suspicion and amazement, there pro 
 ceeded a furtive loosening of pistols and machetes. 
 
 "A noble sentiment, and more or less appro 
 priate," grinned Knowlton. "But don't give 
 them another spasm for a few minutes, or they 
 may rise up and kill us all in self-defense. They're 
 on the ragged edge now." 
 
 "Aw, them guys dunno how to appreciate 
 good singin'. But I should worry; I got me gat 
 fixed now like I want it." 
 
 Time dragged past. The Americans and 
 Brazilians smoked and exchanged casual com-
 
 190 THE PATHLESS TEAIL 
 
 ments on subjects far removed from their present 
 environment. The Mayorunas watched them 
 with unceasing vigilance, as if expecting a sudden 
 break for life and liberty. Their chief had inti 
 mated that Monitaya would kill these men; and 
 now was their last chance to try to dodge death. 
 But neither the black-bearded McKay nor any of 
 his mates manifested the slightest concern. And 
 at last the canoe of Yuara came back. 
 
 It came, however, without Yuara himself. The 
 son of Rana had remained at the malocas ahead, 
 whence he sent the command to advance. Close 
 ly hemmed in by the men of Suba, the white 
 men's boat surged onward at a brisk pace. 
 Around a bend in the creek it went, and at once 
 the domain of Monitaya leaped into view. 
 
 Two big tribal houses, each considerably larger 
 than the one of Suba, rose pompously in a wide 
 cleared space beside the stream. Before them, 
 ranged in a semicircle, stood hundreds of Mayo 
 runas men, women, children all silently watch 
 ing the canoes of the newcomers. In the center 
 of the arc, like the hub of a human half wheel, a 
 small knot of men waited in aloof dignity, four of 
 them adorned with the ornate feather dresses of 
 subchiefs, backed by a dozen tall, muscular 
 savages, each armed with a huge war club. Before 
 all stood a powerful, magnificently proportioned 
 savage belted with a wide girdle of squirrel tails, 
 decked with necklaces of jaguar teeth and ebony 
 nuts, crowned by plumes which in loftiness and
 
 BLACKBEARD 191 
 
 splendor surpassed all other headgear present 
 the great chief Monitaya. 
 
 At the shore, beside a row of empty canoes, 
 Yuara was waiting. He mentioned for his men 
 to bring their dugouts to the regular landing 
 place, and when they obeyed he gave com 
 mands. Then he turned and walked toward 
 Monitaya. 
 
 "I go," stated Lourengo, rising. "You stay 
 here until called. Yuara has told his men to leave 
 all weapons in the canoes." 
 
 He walked away after the son of Rana, and if 
 any misgiving was in his heart it did not show in 
 his confident step. Halting before the big chief, 
 he began talking as coolly as if there were not the 
 least doubt of welcome for himself and those with 
 him. Monitaya gave no sign of recognition, of 
 friendliness, or of enmity. Proud, statuesque, he 
 stood motionless, his deep eyes resting on those of 
 the Brazilian. 
 
 "Sultry weather," remarked McKay. 
 
 "Just so, Capitao," agreed Pedro, narrow 
 eyed. "We shall soon know whether we shall 
 have storm." 
 
 "Indications are for violent thunder and light 
 ning soon," Knowlton contributed. "See those 
 husky clubmen awaiting? Looks as if a public 
 execution were about to be pulled off." 
 
 "Yeah. But say, ain't that chief a reg'lar he- 
 man, though! No pot-bellied fathead like that 
 there, now, Suby guy. Hope I don't have to drill
 
 192 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 him. I bet I won't, neither. He looks like he had 
 brains." 
 
 Hoping Tun was right, but dubious, all watched 
 the progress of the parley. Lourengo evidently 
 was stating his case in logical sequence, recalling 
 to the chief's mind the time when he had led him 
 to revenge against the Peccaries of Peru, then 
 going on to tell of the arrival of the strangers and 
 the object of their search. Yuara's sudden, 
 quick glance at him showed that the Raposa 
 had been mentioned for the first time. A little 
 later his face became slightly sullen, and the 
 watchers guessed that Lourengo was now re 
 ferring in somewhat uncomplimentary terms to 
 the treatment received in the maloca of Suba. 
 Soon after that the Brazilian ended his speech. 
 
 In a deep, quiet tone Monitaya spoke first to 
 Lourengo, then to one of his subchiefs. The 
 bushman beckoned to his waiting companions. 
 At the same time the subchief stepped out and 
 called two names. As McKay, Knowlton, Tun, 
 and Pedro arose and stepped ashore with the 
 weaponless men of Suba, out from the great 
 human arc came two men. All advanced toward 
 the chief. And though the Americans were 
 studying the central figures as they walked, they 
 also noticed that the pair of Mayorunas who 
 had been summoned were lame. One walked 
 with a stiff knee, the other as if a whole leg was 
 paralyzed. 
 
 "Squad halt!" muttered McKay. A step
 
 BLACKBEARD 193 
 
 and a half and the four stood aligned and alert, 
 two strides from Monitaya. 
 
 The eyes of the chief dwelt long on McKay, and 
 they were hard eyes. Without shifting his gaze 
 he grunted a few words. The two crippled 
 Indians stumped forward and stared into McKay's 
 face. Through a long minute the Americans felt 
 a sinister tension grow in the air about them. 
 Then, slowly, the cripples turned about and faced 
 their ruler. In the tones of men sure of them 
 selves, they spoke one word. 
 
 With the utterance of that word the tension 
 broke. Through the long line of watching tribes 
 men ran a murmur. The clubmen relaxed from 
 their ready poise. The subchiefs glanced at one 
 another as if disappointed. And the stern face of 
 Monitaya himself was transformed by a wide, 
 friendly smile. 
 
 A sweeping gesture and the cordial timbre of 
 the chief's voice told the Americans plainly what 
 Lourengo translated a moment later. 
 
 "We are welcome, comrades. We shall sleep 
 in the maloca of Monitaya himself and a feast 
 shall be made for us. Our lives have just hung 
 on one word, but now that the word is spoken 
 we are safe. I cannot tell you more now, for I 
 do not wholly understand this matter myself 
 as yet but I shall learn. Now is the time, 
 Capitao to give presents, if you have any for the 
 chief." 
 
 "I have. But our packs are in the canoe, and
 
 194 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 I'll be hanged if I'll make a beast of burden of 
 myself at this stage of the game." 
 
 "I will have all the packs brought up, Capitao. 
 The men of Suba took them from us at their 
 maloca; now they shall restore them before all 
 these people." 
 
 He addressed Monitaya affably, then spoke 
 more brusquely to Yuara. That young man, 
 whose previous austerity now had dissolved 
 into open friendliness, uttered four words. Im 
 mediately his men returned to the canoes and 
 brought up not only the packs, but the rifles. 
 
 From his blanket roll McKay brought forth a 
 cloth-wrapped package out of which he drew a 
 half-ax, its blade gleaming dully under a pro 
 tective coating of grease, which he swiftly 
 swabbed off. From his haversack he produced 
 a heavy chain of ruby-red beads. Under the 
 bright sun the beads glowed like living things, 
 and the glittering steel flashed back a dazzling 
 beam. The two gifts together had cost consider 
 ably less than ten dollars in New York, but to the 
 chief tain they were priceless treasures; and as 
 McKay, with a formal bow, extended them to 
 him, his face shone with delight. Yet he made 
 no such greedy grab for them as had been dis 
 played by Suba when tendered the knife. His 
 acceptance was achieved with a calm dignity 
 which brought a twinkle of approval to the eyes 
 of the white men. 
 
 In the same dignified manner he led the way
 
 BLACKBEABD 195 
 
 to the maloca which evidently was the older of the 
 two and which had always been his home. The 
 semicircle of his subjects broke up into a dis 
 orderly crowd which streamed after him and his 
 guests or surrounded the men of Suba with 
 holiday greetings. Within the tribal house the 
 adventurers proceeded to the central space where 
 burned the chief's fire. There Monitaya ordered 
 certain hammocks removed to make room for 
 those of the visitors. Soon the travelers were 
 seated at ease in their hanging beds, their packs 
 and rifles lying on the ground beneath them, 
 while near at hand clustered groups of Mayo- 
 runas, staring at them in naive curiosity. 
 
 Pedro drew a long breath. 
 
 "Senhores, that was a very close call," he de 
 clared. "As Lourengo says, our lives have hung 
 on one word. What was that word, comrade? " 
 
 "The word was, 'No,'" answered Lourengo. 
 "Monitaya asked those two crippled men, 'Is 
 this the man?' As you saw, they looked at the 
 capitao, giving no attention to the rest of us. 
 Then they said, 'No.' You will remember that 
 the capitao was the one whom Suba also picked 
 upon. As soon as Monitaya finishes talking with 
 those men I shall ask him what all this means." 
 
 The big chief was giving directions to a score 
 of young fellows, who presently scattered to 
 various parts of the house and accoutered them 
 selves for hunting. Thereupon Lourenco ap 
 proached Monitaya with the familiarity of former
 
 196 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 acquaintance, being received with a good- 
 humored smile. For a time the two conversed. 
 As they talked the smile of the ruler faded and 
 his face grew dark, while into the Brazilian's 
 voice came a wrathful growl. Finally both 
 nodded. Lourengo returned to his hammock, 
 frowning. 
 
 "Capitao, it is all because of your black hah* 
 and beard. Through all the malocas of the 
 Mayorunas, far and near, has gone the word to 
 watch for a big, black-bearded man who is 
 neither a Brazilian nor a Peruvian, but of some 
 country unknown to these people; and when 
 such a man is caught, to kill him and his com 
 panions without mercy. And the reason for such 
 a command is this: 
 
 "For many moons the Mayorunas, especially 
 those of the smaller and weaker malocas, have 
 been losing women. From time to time sudden 
 raids have been made by gangs of gun-carrying 
 Peruvian Indians and mestizos half-breeds 
 who shot down the defenders of the houses before 
 they could reach their weapons, and carried off 
 girls. This, of course, is nothing new here, for 
 such things have happened occasionally for 
 many years. But within the past five years 
 there has been a difference in these attacks which 
 has made them much more deadly. 
 
 "These raids used to be made always at night, 
 and they were few and far between. But of late 
 they have come about also in the day, at times
 
 BLACKBEARD 197 
 
 when almost all the men of the small malocas 
 were far out in the forest hunting meat and the 
 women had little protection. Several chiefs 
 have been killed by the raiders, who seemed to be 
 acting according to an agreed plan, to be or 
 ganized for this work, and to know when to 
 strike and how to get away quickly. And what 
 is more, the men who did this were not chance 
 parties who came only to get women for them 
 selves and then stayed away. The same men 
 came back time after time. 
 
 "A few of these were killed, but only a few; 
 and all the dead were Peruvians. Being dead, 
 they could tell nothing. But the Mayorunas 
 felt that all these raids were directed by one 
 mind. And they became sure of this when 
 one captured girl escaped by killing a Peruvian 
 with his own knife and returned to her own 
 maloca. She said the raiders took her and the 
 other girls to the big man with the black beard, 
 who waited at a safe place a day's march from 
 the tribal house. 
 
 "A few weeks later another small maloca 
 several miles from here was attacked at night 
 while two men of Monitaya were there, having 
 stayed out too late on a hunting trip and taken 
 refuge with their neighbors until day. Both these 
 men were hit and crippled by bullets in the wild 
 shooting that opened the attack. One was 
 struck in the knee, the other in the lower part of 
 the back. But both caught a glimpse of the 
 
 14
 
 198 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 leader's face and saw that he was the black- 
 bearded man himself. 
 
 "So you see, Capitao, why we have been 
 near death. Suba and Monitaya both thought 
 you were the man. We were lucky to escape 
 alive from Suba, and still more lucky that here 
 were two men who knew the face of the black- 
 beard." 
 
 "Schwandorf!" barked McKay. 
 
 "Yes, Capitao, it must be the German " 
 
 "I know it's Schwandorf! And I know his 
 game! He's a slaver!" 
 
 "A slaver?" 
 
 "That's it. Knew I'd seen that sneak before. 
 He worked the same game in British Guiana 
 eight years ago on a small scale. Had a gang of 
 tough bush niggers from over in Dutch Guiana 
 to do his dirty work. Stole Macusi girls they're 
 the best-looking Indians in B. G. and sold them 
 like cattle to gold miners. Cleaned up quite a pot 
 before the English got on to him, but had to get 
 out of the country on the hot foot didn't have 
 tune to take his gold with him. His name wasn't 
 Schwandorf over there, and he had no beard; he 
 was thinner, too, and posed as a Russian; but he's 
 the man. Must have made his get-away by the 
 back door down the Branco to the Amazon. 
 Now he's running Mayoruna girls into Peru. 
 He could sell them to rubber men or miners and 
 make good money, eh, Lourengo?" 
 
 "Si."
 
 BLACKBEARD 199 
 
 "Sure. And that's why he wanted to kill off 
 his Peruvians they knew too much; probably 
 were trying to bleed him for hush money. He 
 must have a regular slave route and a gang of 
 border cutthroats to do his raiding men who 
 don't go downriver. Murderer, slaver wonder 
 how many other crimes are on his soul." 
 
 ' ' Them two are enough, ' ' growled Tun. ' ' And 
 he 'ain't got no soul." 
 
 "No soul," echoed Pedro. "You have said it, 
 Senhor Tun. And if ever these people capture 
 him he soon will have no body."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. FEVER 
 
 TT N the maloca of Monitaya a feast was in the 
 making. 
 
 Fires glowed all about the great room. 
 Hunters came in, bearing birds or beasts which 
 were placed before the tribal ruler for inspection 
 and approval. Fishermen armed with tridents or 
 crude harpoons arrived with sizable trophies of 
 their skill. And at length two young bowmen ad 
 vanced proudly with a freshly killed wild hog. 
 After glancing at this the chief added to his usual 
 nod a few words of praise which made the hunts 
 men grin with all their pointed teeth. 
 
 Lourengo, squatting comfortably on a jaguar 
 skin beside the lavishly decorated hammock of 
 Monitaya, carried on a lazy-toned monologue 
 which probably dealt with his various experiences 
 since his last meeting with these people and which 
 appeared to interest and amuse the chief. The 
 others, lolling back in mingled fatigue and relief 
 from tension, studied the interior of the place and 
 watched the activities around them. 
 
 As hi the maloca of Suba, the small forest of 
 poles and hammocks seemed a higgledy-piggledy 
 maze wherein was neither beginning nor end. 
 Yet, as the newcomers took tune to observe it, 
 they presently found that the confusion was only 
 apparent and that there existed an efficient and
 
 FEVER 201 
 
 orderly arrangement. The hammocks, seemingly 
 slung from any available pair of poles in utter 
 disregard of one another, really were arranged in 
 triangles. On the ground under the hanging 
 beds lay woven grass mats and hides of the sloth 
 and the jaguar; and in the space inclosed by each 
 trio of hammocks burned a small fire. The 
 hammocks were the beds of men, the mats and 
 furs the couches of women and children, and 
 each fire was the focal point of the family residing 
 in that triangle. 
 
 Above the hammocks, from transverse poles, 
 were suspended the weapons of the men: the 
 great bows, the long blowguns, the fighting 
 spears whose deadly points now were sheathed in 
 thick scabbards of grass, the unpoisoned fish 
 spears and harpoons. From these poles also 
 hung the quivers of arrows and darts and the 
 small rubber-covered pouches wherein a little 
 fresh poison was carried by warrior or hunter. 
 Thus both the ground and the air were utilized, 
 and by the compactness of the arrangement an 
 entire family with its worldly goods, was enabled 
 to live in a comparatively small space. Looking 
 around the wide room and remembering the big 
 half circle of Indians who had stood outside, the 
 two ex-officers estimated that in this tribal house 
 and its twin dwelt seven hundred people. 
 
 Tun and Pedro, less interested in the Mayoruna 
 domestic economy than in the Mayorunas 
 themselves, were scanning the figures moving
 
 202 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 about in the reddish haze of smoke. Most of 
 them were women, all nude and naively un 
 conscious of any need of clothing. Like the men 
 of the tribe, they bore the red and black rings and 
 streaks on face and body; but, unlike the males, 
 each wore a facial ornament hi the shape of an 
 oval piece of wood thrust through the lower lip. 
 From tune to tune those near by glanced up from 
 their work and gave the new men unmistakably 
 friendly looks particularly several young but 
 well-grown girls who obviously were still un- 
 mated. In fact, these last smiled openly at the 
 lithe, handsome Pedro, and red Tim was by no 
 means overlooked. 
 
 "I got me orders," said Tun, sotto voce, "and 
 I'm danged if I crack a smile back at them girls. 
 But I sure feel like grinnin'. Watch yourself, 
 old-tuner; they're tryin' to flirt with ye." 
 
 Pedro, mindful of watchful eyes, turned his 
 gaze to Tun's face before allowing himself to 
 smile. Then he laughed. 
 
 "Do not fear," he said. "My heart is still my 
 own." 
 
 "Same here. Specially when I remember these 
 females would grin jest the same if them club 
 swingers had spattered our brains all over the 
 front yard awhile back. But I wisht sombody'd 
 give the girls a nightie or somethin' to wear. I 
 been around some and I seen quite a lot, but I 
 ain't used to bein' vamped by a bunch of un 
 dressed kids with goo-goo eyes the size of a plate
 
 FEVER 203 
 
 o' fish balls. I'm only a bashful country kid 
 from N'Yawk." 
 
 "Live and learn," chuckled Pedro. "And 
 clothes really have nothing to do with modesty." 
 
 "True for ye. Clothes is mostly a disguise, 
 anyhow, specially with women, and an awful 
 expense, besides. These guys are lucky, I'll say; 
 they 'ain't got to buy their wives no fur coats 
 or silk stockin's or no thin'. All the same, I got 
 all I can do to hold me face straight when I see 
 these li'F owl- eyes givin' us the glad look. I'd 
 oughter stayed back in Remate de Males, where 
 a feller can wink at a woman without gittin' 
 all his pardners massacreed." 
 
 "Perhaps it would not be fatal, now that we 
 are guests of the chief. But it is best to take no 
 chances." 
 
 "Safety first. That's us. Grin at one of 'em 
 and another might git sore because she missed 
 out, and first thing ye know ye've started some- 
 thin' without meanin' to. Let's look at some- 
 thin' harmless one o' them poisoned spears, f'r 
 instance." 
 
 At that moment Monitaya and Lourengo both 
 arose, the chief to inspect in person the progress 
 of the arrangements for the feast, the bush- 
 man to return to his companions with additional 
 news. 
 
 "Monitaya tells me," he said, "that his people 
 have lost girls hi other ways than by the mur 
 derous attacks of the gunmen. A number of
 
 204 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 young women who have gone into the bush near 
 their malocas to get urucu and genipapa, which 
 they use to make the red and black body dyes, 
 have disappeared. So have several who went 
 to the creeks for their daily baths. Warriors 
 who tried to trail them have found the footprints 
 of a few men, but always lost them at water. 
 The girls had been taken away in canoes. Even 
 this tribe of Monitaya, which never has been 
 attacked by night raiders because it is too strong, 
 has not been safe from these stealthy woman 
 stealings by daylight. Three girls have been 
 taken from here within the past two moons, and 
 others have disappeared from other malocas." 
 
 "Hm! And Schwandorf hasn't been here re 
 cently," said Knowlton. 
 
 "No. It must be that he has agents who work 
 when he is not here, or else this is done without 
 his knowledge. I have told Monitaya what I 
 know of Schwandorf, and he agrees that the 
 women are taken as slaves. I have also told him 
 that when we return down the river we shall see 
 that Schwandorf troubles the Mayorunas no 
 more." 
 
 "Excellent," McKay approved. "Have you 
 asked him about the Raposa?" 
 
 "Not yet. It does not pay to hurry business 
 with these people. After the feast is out of the 
 way I will talk further with him." 
 
 No more was said for a time. The five lounged 
 at ease, sniffing the savory odors arising from the
 
 FEVER 205 
 
 v, 
 
 reddish clay pots and pans in which fruit, fish, or 
 fowl was frying in tapir lard, or meat was stewing. 
 At length a number of tall, shapely women, ap 
 parently the handsomest of their sex in the tribe, 
 laid a number of small mats in a semicircle on 
 the ground before the chief, and placed thereon a 
 steaming array of edibles. Furs were placed out 
 side the line of mats. From somewhere appeared 
 all four of the subchiefs, accompanied by Yuara. 
 Thereupon Monitaya, with a smiling nod to his 
 guests, squatted within the arc. Forthwith the 
 visitors advanced in a body, disposed themselves 
 comfortably on the furs, and assailed the viands 
 with a vigor that brought a delighted grin to 
 the face of their barbaric host. 
 
 Fried bananas, tender fish, broiled parrot which 
 was not so tender, a thick stew of somewhat 
 odorous meat seasoned with tart-tasting herbs, 
 roast wild hog, and other things at whose identity 
 the whites could not even guess, all were chewed 
 and washed down with generous draughts of a 
 rather sour liquid resembling beer. Remember 
 ing Louren<jo's previous warning, each man took 
 care not to slight any portion of the meal or to 
 show distaste with anything, whether it pleased 
 the palate or not. Throughout the feast the tall 
 women hovered near, bringing fresh supplies 
 whenever a dearth of any edible appeared to 
 threaten. And when at last the feasters were full 
 to repletion Monitaya himself designated what 
 he considered titbits to tempt them further.
 
 206 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Gosh! if I eat any more I'll bust, and I'm 
 danged if I'll bust jest to satisfy this guy," 
 asserted Tim. Wherewith he put one hand under 
 his jaw and patted his stomach with the other, 
 signifying that he was filled to the throat. Pedro 
 lifted his elbows, dropped his jaw, and made 
 motions as if gasping for ah-. The chieftain 
 grinned widely. The grin became a chuckling 
 when Tim, after a vain attempt to rise, lay back 
 at full length on his rug and begged some one to 
 make a cigarette. 
 
 "Guess I'll have to follow Tim's example," 
 confessed Knowlton. And he too stretched out. 
 Pedro and Lourengo also sprawled back. McKay, 
 after glancing around, compromised with his 
 dignity by leaning on one elbow. The subchiefs 
 and Yuara, with slight smiles, relaxed in various 
 postures. Monitaya alone arose not without 
 some difficulty and got into his hammock, 
 where he beamed down at them. 
 
 "Suppose this is a compliment to the chief," 
 smiled McKay. "He thinks he has eaten us 
 helpless." 
 
 "Speakin' for liT old Tun Ryan, that ain't no 
 joke, neither. Lookit all the girls givin' us the 
 laff. Who are them tall ones that's been rushin' 
 the grub? Waitresses or somethin'?" 
 
 " Those are the chief's wives," Lourengo ex 
 plained. 
 
 "Huh? Gosh! he's one brave guy, that feller! 
 Two four six eight nine of 'em! Swell
 
 FEVER 207 
 
 lookers, too. I s'pose he has his pick o' the 
 whole crowd here." 
 
 "He does not have to pick them Senhor Tim. 
 They pick him. He and the subchiefs are the 
 only ones who can take more than one wife. 
 When a girl wishes to become the wife of the 
 great chief or of a subchief , she works for months 
 making feather dresses and necklaces and ham 
 mocks, and when these are done she gives them 
 all to him. If he likes her well enough he accepts 
 the gifts and allows her to be a wife to him." 
 
 "Yeah? And she's flattered to death, I s'pose. 
 Wisht they'd start somethin' like that up home, 
 or, anyways, fix it so's a feller could get an even 
 break. Way it is now, a feller blows in every 
 dollar he's got, and then when he's fixin' to git the 
 ring the girl leaves him flat for some other guy 
 that 'ain't spent his dough yet. Yo-ho-hum! 
 I'm goin' to take a snooze right there on the 
 table. Wake me up, somebody, when the next 
 mess call blows." 
 
 And with no further ado he shut his eyes and 
 drowsed. 
 
 His companions lolled for some time, smoking 
 and watching the family life of the ordinary 
 members of the tribe, nodding now and then to 
 some friendly-looking young fellow, but ignoring 
 the mischievous glances of the girls. Monitaya 
 himself lay back in his hammock and dozed. 
 His wives, stepping nonchalantly among the 
 strangers, cleared . away the remnants of the
 
 208 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 feast by the simple process of eating them. Then 
 they carried off the clay vessels. 
 
 For another hour all hands rested. Then 
 Monitaya sat up, stretched his big arms, looked 
 casually around the house to see that all was well, 
 and smiled down at his guests. Lourengo, rising 
 to a squat, began a new conversation. After a 
 while he turned to McKay. 
 
 "The Red Bones and the Mayorunas are 
 neither friendly nor hostile toward each other, 
 and there is little communication between them," 
 he reported. "From those malocas to the town 
 of the Red Bones is a journey of five long days, so 
 the men of Monitaya hardly ever go there. 
 
 "The Raposa whom we seek is known to the 
 men of Monitaya, but he never has come here to 
 the tribal houses. Hunters from this place have 
 met him at times roving the wild forests, and 
 some of the younger men fear him as the bad 
 spirit of the jungle. The Mayorunas believe in 
 two spirits or demons, one good and one bad, and 
 the bad one is said to roam the wilderness, seeking 
 lone wanderers, whom he kills and eats; the people 
 sometimes hear this demon howling at night hi 
 the dark of the moon. So the young men have 
 thought the Raposa might be this demon and 
 have avoided him it would do no good to try to 
 kill a demon, and it would only make their own 
 deaths more sure and horrible. 
 
 "But the older men do not believe this. They 
 say the wild man is of the Red Bone people, and
 
 FEVER 209 
 
 that the reason why his bones are marked in red 
 on his living body is that he is neither alive nor 
 dead. If he were dead his body would be thrown 
 into the water and left there until his bones were 
 stripped by those cannibal fish, the piranhas, and 
 then the bones would be dyed red and hung up in 
 his hut, as is the custom among those people. If 
 he were alive like other men he would not have 
 those marks on his body, but would wear only 
 the tribal face paint. The bone paint on him is a 
 sign to all the Ossos Vermelhos that he is alive, 
 but dead, and is not to be treated like other men." 
 
 "Crazy!" exclaimed Knowlton. 
 
 "Yes. I think that is it. His body lives, but 
 his mind is dead. Death in life." 
 
 "Has he been seen lately?" 
 
 The Brazilian repeated the question in the 
 Indian tongue. The chief looked toward a cer 
 tain hammock some distance off, called a name, 
 raised an imperative hand. A slender savage 
 came forward. To him the chief spoke, then to 
 Lourengo, who, as usual, relayed his information. 
 
 "This young hunter saw him six days ago while 
 following a wild-hog trail far out in the bush 
 toward the Red Bone region. He came on the 
 fresh track of a man who was following the same 
 hogs, and later he caught up with that man. It 
 was the red-boned wild man, and the wild man 
 was very lame, having a hurt foot. They stood 
 and looked at each other, and then the wild man 
 walked away, watching him closely and ready to
 
 210 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 shoot with his bow. After he disappeared in the 
 forest this hunter heard a long, shrill laugh and 
 words that sounded like 'Podavi.' " 
 
 "Podavi Poor Davy!" ejaculated Knowl- 
 ton. "That's he, sure enough! Then he's near 
 his own town now he won't go far with a bad 
 foot. We'd better move as soon as we can. Ask 
 about an escort.'* 
 
 Once more the bushman conversed with Moni- 
 taya. The ruler's smile disappeared. For some 
 time he sat gazing out over the heads of all, 
 evidently weighing matters in his mind. When 
 he responded, however, it was without hesitation. 
 
 "There is neither friendliness nor enmity 
 between the two peoples, as has been said," 
 Lourengo stated. "Our business among the Red 
 Bones is our own affair, not that of Monitaya, 
 and Monitaya will make no requests for us. But 
 in order that we may go safely and return without 
 harm he will send with us twenty of his best men. 
 These men will have orders to protect us at all 
 tunes, unless fighting is caused by our making a 
 needless attack on the Red Bones. Injthat case 
 the Mayorunas will do nothing to help us. They 
 will only defend themselves." 
 
 "Fair enough!" nodded McKay. "Tell him 
 we'll start no fight. If any trouble comes it 
 will be from the other fellows. We'll leave here 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 Lourengo translated the promise into Mayo- 
 runa. But the chief seemed not to hear. His
 
 FEVER 211 
 
 eyes had narrowed and were fixed on the face of 
 Tim, who still lay on his back and was giving no 
 attention to what went on. Following his look, 
 the bushman gazed critically at the red-haired 
 man. 
 
 Tim's florid face had paled. His mouth was 
 drawn and his eyes stared straight up, wide and 
 glassy. Slowly he rolled his head from side to 
 side. 
 
 "Gee! Cap," he whispered, hoarsely, "I et 
 too much. My head aches so I'm fair blind, and 
 I'm burnin' up. Gimme some water." 
 
 With a swift, simultaneous movement McKay 
 and Knowlton put their hands on his forehead. 
 Lourengo and Pedro leaned closer and peered 
 into his face. All four glanced at one another. 
 Pedro nodded. His lips silently formed one dread 
 word: 
 
 "Fever!"
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. FRUIT OF THE TRAP 
 
 HEAVY hypodermic doses of quinine, aided 
 by Tim's rugged constitution and the 
 fact that this was his first attack of the 
 ravaging sickness of the swamp lands, pulled 
 him back to safety within the next two days. 
 To safety, but not to strength. Despite his 
 stout-hearted assertions that he was ready to 
 hit the trail and "walk the legs off the whole 
 danged outfit," he was obviously in no con 
 dition to stand up under the grueling pack 
 work that lay ahead. Wherefore, McKay, after 
 consultation with the others of the party, and, 
 through Lourengo, with Monitaya, gave him 
 inflexible orders. 
 
 "You'll stay here. Stick in your hammock 
 until you're in fighting trim. Then watch your 
 self. Don't pull any bonehead plays that '11 get 
 these people down on you. Take quinine daily 
 according to Knowlton's directions he's written 
 them on the box. If we're not back in a fort 
 night Monitaya will send men to find out why. 
 If they find that we're not coming back you 
 will be guided to the river, where you can get 
 down to the Nunes place." 
 
 "But, Cap" 
 
 "No argument!" 
 
 "But listen here, for the love o' Mike! I ain't
 
 FRUIT OF THE TRAP 213 
 
 no old woman! I can stand the gaff! I'm goin' 
 with the gang!" 
 
 "You hear the orders!" McKay snapped, with 
 assumed severity. "Think we want to be 
 bothered with having you go sick again? You're 
 out of shape and we've no room for lame ducks. 
 You'll stay here!" 
 
 Tun tried another tack. 
 
 "Aw, but listen! Ye ain't goin' to desert a 
 comrade amongst a lot o' man eaters right hi 
 the place where I got sick, too. Soon's I git away 
 from here I'll be all right " 
 
 "That stuff's no good," the captain contra 
 dicted, with a tight smile. "You didn't get fever 
 here. It's been in your system for days. You 
 got it back on the river. These people don't 
 have it, or any other kind of sickness. I've 
 looked around and I know. As for the man 
 eaters, they're mighty decent folks toward 
 friends. We're friends. You'll be under the 
 personal protection of Monitaya, and his word 
 is good as gold. It's all arranged, and you're 
 safer here than you would be in New York." 
 
 In his heart the stubborn veteran knew McKay 
 was right, but, like any other good soldier ordered 
 to remain out of action, he grumbled and growled 
 regardless. To which the ex-officers paid about 
 as much attention as officers usually do. They 
 went ahead with their own preparations. 
 
 "Be of good heart, Senhor Tim," Pedro com 
 forted, mischievously. "You will not lack for 
 
 15
 
 214 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 company. The chief has appointed two girls to 
 wait upon 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 help you about if your legs 
 remain weak. In that case you will probably be 
 allowed to put your arms around them for sup 
 port. I almost wish I could get fever, too." 
 
 Tim's voice remained a growl, but his face did 
 not look so doleful as before. 
 
 "Grrrumph! I always seem to draw big fe 
 males, and I don't like 'em. Gimme somethin' 
 cute like them liT frog dolls in Paree sort o' pee- 
 teet and chick. Still, a feller's got to do the best 
 he can. Mebbe I'll live till you guys git back." 
 
 With which he availed himself of the preroga 
 tive of a sick man and grinned openly at the two 
 comely young women who stood near at hand, 
 awaiting any demand for services. They were 
 not at all backward in reciprocating, 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 to strain your heart 
 while we're away, Tim." 
 
 "Don't worry. It's a tough old heart been 
 kicked round so much it's growed a shell like a 
 turtle. Besides, I seen wild women before I ever 
 come to the jungle."
 
 FRUIT OF THE TRAP 215 
 
 Notwithstanding his apparent resignation, 
 however, Tim erupted once more when his com 
 rades shouldered their packs, picked up their 
 guns, and spoke their thanks and good-by to 
 Monitaya. He arose on shaky legs and des 
 perately offered to prove his fitness by a bare 
 handed six-round bout with his commanding 
 officer. When McKay, with sympathetic eyes 
 but gruff tones, peremptorily squelched him he 
 insisted on at least going to the door to watch his 
 comrades start the journey from which they 
 might or might not return. Nor did he take 
 advantage of his chance to hug the girls on the 
 way. 
 
 With one arm slung over the shoulders of a wiry 
 young warrior who grinned proudly at the honor 
 of being selected to help a guest of the great chief, 
 he followed the departing column out into the 
 sunshine, where the entire tribe was assembled. 
 And when the stalwart band had filed into the 
 shadows of the trees and vanished he stood for a 
 tune unseeing and gulping at something hi 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 of their packs, the pair of Brazilians 
 sweeping the jungle with practiced eyes, the score 
 of Mayorunas striding velvet footed, resplendent 
 in brilliant new paint and headdresses, armed 
 with the most powerful weapons of their tribe,
 
 216 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 ) 
 
 and loftily conscious of the fact that they were 
 chosen 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 rid themselves of Yuara, who, 
 with his men, had tarried at the Monitaya 
 malocas during Tim's sickness. While Knowlton 
 was giving his ripped arm a final dressing he had 
 calmly announced his intention of joining the 
 expedition into the Red Bone country, and it had 
 taken some skillful argument by Louren^o to 
 dissuade him without arousing his anger. All 
 four of the adventurers would gladly have taken 
 him along had he not been hampered by his 
 injury, but, under the ruthless rule barring all 
 men 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 the tribesmen, followed by 
 the Brazilians and the Americans, after whom 
 the main body of the escort strode in column. 
 The leader and guide, one Tucu, was a veteran 
 hunter, fighter, and bushranger, who had been 
 more than once in the Red Bone region and 
 withal possessed the cool judgment of mature 
 years and long experience; a lean, silent man who, 
 though not a subchief, might have made a good 
 one if given the opportunity. With him Lourengo 
 had already arranged that a direct course should 
 be followed, and that whenever dense under-
 
 FRUIT OF THE TRAP 217 
 
 growth blockaded the way the machete men 
 should take the lead. 
 
 For some time no word was spoken. The path 
 wound on, faintly marked, but easy enough to 
 follow with Tucu picking it out. It was not one 
 of the frequently used trails of the Monitaya 
 people, but a mere picada, or hunter's track; yet 
 even this had its pitfalls to guard the tribal 
 house. Soon after leaving the clearing Tucu 
 turned aside, passed between trees off the trail, 
 went directly under one tree whose steep-slanting 
 roots stood up off the ground like great down- 
 pointing fingers, and returned to the path. All 
 followed without comment. 
 
 A considerable distance was covered before 
 any further sign of the presence of ambushed 
 death was shown by the savages. Then it came 
 with tragic suddenness. 
 
 Tucu grunted suddenly, and in one instant 
 shifted his gait from the easy swing of the march 
 to the prowl of a hunting animal. Behind him 
 the line grew tense. The click of rifle hammers 
 and of safeties being thrown off breech bolts 
 blended with the faint slither of arrows being 
 swiftly drawn from quivers. Eyes searched the 
 bush, spying no enemy. 
 
 Two more steps, and Tucu stopped, head 
 thrust forward, eyes boring into something on 
 the ground. The rest, taking care not to touch 
 one another's weapons, crowded around and 
 looked down at the huddled form of a man.
 
 218 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 A matted mass of black hair, a neck burned 
 copper brown by sun, tattered cotton shirt and 
 trousers, big, bare dirty feet, a rusty repeating 
 rifle of 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 been 
 crawling forward at the moment of death. Tucu 
 turned him on his back, revealing a blanched 
 yellow-brown face which was proof positive 
 of his race. 
 
 "Peruvian," said Pedro. 
 
 "What got him?" demanded Knowlton. "No 
 wound on him." 
 
 LourenQo questioned Tucu. The leader, who 
 evidently knew just where to look, tore open 
 the thin shirt at the left side and pointed to a tiny 
 discoloration surrounding a red dot under the 
 ribs. He muttered a few laconic words. 
 
 ' ' A bio wgun trap, ' ' Lourenc. o explained. ' ' The 
 gun is set a little way beyond here. This man, 
 sneaking along the path, broke the little cord 
 which shot the gun. The poisoned dart struck in 
 his side. He must have pulled out the dart, but he 
 could not go far before his legs became paralyzed, 
 and he fell. Then, still trying to crawl, he died." 
 
 Pedro picked up the dead man's gun and 
 worked the lever. The weapon was fully loaded 
 and showed no sign of recent firing. Pedro coolly 
 pumped it empty, gathered up the blunt .44 
 cartridges, and pocketed them for his own use. 
 
 Tucu watched the proceeding hi satirical
 
 FRUIT OF THE TRAP 219 
 
 approval. Then, leaving the body where it lay, 
 he went stooping along the path ahead, his keen 
 eyes searching the undergrowth. In a few min 
 utes he returned with the blood-stained dart 
 which, as Lourengo had guessed, the stricken 
 prowler had pulled from his flesh and dropped. 
 This he passed to a blowgun man. The latter 
 carefully opened his poison pouch, redipped the 
 point of the dart, held it a moment to dry in a 
 shaft of sunlight, and slipped it into his dart 
 case among a score of unused missiles. 
 
 "No waste of ammunition here," was McKay's 
 dry comment. "What happens to this corpse 
 now?" 
 
 Through Lourengo'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 
 find this man they will cut off his hands and feet 
 with their wooden knives and throw the rest 
 aside to be eaten by the animals. He has not 
 been dead long or he would have been devoured 
 by some wild thing before we came. The trail 
 travelers will set the trap again and take the 
 hands and feet to the malocas, where they will 
 be washed, cooked, and eaten." 
 
 The faces of the Americans contracted slightly. 
 A simultaneous thought made them flash startled 
 glances at each other. 
 
 "Tun ' Knowlton said, and paused. Lou- 
 rengo smiled.
 
 220 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "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 will yield human flesh. So, without letting 
 Monitaya know why I spoke, I told him you 
 North Americans believed the flesh of an enemy 
 to be poisonous, and that you would not eat 
 it on that account. Monitaya will remember 
 that." 
 
 "By George! you have a head on your shoul 
 ders, old scout! I was worried for a minute. 
 If they offered Tim a broiled foot or a stewed 
 hand he'd go for his gun." 
 
 Briefly Tucu spoke. The Mayorunas sepa 
 rated and went into the forest, seeking any sign 
 of other enemies. 
 
 "Queer that this chap should come here alone 
 if he was alone," added Knowlton. "Suppose 
 he's the fellow that's been swiping stray girls? 
 Or a spy?" 
 
 "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 of those lone prowlers of the bush 
 whose hand is against every man. He is a half- 
 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 trap operates. Can't 
 understand what blows the dart when nobody is 
 here."
 
 FRUIT OF THE TRAP 221 
 
 "I do not know, either, senhor. Perhaps 
 Tucu will show us." 
 
 The savage guide, after a moment's hesitation, 
 pointed along the trail and stalked away, the 
 others at his heels. At a spot some fifteen yards 
 farther on he turned into the bush at the right, 
 walked a few paces away from the path, turned 
 again sharply to the left, advanced once more, 
 and halted. Before them, not easy to discern 
 in the masking brush, even though they were 
 looking for it, hung the long barrel of the blow- 
 gun, lashed to a couple of small trees and point 
 ing toward the path. 
 
 Tucu stepped to the mouthpiece of the slender 
 tube and pointed to a sapling, just behind and 
 in line with it, which had been cut off about 
 shoulder-high from the ground. From the tip 
 of this thin trunk dangled a wide strip of bark. 
 The savage, having indicated this, stood as if 
 the action of the device were perfectly clear. 
 
 "Too deep for me," admitted McKay, after a 
 puzzled study of the tube and the trunk. The 
 others nodded agreement. Lourenc,o confessed 
 to the Indian the blindness of all. 
 
 Thereupon Tucu bent the sapling far over and 
 released it. As it sprang erect the bark strip 
 slapped the end of the gun. Also, the watchers 
 saw something hitherto unnoticed a thin, flex 
 ible vine attached to the top of the thin stump. 
 Lourengo's face showed understanding. 
 
 "See, comrades, this is it: The little tree is
 
 222 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 bent far down and held by the long vine. The 
 vine passes around a low branch, then up over 
 other limbs, and out across the path, where it 
 is fastened to a root near the ground. A man 
 following the path breaks the vine. The little 
 tree then flies up and the bark sheet strikes the 
 wide mouthpiece of the gun. The air forced into 
 that mouthpiece by the blow of the bark shoots 
 the little dart. The dart does not fly as hard as 
 if blown by a man, but it goes swiftly enough to 
 pierce the skin of anything except a tapir. As 
 soon as the poison is in the blood the work is 
 done." 
 
 "It sure is done," Knowlton echoed, thinking 
 of the short distance covered by the dead Peru 
 vian after passing this spot. "Mighty ingenious 
 apparatus. 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 his place at the 
 head of the line. Without a backward glance at 
 the body sprawling in the trail at the rear, the 
 column swung into its usual gait. 
 
 The Americans, silent before, were silent again. 
 They had looked for the first time on the work 
 of the Mayoruna traps; had observed the cold 
 blooded way in which the Indians handled the 
 still form on the ground; had visualized the forth 
 coming mutilation of that body and the resultant
 
 FRUIT OF THE TRAP 223 
 
 cannibal rites. More vividly than ever before 
 they realized that these men and Monitaya him 
 self were relentless creatures of the jungle, and 
 that, despite the present existent friendliness, 
 there yawned between them and their barbarous 
 allies an impassable gulf. 
 
 For the moment the jungle itself seemed a 
 poisonous green abyss of creeping, crawling, 
 sneaking death. And though they had faced 
 death too often in another land to fear it in any 
 form, though they marched on with unwavering 
 step, their eyes were somber as in their hearts 
 echoed the last appeal of the man they had left 
 behind them: 
 
 "Ye ain't goin' to desert a comrade amongst a 
 lot o' man eaters "
 
 CHAPTER XIX. THE RED BONES 
 
 FOUR days the expedition tramped steadily 
 onward through the rugged labyrinthine 
 hills. Four nights its members slept in 
 utter exhaustion. Neither by day nor by night 
 was any sign of the Raposa seen, nor of any other 
 human being. 
 
 So tired from the constant struggle did the 
 Americans become that their jaded brains began 
 to picture the mysterious wild man as a mere 
 legendary creature, which they never would find 
 even though they searched the inscrutable forests 
 until the end of tune. Yet when, on the fifth 
 day, Tucu informed them that they now were 
 nearing the principal settlement of the Red 
 Bones, the announcement cheered them as if they 
 were about to enter a civilized city and there meet 
 David Rand safe and sane. 
 
 Not that any chance of striking his trail had 
 been neglected in the meantime. It was thor 
 oughly understood that if he were met any 
 where he was to be made prisoner, and that 
 thereafter the back trail should be taken. Lou- 
 rengo had impressed on Tucu the fact that the 
 whole journey had for its object the finding of the 
 wild man, and that he must not be killed if found. 
 Since the Indians were not in the habit of hunt 
 ing so assiduously anyone but a bitterly hated
 
 THE RED BONES 225 
 
 foe, it is quite possible that they misunderstood 
 the spirit of the quest and believed the " dead- 
 alive" prowler would, if captured, undergo some 
 extremely unpleasant treatment at the hands of 
 the white men. But so long as it was made clear 
 that the Raposa must be caught alive, if caught 
 at all, Lourengo did not trouble about what the 
 Mayorunas might surmise. 
 
 Now, as the end of the long, pathless trail ap 
 proached, arose a question of which McKay had 
 previously thought but had not spoken how he 
 was to converse with the Red Bone chief. Lou- 
 rengo asked Tucu whether the Red Bones spoke 
 the Mayoruna tongue. Tucu replied that they 
 did not. He added, however, that the languages 
 were not so dissimilar as to prevent some sort of 
 understanding being reached between members 
 of the two tribes. The veteran bushman nodded 
 carelessly. 
 
 "When the tongue fails, Capitao, the hands 
 still can talk," he said. "It takes more time and 
 work, that is all. Ah, here is a path!" 
 
 It was so. For the first time since leaving the 
 Monitaya region a path lay under their feet. 
 And for the first tune Tucu and his fellow Mayo 
 runas, glancing along that fault track, showed 
 hesitation. 
 
 "Why the delay?" snapped McKay. 
 
 "They suspect traps. I will go ahead and feel 
 out the way. I have done it before on other 
 paths."
 
 226 THE PATHLESS TEAIL 
 
 After a few words to Tucu, Lourengo cut a long, 
 slim pole. With this in hand he preceded the 
 column, walking slowly, pausing sometimes, 
 continually prodding the path, studying it with 
 unswerving gaze as he progressed. The thin but 
 rigid feeler, strong enough to tip the cover of any 
 pit or to spring any concealed bow or blowgun, 
 was at least ten feet long, and between the scout 
 and the head of the line Tucu preserved another 
 ten-foot interval. Progress was necessarily slow, 
 but it was sure. 
 
 In this fashion they advanced perhaps half a 
 mile. Not once did they have to leave the path, 
 but Lourengo's caution did not diminish. Rather, 
 it increased as they neared the Red Bone town. 
 At length another path joined the one on which 
 they were traveling. Here Lourengo paused for 
 minutes, inspecting with extreme care the 
 ground and the bush. 
 
 Suddenly he cocked his head as if listening. 
 Then, with a backward motion of the hand to 
 enjoin silence, he faced down the branch path 
 and stood calmly waiting. 
 
 To those behind came a light rustle of leaves 
 and a scuffle of moving feet; a sudden cessation; 
 then Lourengo's voice speaking to some one 
 concealed behind the intervening undergrowth. 
 His tone was slow, quiet, easy the tone which, 
 even if the words were not understood, would 
 soothe suspicious and abruptly alarmed minds. 
 After another short silence he resumed talking,
 
 THE RED BONES 227 
 
 pointing carelessly to the place behind him where 
 stood the silent file of Mayorunas. A guttural 
 voice replied. A head peered cautiously from 
 the edge of the bush, stared fixedly at Tucu, and 
 withdrew. The voice sounded again. Imme 
 diately three Indians stepped into view, poised 
 for action. Another interval of staring, and they 
 relaxed. 
 
 "Come forward, comrades," said Lourengo. 
 They came, halting again at the junction of the 
 trails. Tucu spoke to one of the newcomers, who 
 scowled as if only partly understanding, but 
 grunted some sort of answer. Those behind the 
 Mayoruna leader craned their necks and scanned 
 the Red Bone men, who continued to eye with 
 evident misgiving the tall-bonneted cannibals 
 and the broad-hatted pah- of whites. 
 
 Man for man, these Red Bones were in every 
 way inferior to the emissaries of Monitaya. Their 
 bodies were more gaunt, their skins more coppery, 
 their foreheads lower, and their expressions 
 much less intelligent. Furthermore, they wore 
 not even the bark-cloth clouts which formed 
 the sole . body covering of the Mayorunas they 
 were totally naked. The one point of similarity 
 between the two tribes was that the faces of the 
 Red Bone men were streaked with red dye. But 
 the facial design was much different: two short 
 transverse stripes on the forehead, and three lines 
 on each cheek, running from the eyes, the end of 
 the nose, and the corners of the mouth, straight
 
 228 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 back to the ears. Studying those visages, 
 Knowlton and McKay recalled Schwandorf's 
 statement that these people not only ate human 
 flesh, but tortured prisoners of war. It was easy 
 to believe that he had told truth. 
 
 McKay, standing behind Pedro, shifted his 
 position a bit. At once the eyes of the three 
 Red Bones widened and riveted on his face. 
 Heretofore they had seen only his hat and eyes, 
 the rest being hidden from them by Pedro's 
 neck and an intervening palm tip. Now that 
 they saw his black-bearded jaw, they started 
 slightly and peered intently at him. 
 
 " I think, Capitao, you would do well to shave," 
 Pedro suggested, with a smile. 
 
 "'Fraid so," the captain granted. "Black 
 beards evidently are de trop in the jungle social 
 set at present." 
 
 But then one of the Red Bone men came for 
 ward, still squintng narrowly, and his expression 
 was not hostile. In fact, it was more friendly 
 than it had yet been. After a closer scrutiny, 
 however, his face turned blank. Slowly he 
 stepped back and muttered something to his 
 companions. 
 
 At this Pedro's eyes narrowed speculatively. 
 But his expression did not change, and he said 
 nothing. 
 
 A lengthy conference took place between Lou- 
 rengo and Tucu on the one hand and the three 
 Red Bone tribesmen on the other; a difficult
 
 THE RED BONES 229 
 
 *s ^ 
 
 talk in which words and sign language both were 
 used and frequently repeated. Eventually an 
 understanding was reached. The three stepped 
 back, picked up some small game which they 
 had dropped on beholding Lourengo, returned, 
 and led the way along the path. Lourengo cast 
 aside his poke stick and resumed his usual place 
 hi the column. The whole line moved ahead at 
 a much smarter gait than before. 
 
 "Note this path is not mined,", thought 
 Knowlton. 
 
 This proved true. Moreover, the way now 
 was more broad and firm, so that travel on it 
 was much easier. After twenty minutes of 
 rapid tramping it debouched abruptly into a 
 cleared space. Here all halted. 
 
 Before them lay a town of small, low huts, 
 crowded closely together in two parallel rows 
 which curved together at one end. The other 
 end lay open, giving access to a sizable creek 
 whereon floated canoes. At the water's edge, 
 along the crude street studded with charred 
 stumps, and among the damp-looking huts 
 moved naked figures of men and women occupied 
 with various sluggish activities. Some of the 
 men already had spied the invading party and 
 were standing at gaze. 
 
 "Comrades, we have reached the end of our 
 trail," said Lourengo, running a cool eye over the 
 place. "Now all we have to do is to find your 
 Raposa and get him and ourselves away alive." 
 
 16
 
 230 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "That's all," Knowlton echoed, unsmiling. 
 "The reception committee is forming now." 
 And with the words he unbuttoned his holster. 
 
 A shrill yell had run along the double line of 
 houses, and out into the stumpy street now 
 swarmed men armed with hastily seized weapons. 
 Hands pointed, confused exclamations sounded, 
 and a compact detachment of warriors came 
 jogging toward the newcomers. The three 
 guides drew away from the Mayorunas. The 
 latter promptly fitted arrows to their bows, 
 inserted darts in their blowguns, lifted spears or 
 clubs, and with eyes glittering awaited whatever 
 might befall. 
 
 A couple of rods away the Red Bones halted, 
 bows ready. A hatchet-faced savage who seemed 
 to be in command rasped something at the 
 three hunters, who quickened their pace toward 
 him. Tucu strode out four paces beyond his 
 own men and stopped. Then both parties 
 waited while the hunters reported what they 
 knew to the hatchet-face. 
 
 "What did you tell them, LourenQo?" asked 
 McKay. 
 
 "That we came on a friendly visit to the 
 chief, for whom we had important words." 
 
 "Nothing of the Raposa?" 
 
 "No. They wasted much time arguing that 
 we must tell them all our business and let 
 them inform the chief, while we were to stay 
 back on the path until permitted to enter the
 
 THE RED BONES 231 
 
 town. We told them our talk was for the chief 
 alone, and that we should come here whether 
 they liked it or not. So, having no choice, they 
 led us in." 
 
 McKay made no comment. None was nec 
 essary. Furthermore, his steady eyes had caught 
 a simultaneous head movement of the Red 
 Bones a peering movement, as if all were seek 
 ing some one man among the new arrivals. Pedro 
 observed this. He spoke softly to Lourengo. 
 
 "Lourengo, tell Tucu to say to the Red Bones 
 that we come led by a black-bearded white 
 man; that this blackboard comes from the far- 
 off country where all men wear black beards; 
 that the blackboard will speak with the chief 
 only." 
 
 The Americans looked queerly at the young 
 Brazilian, as did Lourengo himself. But with 
 out question Lourengo obeyed. Calling to Tucu, 
 he gave the message. Tucu moved his head 
 slightly, but gave no other sign of having heard. 
 
 "Now, Capitao, step forward a little and show 
 yourself more clearly," prompted Pedro. 
 
 With another puzzled glance McKay did so. 
 He saw that the brown eyes of the younger man 
 held a dancing gleam, but he could not read the 
 thought behind those eyes. Yet he noticed that 
 as soon as he stepped out the Red Bones all 
 focused their gaze on him. More than that, the 
 spokesman of the three hunters pointed at him 
 and said something to the sharp-featured leader.
 
 232 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Now that leader came forward alone. Six 
 feet from Tucu he halted again and talked in a 
 growling tone. The Mayoruna leader, cool and 
 dignified, made answer. After a somewhat pro 
 tracted exchange Tucu turned his head and mo 
 tioned to Lourengo, who went forward, listened, 
 replied shortly, and came back. Meanwhile 
 the first detachment of Red Bones had been 
 strongly reinforced by others who had come up 
 singly or in small parties. Now the expedition 
 was outnumbered at least four to one by hard- 
 faced, brute-mouthed, naked men ready, if not 
 eager, for trouble. 
 
 "The Red Bone says we shall see the chief," 
 Lourengo stated. "At first he said only you, 
 Capitao, should go to him. Then he insisted 
 that we all lay down our arms. Tucu has told 
 him we lay down our arms for no man or men 
 that we come in peace otherwise there would 
 be many more of us; that we leave hi peace 
 unless the Red Bones themselves bring on a 
 fight. In that case, though we are few, there 
 lies behind us the power of Monitaya, and 
 behind Monitaya the power of the Mayoruna 
 chiefs, all strong enough to wipe the Red Bone 
 nation off the face of the ground." 
 
 "Strong stuff, that," said Knowlton. 
 
 "Strong, yes. But no stronger than is needed 
 to impress these people. Tucu intends to pre 
 vent trouble if he can; and often the best way to 
 prevent trouble is to make the other man realize
 
 THE RED BONES 233 
 
 what may happen to him if he starts it. Also 
 he has his orders from Monitaya to stay with us 
 at all times, and he will follow that order even 
 if you, Capitao, try to change it. Now we go 
 together to the chief." 
 
 He nodded to Tucu, who grunted to the Red 
 Bone leader. The hatchet-face in turn shouted 
 something to the men behind. Slowly they 
 drew apart into two groups. 
 
 "You are the leader, Capitao," suggested 
 Lourengo. Promptly McKay marched forward, 
 head up, eyes front, face bleak. The rest fol 
 lowed, Tucu falling in behind McKay when the 
 captain passed him. Preceded by the Red Bone 
 spokesman, the line advanced between the two 
 bodies of copper-skins and swung along the 
 evil-smelling avenue to its upper end. 
 
 There, hi the very center of the loop joining 
 the two rows of huts, was a house twice as big 
 as any other. From its doorway the inhabitant 
 of that house could watch the whole life of the 
 Red Bone town. Obviously it was the home of 
 the chief. At its door a pair of warriors stood 
 guard, but of the ruler himself there was no sign. 
 
 Ten paces from it the thin-featured leader 
 stopped and motioned to McKay to halt. As 
 the captain and the line behind him did so he 
 stalked onward, passed through the doorway, 
 and faded from sight in the dimness beyond. 
 With one accord the members of the visiting 
 party looked around them.
 
 234 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 The street behind now was filled with the mass 
 of Red Bone warriors who had trooped after 
 the column. All exit in that direction was 
 blockaded. But the ex-officers noted that be 
 tween the houses were spaces each wide enough 
 to hold a couple of men, and in an undertone 
 McKay gave defensive instructions to Lourengo. 
 
 "If fighting starts, have the Mayorunas take 
 cover along these houses on each side. We 
 who have guns will use the chief's house. We 
 can sweep the whole street from there. You 
 two fellows capture the chief alive if possible. 
 He'll be more useful as a hostage than as a 
 corpse." 
 
 Pedro beamed approval of this swiftly formed 
 plan. Lourengo muttered to Tucu, who in turn 
 passed the word down the line. Then all stood 
 waiting. 
 
 Presently the Red Bone man came out. He 
 shouted a name. From the doorway near at 
 hand, where he had been standing and peering 
 at the small but formidable body of newcomers, 
 an old man now stepped forth and advanced, 
 limping a little, to the hatchet-face. The latter 
 talked briefly to him, then to Tucu. The 
 Mayoruna leader pointed to Lourengo. The 
 old man spoke to the Brazilian, who answered 
 at once. Thereupon the wizened old fellow 
 entered the chief's house. 
 
 "That old man speaks the Mayoruna tongue 
 quite well, Capitao," said Lourengo. "He says
 
 THE RED BONES 235 
 
 you and I shall enter and talk through his mouth 
 with the chief. All others remain outside, and 
 we must leave our rifles here." 
 
 "All right. Glad we can leave Tucu out here 
 to control these fellows. Here, Merry." He 
 passed his rifle to Knowlton. Pedro took 
 Lourengo's gun. With packs still on their backs 
 the chosen men proceeded to the doorway and 
 entered the house where waited the ruler of the 
 Red Bone tribe. 
 
 Behind them the line settled into easier pos 
 tures of waiting. The Red Bones, though so 
 compactly ranged as to cut off any chance of 
 escape, held their distance, obviously neither 
 inclined to fraternize nor ready to precipitate 
 conflict by crowding. Thus, while keeping their 
 ears open for any sound of a concerted move 
 ment from behind, the visitors could use their 
 eyes to inspect the huts nearest them. 
 
 In some of these, women stood near the door 
 ways, staring with unwinking absorption at the 
 light-skinned, athletic men outside who were 
 so much better to look upon than their own 
 mates. The Mayorunas returned the stares 
 with the brief glances of men accustomed to 
 noticing everything but totally uninterested as 
 well they might be, for these poorly shaped, 
 heavy-mouthed, mud-skinned females were not 
 to be compared with their own women. Knowl 
 ton and Pedro, too, looked them over, but with 
 the same expression as if inspecting a family of
 
 236 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 lizards. Then they glanced into other huts now 
 empty of life, and in a couple of these they saw 
 rigid red-hued objects hanging from the roofs. 
 
 "The red bones of the dead, senhor," Pedro 
 muttered, and his blond companion, peering 
 again at the sinister decorations, nodded without 
 reply. 
 
 Voices came to them from the chief's house, 
 talking with droning deliberation. Evidently 
 no cause for friction had yet arisen. They let 
 their eyes rove on beyond the guarded doorway, 
 to pause at a house a short distance away at 
 the right. There stood a clubman, who leaned 
 idly on his weapon, but showed no intention of 
 moving from his place. The door of that house 
 was closed. Not only closed, but barred on the 
 outside. 
 
 "Hm! Looks like a jail," said Knowlton. 
 Pedro smiled, but an intent look came into his 
 face and he studied the closed house. 
 
 Suddenly both started. At one corner of 
 the house, unseen by the clubman, a head had 
 cautiously slipped forth. For only an instant 
 it hung there before dodging back out of sight. 
 But both the watching men had seen that the 
 face, though half masked by long dark hair 
 and a thick beard, was much lighter than that 
 of any Red Bone savage. And in the hair 
 above one ear was a white streak.
 
 CHAPTER XX. THE RAPOSA 
 
 MCKAY and Lourenco, in a broad, low, 
 musty-smelling room, faced a man who 
 stood and a man who sat. The man who 
 stood was the old savage who could talk in the 
 Mayoruna language. The man who sat was 
 the chief of the Red Bones. 
 
 In his first words to the visitors the old inter 
 preter revealed that the name of the Red Bone 
 ruler was Umanuh. Later on Lourengo informed 
 McKay that in the Tupi lengoa geral of the 
 Amazonian Indians (which, however, was not 
 spoken by this tribe) the word "umanuh" meant 
 " corpse." And whatever the name may have 
 signified in the language of the Red Bones, its 
 Tupi definition fitted with disagreeable precision. 
 For Umanuh was a living cadaver. 
 
 Gaunt, gray skinned, lank haired, hollow of 
 cheek and eye, with thin, cruel lips so tight 
 drawn that the teeth behind seemed to show 
 through, ribs projecting, clawlike hands resting 
 on bony knees, his whole frame motionless as that 
 of a man long dead, the head man of the bone- 
 dyeing tribe was the antithesis of both the pig 
 gish Suba and the herculean Monitaya. Only 
 his eyes lived; and those eyes were cold and 
 merciless as those of a snake or a vulture. A 
 man who ruled by ruthless cunning, who would
 
 238 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 gaze unmoved on the most ghastly tortures, who 
 would devour human flesh with ghoulish relish 
 such was the creature who sat in a red-dyed 
 hammock and contemplated the impassive face 
 of McKay. 
 
 "Umanuh, great chief, eater of his enemies, 
 with fangs of the jaguar and wisdom of the great 
 snake, awaits the greeting of the one-whose-hair 
 grows-from-his-mouth," droned the old mouth 
 piece of the chief. 
 
 "Makkay, leader of the fighting men of the 
 Blackbeards, whose voice is the thunder and 
 whose hand spits lightning and death, gives 
 greeting to Umanuh," responded Lourengo in a 
 like droning tone. 
 
 A pause. Umanuh gave no sign of life. McKay, 
 straight and cold, met the unwinking stare of the 
 chief with his own chill gray gaze. Between the 
 two who spoke not was a testing of wills. 
 
 "Makkay brings with him none of the Black- 
 beard warriors," pointed out the interpreter, 
 who seemed to know his master's thought. "He 
 comes with only the jungle men of light skins." 
 
 "Makkay needs none of his own warriors when 
 he comes in peace. If he came in war the terrible 
 Blackbeards with him would cause the whole 
 forest to fly apart in smoke and flame. Since he 
 walks in peace to visit his friend Umanuh, of 
 whose wisdom he has heard, he brings only his 
 friends the Mayorunas, who are friends also to the 
 men of the Red Bones."
 
 THE RAPOSA 239 
 
 Another pause. The old man now seemed 
 somewhat uncertain of himself. The silent duel 
 between McKay and Umanuh went on. At 
 length the chief's eyes flickered a trifle. In a 
 hissing whisper he said something. 
 
 "The men of the Mayorunas never come to 
 this country unless seeking something," the inter 
 preter promptly spoke up. "What do they 
 seek?" 
 
 "Only that which Makkay seeks." 
 
 Then, turning to the captain, the Brazilian 
 added: "Capitao, we now have reached the point 
 to talk business. Have you any presents? And 
 is it your wish to give them now or later?" 
 
 "I have a few things. But I'll give them 
 later if at all. This chief is hostile. Tell him 
 what we're here for and see how he acts." 
 
 "It has come to the ears of Makkay," Lourengo 
 informed the man of Umanuh, "that a man of the 
 Blackbeards lives among the men of the Red 
 Bones. Makkay would see that man." 
 
 Again the interpreter awaited his master's 
 voice before answering. 
 
 "No man of the Blackbeards is among the men 
 of Umanuh," he then denied. 
 
 "If he is not among them he is near them," 
 was Lourengo's certain reply. "He has been 
 seen both by other Blackbeards and by the 
 Mayorunas. I, too, have seen him. He bears 
 on his bones the sign that his mind is out of his 
 skull. His eyes are green and his hair touched
 
 240 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 with white. Umanuh and his men know well 
 that I speak true." 
 
 The pause this tune was longer than before. 
 
 "There was such a man, but he is gone." 
 
 "Then Makkay asks his friend Umanuh to 
 find that one. A chief so wise can easily find him 
 where others would see only water and mud." 
 
 "If he could be found what would the great 
 Blackbeard leader do with him?" 
 
 Lourengo thought swiftly. To say the Raposa 
 was McKay's friend would do little good. 
 Friendship meant nothing to this unfeeling 
 brute. Therefore the bushman insinuated some 
 thing which his cruel mind could comprehend. 
 
 "If a Red Bone man abandoned his people 
 and went to another tribe, what would Umanuh 
 do to him when he was found?" 
 
 A cold glimmer in the chief's eyes showed that 
 he thought he understood. Moreover, he would 
 much like to see what sort of torture this hard- 
 faced Blackbeard would use on a fugitive. It 
 might be something even more fiendish than 
 his own pastimes. So the next reply came 
 promptly. 
 
 "If that man is found the blackbeard will pay 
 for him?" 
 
 "There are gifts of friendship for Umanuh," 
 Lourengo nodded. 
 
 "The Blackbeard leader will pay more than the 
 other Blackbeard?" 
 
 Lourenc.o almost blinked. What other Black-
 
 THE RAPOSA 241 
 
 beard? The Raposa himself? But the Brazilian 
 repressed his bewilderment. 
 
 "Makkay will first see the man to make sure 
 he is the Blackboard whom Makkay wants," he 
 dodged. "Then he will pay well." 
 
 "Umanuh will see the gifts now." 
 
 "The gifts cannot be shown now. They are 
 packed away. When Makkay has looked on the 
 man Umanuh shall look on the gifts." 
 
 Another eye duel between the chief and 
 McKay. As before, the captain's eye proved the 
 harder. 
 
 "Umanuh will think of the matter. Night 
 comes. The man hunted by the Blackboard is 
 not here. The Blackboard and his men may stay 
 to-night across the water. When the sun rises 
 again Umanuh will talk further." 
 
 "It is well. Let Umanuh tell his men to stay 
 on this side of the water, that we may not mis 
 take them in the night for enemies." 
 
 When Umanuh had hissed assent the old man 
 stepped to the doorway and summoned the 
 hatchet-faced warrior. To him instructions were 
 given. He turned and carried the commands 
 to the tribesmen. 
 
 "Makkay wishes Umanuh peaceful rest," said 
 Lourengo. With which he flicked his eyes 
 toward the door. McKay, with stiff stride, 
 stalked out. Lourengo followed. Both felt the 
 snake eyes of the cadaverous chief dwelling on 
 their backs.
 
 242 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 To the waiting Knowlton, Pedro, and Tucu it 
 was briefly explained that preliminary negotia 
 tions had been concluded and that camp now 
 would be made on the farther side of the creek. 
 Tucu, observing that the Red Bone mass behind 
 was dividing again to let the visitors pass through, 
 gave the word to his men. The column began to 
 move out, marching in reverse order. Pedro 
 muttered swiftly to his partner. 
 
 "Loureno, see that house with the barred 
 door where the clubman stands guard. Remem 
 ber where it is." 
 
 The other swept the loop in one quick glance, 
 located the house, and fell into step without a 
 word, the guarded structure fixed on his brain as 
 clearly as if he had studied it for an hour. 
 Walking down the malodorous street, he said, 
 quietly, "There will be a small moon to-night." 
 
 "You are becoming a reader of the mind, 
 comrade," Pedro grinned. No more was said. 
 
 Down to the shore of the creek trooped the 
 party, followed closely by the hatchet-face and a 
 score of tribesmen. The whites and the Mayo- 
 runas got into half a dozen of the waiting canoes 
 and paddled across. In other dugouts the Red 
 Bone men also crossed, but they did not land. 
 As soon as the borrowed boats were empty the 
 tribesmen took them in tow and returned to 
 their own bank. The visitors were left on a partly 
 cleared shore, separated from their uncordial 
 hosts by some twenty yards of deep water. Not
 
 THE RAPOSA 243 
 
 one canoe was left them. Furthermore, the Red 
 Bones now began activities indicating an inten 
 tion to establish a night-longwatch on the irside 
 of the stream. 
 
 "Taking no chances of our raiding them to 
 night, or even snooping around town," said 
 Knowlton. "Keeping everything in their own 
 hands. Reckon we'd better post sentries to 
 night, Rod, just to keep an eye on that outpost 
 of theirs." 
 
 McKay nodded. 
 
 "We four will take it hi turn," he agreed. 
 "Lourengo -Pedro you I. Three-hour tours." 
 
 "Pardon, Capitao," interposed Pedro. "It 
 would be well to change that. You two senhores 
 take the first two watches." 
 
 "Why?" frowned McKay. 
 
 "Because Lourengo and I wish to go visiting. 
 We are much smitten with the charms of the 
 ladies here." 
 
 The captain's frown deepened, but he studied 
 Pedro's devil-may-care face keenly before an 
 swering. 
 
 "Humph! What's up your sleeve? Out with 
 it!" 
 
 Pedro glanced around him and across the 
 water. The tribesmen, both of the Mayoruna 
 force and of the Red Bones, were watching the 
 colloquy. 
 
 "We are watched, Capitao. Let us make 
 camp now and talk later. These men do not
 
 244 J THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 understand our words, but we cannot tell what 
 they may see in our faces. Now speak harshly, 
 as if I had been insolent." 
 
 McKay did. He thundered at the young 
 bushman as if about to do him bodily injury. 
 
 Pedro retreated a step, as if taken aback by the 
 storm he had unleashed. When McKay stopped 
 he replied: "Excellent, Capitao. Now I go to 
 start work on the tambo." 
 
 He trudged away with a sullen gait. On both 
 sides of the stream the Indians muttered and 
 looked at the tall commander with increased 
 respect. Truly, the Blackbeard was a fierce ruler 
 and one who must not be angered; he had the 
 voice of a great gun and the temper of a jaguar. 
 That other man was lucky to have his head still 
 on his shoulders! 
 
 When the camp was made at the edge of the 
 bush and the four comrades were grouped in 
 their hammocks, Lourengo narrated in detail the 
 conversation with Umanuh. Knowlton recipro 
 cated with news of what he and Pedro had seen 
 at the corner of the barred house. 
 
 "I almost jumped after him, Rod," he ad 
 mitted. ' ' Had all I could do to hold myself. But 
 I knew anything sudden like that might start 
 war right there, and we wouldn't have a China 
 man's chance of getting away with him, so I 
 stood fast. But he's here, and old Umanuh's a 
 liar by the clock if he says otherwise." 
 
 "He is the same man we saw in the forest,
 
 THE RAPOSA 245 
 
 Lourengo, or my eyes are twisted," added Pedro. 
 
 "Hm! Something very fishy here," com 
 mented McKay. 
 
 "Very fishy indeed, Capitao," Lourenc,o 
 echoed. "The man is within call, yet Umamih 
 says he is not here. And Umanuh wants us to 
 buy the man. What is more, he asks if we will 
 pay more than the other Blackbeard. What other 
 Blackbeard? The man himself has a dark beard, 
 and since we left headquarters Pedro and I have 
 grown black whiskers, too. Yet Umanuh can 
 not mean the crazy man would pay him to stay 
 here, or that either of us Brazilians would try to 
 buy him. There are no other men with black 
 beards except the German woman - stealer; 
 and of course he cannot be the one." 
 
 "No?" Pedro asked, softly. 
 
 "No, certainly. Why? Of what were you 
 thinking?" 
 
 Pedro's brown eyes twinkled, but he made no 
 answer. He only inhaled a long puff from his 
 cigarette and looked across the water at the 
 hairpin-shaped town. 
 
 "What about that visiting trip of yours to 
 night?" McKay asked. 
 
 "I wish to see what is in that house with the 
 barred door, Capitao. When I am curious about 
 such a matter LourenQo always becomes curious, 
 too, so I shall have to take him with me. If I did 
 not he would say I was making love to the chief's 
 
 wives." 
 17
 
 246 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "For Deus! That may be all the barred house 
 holds the wives of the chief," guessed Lourengo. 
 "Why waste time and risk death to look into that 
 place?" 
 
 "Quern nao arrisca nao ganha, as the coronel 
 would say he who risks nothing gains nothing. 
 I feel that we should visit that house. Some 
 thing calls me back to it." 
 
 Lourengo studied his partner a moment, then 
 nodded slowly. But McKay interposed decided 
 objection. 
 
 "Too dangerous. Also unnecessary. We'll 
 get Rand if the man is Rand through the 
 chief. Your night spying might ruin everything 
 and get you killed into the bargain. Nothing 
 to gain and all to lose. Stay here." 
 
 Pedro's eyes hardened. But it was Lourengo 
 who answered. 
 
 "Capitao, I think we had best do as Pedro 
 says. It is a queer thing and I cannot explain it, 
 but I have known him to have such ideas in the 
 past and they have always worked out for the 
 best. He himself does not know why he does 
 some things things which look totally foolish 
 and which often are very dangerous except that 
 he feels like doing them. Yet I have never known 
 this foolishness to fail to turn out well. He and I 
 will go over to-night and see what we may see." 
 
 The captain's brows drew together. Flat 
 insubordination! Then he remembered that 
 these men were not subordinates at all; remem-
 
 THE RAPOSA 247 
 
 bered also what Coronel Nunes said concerning 
 their ability to get into and out of dangerous 
 situations. When Knowlton sided with them 
 he capitulated. 
 
 "Up in the States we'd say Pedro was ' riding 
 his hunch," was [the lieutenant's remark. 
 "And I've known a hunch to bring all kinds of 
 good luck. Gee! I'd like to go across with 
 you lads myself! But I'm no jungle expert, 
 especially after dark, and I'd only be in the 
 way. Besides, we'll sure have to stick here and 
 keep up appearances while you're gone. How 
 will you get over? There's no way but swim 
 ming, and this creek's probably inhabited by 
 the usual 'gators and snakes and things." 
 
 "When one can travel only by swimming, one 
 swims," Pedro smiled. "Leave that to us, 
 senhores. Now the sun sinks fast and I have 
 hunger. Let us eat." 
 
 Night was at hand. While the whites talked 
 some of the Mayorunas had quietly slipped 
 away into the bush, seeking whatever fresh meat 
 might be obtainable without straying too far 
 from camp. Naturally, the hunting was poor 
 so near an inhabited place, but now the absent 
 men came stealing back with a few small birds 
 and one monkey. Though the savages asked 
 nothing and evidently expected nothing from the 
 whites to eke out this scant provision, the latter 
 opened their meager larders to Tucu, ordering 
 him to see that every man had at least a few
 
 248 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 mouthfuls to eat. Tucu, like a good commander, 
 made no bones of accepting the invitation for 
 the good of his men. When all hands had stowed 
 away the last meal of the day the rations were 
 reduced almost to the vanishing point. 
 
 "Those miserable whelps over there might 
 have had the decency to give us a few bites," 
 Knowlton growled, looking at the Red Bone men 
 on the other bank, who were gorging themselves 
 on meat brought by then: women. 
 
 "It is quite possible that they intend to give 
 us several bites later on," Pedro suggested, with 
 a mirthless smile. 
 
 "Uh-huh. Shouldn't wonder. But it's also 
 possible that they'll have to assimilate a few lead 
 pills before chewing us up. Rod, we'll have our 
 work cut out standing guard to-night. I 
 wouldn't put it past that lying old Umanuh to 
 try rubbing us out before morning." 
 
 "Nor I," concurred McKay. "Only ques 
 tion is whether he dares take a chance against 
 our guns and against the likelihood that Moni- 
 taya will send other men to investigate our 
 disappearance. Better keep well out of sight." 
 
 As he spoke the last light of day vanished. 
 Stars and a quarter moon leaped out in the 
 swiftly darkening sky. The small fire of the 
 -' expedition threw dim shadows against the poles 
 of the night shelters. Lights glimmered in the 
 Red Bone huts, and other lights began to streak 
 across the gloom the bright little lanterns of
 
 THE RAPOSA 249 
 
 fireflies coasting along the stream. But at the 
 point where the Red Bone night guard lurked 
 no light shone. They had built no fire, and now 
 they were almost invisible in the faint moon 
 shine sinister shadows which even now might 
 be meditating murder or worse. 
 
 Lourenyo lounged over to Tucu, who was 
 watching those shadows with a fixed cat stare, 
 and informed him that until morning a man with 
 a gun would be always on guard while the rest 
 slept. The Indian grunted approval. By way 
 of precaution against being killed by his own men, 
 the Brazilian added the information that later 
 on he and his comrade would leave the camp 
 and go upstream for a time. At this Tucu's 
 eyes dwelt on his, veered to the lights of the 
 town, and returned. In them was a plain, 
 though unspoken, question. The bushman ig 
 nored it and strolled back to his tambo. 
 
 The moon sailed higher. The animal uproar 
 of early night began to diminish. The fire, 
 almost buried under slow-burning wood whose 
 acrid smoke alleviated the insect pests, smoldered 
 dull red. McKay and Knowlton drew lots for 
 the first sleep, the captain winning and promptly 
 getting under his net. In the Mayoruna shelter 
 all was dark and silent, each man sleeping lightly 
 with one hand on a weapon. The two Bra 
 zilians also were out of sight in their hut. 
 
 Up and down, a barely distinguishable figure, 
 Knowlton passed slowly with holster unbut-
 
 250 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 toned and rifle cocked, eyes turning periodically 
 to the Red Bone outpost and ears intent to pick 
 any unusual sound out of the night noise. Grad 
 ually the small lights of the town faded out. 
 To all appearance, sleep had whelmed it for the 
 night. The watchers on the farther shore stirred 
 a little at tunes, but the blot they made in the 
 moonshine remained fixed in the same spot. 
 The only moving things were the khaki-clad 
 sentinel and the blazing fireflies. 
 
 Another hour rolled slowly by. The sentinel 
 stopped and stood at a corner of the tawibo. 
 Now was as good a time as any for the Brazilians 
 to start their perilous reconnaissance. Per 
 haps they had gone to sleep. He squinted at 
 their hammocks. Yes, they were occupied. 
 Stepping softly to the hammock of Pedro, he 
 lifted the net to whisper to the occupant. Then 
 he stared, dropped the net, and lifted Lourenyo's 
 curtain. A soft, self-derisive chuckle sounded 
 in his throat as he stole out again. 
 
 The hammocks were occupied, yes; but only 
 by packs and rifles. Armed only with machetes, 
 the two bushmen now were where? He did 
 not even know when or which way they had 
 gone. Fine sentinel, wasn't he, to let two full- 
 grown men sneak away right under his nose? 
 And if they could get out so slick, why couldn't 
 somebody else a murderous Red Bone, for 
 instance get in with equal facility? 
 
 Wherefore he became all the more alert.
 
 THE RAPOSA 251 
 
 Instead of resuming his slow pace, he stood quiet 
 at a corner, scrutinizing everything within his 
 range of vision, listening more intently than 
 ever. Two or three times he leaned forward 
 and lifted his piece as some splashing noise in 
 the creek came to him; but each time the canni 
 bal guards on the other bank also sprang to see 
 what caused the sound, then grunted to one 
 another and relaxed, so he knew it was made by 
 piscatory or reptilian life. Near him nothing 
 moved. And the moon sailed on westward, 
 smoothly, steadily measuring off the silent hours 
 of the night watch. 
 
 Then all at once every nerve in him strained 
 toward the back of the tambo. Something was 
 there! He had not heard it seen it smelled 
 it but he felt it; a nameless thing that did 
 not belong there. With smooth speed he piv 
 oted, looked, listened. Nothing there. 
 
 Motionless, feeling slightly creepy, concealed 
 under the roof corner, he waited. A sound 
 came a stealthy sound. Something was creep 
 ing in. Lourengo and Pedro, perhaps? Stoop 
 ing low, he peered along the ground under the 
 hammocks. 
 
 A man was coming coming on all-fours like 
 an animal. He was too stealthy to be either of 
 the Brazilians. Knowlton glimpsed him only 
 dimly, but he was sure this was no man who 
 belonged here. And now, as on a previous occa 
 sion almost identical in its circumstances, the
 
 252 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 watchman acted in accordance with Tim Ryan's 
 General Order Number Thirteen. 
 
 In three jumps he was upon the invader. 
 His gun butt crashed down on the rising head. 
 The other collapsed on the ground. 
 
 Swiftly Knowlton snapped a match with his 
 thumb-nail. The sudden flare half blinded him, 
 but what he saw made him suck in his breath. 
 When the match went out he turned the sense 
 less body over, drew his pocket flashlight, 
 stabbed its white ray downward. Then he com 
 mitted the unpardonable sin of the army he 
 dropped his rifle. 
 
 Dark haired, dark bearded, streaked with red 
 dye and bleeding slightly at the nose, at his feet 
 lay the man for whom the indomitable trio had 
 traveled thousands of miles and dared all the 
 deaths of the jungle the Raposa.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. SHADOWS OF THE 
 NIGHT 
 
 OD! Wake up!" 
 
 The tense whisper aroused McKay 
 instantly. With one sweep of the arm 
 his net was torn aside and he leaped out with 
 pistol drawn. 
 
 " Right, Merry. What is it?" 
 
 "We've got him! Look!" 
 
 The electric ray again streaked the gloom. 
 The astounded captain did not drop his gun, 
 but he came near it. For a long minute he 
 stood as in a trance. When he attempted to 
 holster his weapon he fumbled three times 
 for the sheath before he found it. 
 
 "Whew!" he breathed. "Have you killed him?" 
 
 "Nope don't think so. Lord! I hope not! 
 Now that I think of it, I did give him a mighty 
 solid smash. Used the butt. He was crawling 
 in here, and naturally I didn't stop to ask for 
 his card. Feel his head." 
 
 McKay complied. His exploring fingers found 
 only a huge bump under the thick hair. 
 
 "No, his skull's whole. Didn't even split the 
 scalp. You crowned him hard, but unless he 
 got concussion he's still useful. His nosebleed 
 comes from hitting the ground, I think. Turn 
 off the light. Are you still on guard?"
 
 254 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Yes. The Brazilians are out." 
 
 "Take a turn and see that all's clear. Can't 
 tell what might break any minute now. Leave 
 your flash here." 
 
 Passing the flat, nickel light-box to the captain, 
 Knowlton retrieved his gun from the ground and 
 resumed his patrol. Slight as the disturbance had 
 been, uneasiness was in the air. The savages on 
 the far shore were up, peering at the tambo and 
 muttering to one another. Measuring the dis 
 tance, the lieutenant saw that, though they had 
 undoubtedly seen the flashlight switched on and 
 off and made out the movements of men, they 
 could not have discerned what lay on the ground 
 beyond the hammocks. Nearer at hand, Tucu 
 and a couple of the Mayorunas were awake and 
 looking out. But the sight of the sentinel 
 strolling up and down in apparent unconcern and 
 the absence of light in the tambo gradually quieted 
 the suspicions on both sides of the water. Soon 
 the Red Bones squatted again and the Mayo 
 runas lay back with minds at ease. 
 
 Then a dim sheen of light showed for a time at 
 the back of the white men's shelter, fading out 
 after a few minutes into the usual gloom. McKay 
 had pulled a blanket over himself and the un 
 conscious man, masking his torch glare from 
 any watching eye while he studied the face 
 and form of the invader. After the faint radi 
 ance vanished certain sounds came to the sen 
 try's ears. Then McKay's tall figure loomed
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 255 
 
 in the vague moonshine. Knowlton stopped 
 beside him. 
 
 "It's Rand," the captain vouchsafed in an 
 undertone. "No question of it. Features iden 
 tical, though face is drawn. White hair mark, 
 broken nose, green eyes. I opened one eye. Got 
 a bad foot, partly healed; looks as if he'd torn it 
 on a stub. Poor devil seems nearly starved." 
 
 "So? Then that's why he sneaked in like 
 that wanted to steal some grub. Those mutts 
 over yonder probably haven't fed him since he 
 got hurt." 
 
 "That's it. He's had to do his own foraging, 
 and his foot has given him mighty little chance. 
 Damn those brutes!" 
 
 "Right! But now what? Look out that he 
 doesn't sneak away again." 
 
 "He won't. I tied his feet. He's in Pedro's 
 hammock, still dead to the world. If he wakes 
 up and starts to yell I'll gag him. We've got to 
 get away now as soon as we can." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Don't know. By water, perhaps. Wish those 
 bushman were here. Haven't heard any noise 
 over there, have you?" 
 
 "All quiet. They're safe or dead." 
 
 "Hm! Confounded foolishness, anyway. But 
 we've no means of getting out until they're back. 
 Couldn't desert them, besides. What time is it?" 
 
 " Ten-thirty. You go on watch at midnight." 
 
 "I'm on watch now, inside. They may be
 
 256 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 back any time. If they don't show up in the 
 next couple of hours I'll send Tucu to find out 
 why. We'll have to get those canoes over here, 
 too. Water leaves no trail." 
 
 He turned back into the hut, leaving Knowlton 
 figuring chances. To obtain those canoes was a 
 man-sized job. To put the Red Bone guards out 
 of action without arousing the whole tribe was an 
 even bigger job. But no boats could be brought 
 over until the outpost was silenced, that was sure. 
 
 Another half-hour crept past. Still no noise 
 from the town, no suspicious move on the other 
 shore. Then from the tambo itself came a low 
 mumble of voices. Knowlton stepped swiftly into 
 it. As noiselessly as they had gone the two bush- 
 men had returned. 
 
 In his usual concise phrases McKay was in 
 forming them of the capture of the Raposa. With 
 his back to the stream and the flashlight held 
 close to his body, he played the light for an instant 
 on the face of the still unconscious man. Then, 
 once more in darkness, he asserted : 
 
 "Now that we have him, we must get out of 
 here. Only chance to do that is to get the canoes. 
 With them we can at least be away from this town 
 by sunrise, and it will take the Red Bones just so 
 much longer to find our trail where we take to 
 the bush. We'll get a flying start that way. 
 Anything else to suggest?" 
 
 "That is the best plan, Capitao," Lourengo 
 agreed. For the first time since the Americans
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 257 
 
 had known him his voice held a note of suppressed 
 excitement. "It is the only plan worth while. 
 And I do not think we shall have to take to our 
 legs soon if at all. I believe this creek connects 
 with that which flows past the Monitaya malocas. 
 We have learned some things. Por Deus! If 
 only we had known the Raposa was here!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because then we could have brought com 
 pany with us. Senhores, guess what the barred 
 house holds." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Women of the Mayorunas! Girls stolen 
 from Monitaya and other settlements!" 
 
 "Jumping Judas!" ejaculated Knowlton. 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Sure, comrades! These foul Red Bones 
 are the men who have been lurking around the 
 Mayoruna tribe houses and capturing girls who 
 went into the bush. They have taken the pris 
 oners to the water, where the trails always were 
 lost and where they could find hiding places 
 until night, then drive their canoes past the 
 clearings and get out of that country. So there 
 must be some water connection by which these 
 men travel, and by which we too can travel. 
 If we go downstream we are almost sure to find 
 it by daylight." 
 
 "But why what's the idea of their stealing 
 the girls? For victims? If so, how are the 
 girls still alive?"
 
 258 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Do you not see, senhor?" Pedro broke in, 
 impatiently. "Did not Umamih ask if we would 
 pay more than the other Blackbeard for the 
 Raposa? What other Blackbeard?" 
 
 "Schwandorf !" the Americans blurted, simul 
 taneously. 
 
 "Not so loud! Schwandorf, of course! 
 Umanuh works with the German. He catches 
 girls by stealth and sells them to the German to 
 add to his slave gangs. While the Mayorunas 
 all blame the Peruvians for the disappearances, 
 Umanuh works unsuspected. He is holding 
 these women until Schwandorf comes again 
 and it may be that Schwandorf is not far off at 
 this moment. Now that we have come seeking 
 the wild man, Umanuh at once thinks of selling 
 him also; and he wonders whether we or Schwan 
 dorf will pay the more for him." 
 
 "By thunder! I believe you're right!" Knowl- 
 ton coincided. "He's stalling for tune, holding 
 us here while Schwandorf comes up, I'll bet. 
 No wonder he and his men are wary of the 
 Mayorunas they thought we'd come to snoop 
 around and catch 'em with the goods. You 
 fellows must have done a mighty slick job to 
 find out this stuff without getting caught. 
 Isn't the house guarded at night?" 
 
 "Indeed it is! Two clubmen are there now, 
 and there is only the one door. Not even a 
 window. But Lourengo worked a small hole 
 between two logs at the back while I watched
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 259 
 
 the clubmen, and through the hole he whispered 
 with one of the women inside. If only we had 
 known the wild man was here we could have 
 jumped the guards and tried to bring back the 
 women. But of course your business about the 
 Raposa had to be thought of first, so all we 
 could do was to tell them friends were here." 
 
 For a few seconds there was the silence of 
 thought. Then Knowlton chuckled. 
 
 "I'll say we have our hands full this night. 
 Now we not only have to get ourselves and Rand 
 out of here, but also rescue the fair damsels 
 from the clutches of the ogre. 'Twon't do to 
 leave them here while we go back to Monitaya 
 and get the rest of his army. By the time we 
 could come back they'd be gone one way or 
 another. What's done has to be done now or 
 never." 
 
 "Right!" McKay commended. "We'll have 
 to save the women, of course. Question is 
 how?" 
 
 Loureno answered at once. 
 
 "My idea, Capitao, is this: We two will 
 return. With us we will take Tucu. The 
 three of us can handle those guards quietly. 
 We must have Tucu, because the women do 
 not know us and might balk at the last moment. 
 Women are queer creatures, and these might 
 think themselves safer inside prison walls than 
 following two strange men through the night; 
 but Tucu can handle them. When once we
 
 260 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 are clear of the houses Tucu can lead the women 
 to the bank above here, and we shall try for the 
 canoes. Then it will be fast work to get away, 
 but if we have good fortune it can be done." 
 
 11 Confound it! You fellows are taking all 
 the risks! Can't you take more men " 
 
 "No. No man but Tucu. He has a cool 
 head. These others, if they knew, would go 
 blood-mad and attack the Red Bones to avenge 
 their lost women, and so would get us all killed. 
 Now I will talk with Tucu." 
 
 He slipped into the Mayoruna shelter and 
 returned with the cannibal leader, whom he led 
 to the far side of the tambo before speaking. 
 Then, in whispers which the other tribesmen 
 could not overhear, he explained the situation. 
 Knowlton took another turn or two along his 
 post, rinding that the Red Bones across the 
 water were stirring about and evidently aware 
 that something was going on; but they made no 
 move either to get into a canoe or to send a man 
 to the houses beyond. As he stopped again at 
 the corner near the whispering pair he heard 
 Tucu grinding his teeth, and as the savage 
 turned his face toward the Red Bone outpost 
 it was a mask of murder. But he spoke no word 
 as he slipped back to his own men. 
 
 "He will wake another man and tell him what 
 to do," LourenO explained. "But only we four 
 shall know of the women until they are freed. 
 Will one of you lend Tucu a machete? He may
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 261 
 
 need a weapon, and he cannot carry his big bow 
 on this trip." 
 
 A few minutes later the three crept out behind 
 the tambo, Tucu gripping McKay's machete. 
 As a final word Lourengo said: "Our men here 
 may move about a little after a time, but do not 
 try to keep them quiet. It is a part of the 
 plan." 
 
 With that he was gone. Listen as they might, 
 the Americans could hear no sound to indicate 
 that three men now were traversing the black 
 tangle beyond. 
 
 McKay took up his rifle and assumed the 
 sentry work. Knowlton sat in his hammock, 
 grateful for the chance to rest his weary legs. 
 From the hammock where the Raposa lay no 
 sound came. With a worried frown the lieu 
 tenant leaned over him and laid hand on his 
 heart. After a while he sat up again in relief. 
 
 "Lord! I sure knocked him cold!" was his 
 thought. "But he's still with us, and there's 
 no use hi reviving him now; the less noise over 
 here the better. Hope I didn't jar his brains 
 loose altogether; he might wake up a murderous 
 maniac. Poor devil! A millionaire, yet half 
 starved and more than half nutty." 
 
 He glanced at the dim scene before the hut. 
 The moon now had journeyed so far westward 
 that the creeping shadows of the tall trees had 
 moved out almost to the creek, and the two crude 
 shelters and the sentinel were surrounded by 
 
 18
 
 262 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 dense gloom. The Red Bone men opposite must 
 rely on their ears alone hereafter, for they could 
 not see through this darkness. McKay was 
 visible enough to his own party, but not to the 
 enemy. The blond man in the hammock watched 
 the somber figure of his comrade, followed the 
 flight of a big firefly whose light floated near, 
 thought of the two bushmen out hi the dark, 
 and looked again at the still form of Rand. 
 
 "Drifters all," he soliloquized. "The fireflies 
 and Rod and Tim and I and those Brazilian dare 
 devils all floating around because we can't 
 keep still, and never getting anywhere. And 
 you, you silly-ass Rand, have a mint waiting 
 for you up home, and we have to come find 
 you and lead you up there and shove your nose 
 into it. And if you get your brains back you'll 
 be a nine days' wonder and a hero of the jungle 
 and all that, and the girls will all tumble over 
 you because you've got a couple of millions hi 
 your sock. And we fellows who yanked you 
 out of hell by the left hind leg can pocket our 
 pay and go jump off the dock, for all anybody 
 cares. Ho-hum! All the same, I'd rather be 
 me than you, old thing. Free to drift and able 
 to handle myself. You can have the money 
 and the moths that hang around it." 
 
 With which he yawned, squinted again at 
 the sinister figure squatting out yonder in the 
 monshine, arose, and made himself useful. 
 Working very quietly, he took down three of
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 263 
 
 the hammocks, rolled them up, laid them at the 
 corner nearest the creek; made up the packs by 
 sense of touch and placed them and the rifles 
 of the absent pair in the same place. Then he 
 lifted the Raposa from the one remaining ham 
 mock, laid him on the packs, rolled up the 
 hammock itself, and put it under the unconscious 
 man's head. If given time when the crisis came, 
 he meant to save all equipment. If not, Rand 
 lay where he could be grabbed without delay. 
 
 Before he completed the work he became 
 aware that the Mayorunas all were awake. 
 Not only awake, but moving stealthily about, 
 as Lourengo had predicted. McKay also knew 
 it and stepped back into the hut, where Knowl- 
 ton told him what he had done. But so softly 
 did the men of Monitaya move that the Red 
 Bone watchers showed no sign of alarm. Both 
 the Americans observed, however, that the can 
 nibals across the stream had their heads together 
 and that occasionally one looked up at the little 
 moon. 
 
 "Get that, Rod? They're waiting for the 
 shadows to crawl over there and cover them and 
 the water. They know that then we can't see 
 what they're up to. I'm betting they intend to 
 pull some dirty work after that." 
 
 "Yep. But intention and accomplishment 
 are two different birds. Wonder what these 
 Mayorunas are fixing to do. Wish I could talk 
 their language."
 
 264 THE PATHLESS TRAIL , 
 
 "Tucu evidently left orders for them to get 
 up at a certain time, but why I don't know. 
 We'd better let them alone." 
 
 The shadow line passed out upon the water, 
 slipping by infinitesimal gradations across its 
 mirror surface. The Mayorunas had become 
 quiet. The whites waited in silent suspense for 
 they knew not what. Far out in the forest a 
 jaguar gave his coughing roar at intervals. 
 Little by little the Red Bone men arose from 
 their squat until they stood erect. A tense 
 stillness held both forces. And the shadows 
 crawled on on and reached the farther bank. 
 
 Then a Red Bone man shoved his head for 
 ward, squinting upstream as if he had heard 
 something move in the rank grass. He began 
 to sneak softly in that direction. At that 
 moment, from the water's edge a little above the 
 camp, sounded a loud hiss. 
 
 Before the sound died a sudden thrum of bow 
 cords filled the air. A whisper of five-foot shafts 
 speeding over the water a rapid-fire series of 
 tiny impacts a couple of short groans the 
 thumps of falling bodies and the Red Bone 
 outpost was no more. Shot through and through 
 by the deadly war arrows of the Mayorunas, 
 they were dead before they struck the ground. 
 And from the men of Monitaya sounded one 
 short, subdued "Hah!" of savage satisfaction. 
 
 Up from the ground where that hiss had 
 sounded rose a tall figure which waved its arms
 
 ' SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 265 
 
 and danced about in impromptu signals. Then 
 it ran for the canoes. Out from the gloom 
 upstream other figures took shape, running fast 
 for the same point. With one simultaneous 
 movement Knowlton and McKay seized the 
 Raposa and rushed with him to the stream. 
 
 "Senhores!" sounded Pedro's voice, low but 
 tense, across the water. "Be ready!" 
 
 "Ready and waiting!" snapped McKay. 
 "Who are those people. Your women?" 
 : "Si. We are not discovered " 
 
 Across his words smote a long shrill yell from 
 the town. 
 
 " Par Delis* We are discovered! Get our 
 rifles, for the love of Deus Padre. " 
 
 He leaped into a canoe, drove it headlong 
 across, and dived for the tambo. Behind him 
 the other figures dashed panting up to the 
 landing. Tucu's voice rasped in swift com 
 mands. The fugitives swarmed into other dug 
 outs. The Mayoruna men, still ignorant of the 
 identity of these people, but assured by Tucu's 
 voice and manner that they were not enemies, 
 lowered their weapons and rushed for the water. 
 Up in the town the yelling swiftly grew into a 
 roar, and running figures came pelting toward 
 the creek. 
 
 The canoes struck the bank. Some were partly 
 filled, some empty and in tow. Into Pedro's 
 canoe the whites bundled the Raposa, while the 
 Mayorunas got into anything within reach.
 
 26G THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Lourengo appeared from nowhere and urged the 
 Americans to open fire. As he spoke, arrows 
 thudded into the ground and the water. 
 
 "Take this man and go!" rasped McKay. 
 "We're losing our equipment, but " 
 
 His rifle leaped to his shoulder. Flame spat 
 from it. From the van of the charging Red 
 Bones shrilled a death scream. 
 
 Again and again the captain's gun cracked. 
 Knowlton's joined in. Before their rifles grew 
 silent the blunt roar of Pedro's repeater broke 
 out. And with the emptying of their long 
 guns the Americans drew then* short ones, and 
 in a concerted ripping crash the forty-fives 
 volleyed death and dismay into the oncoming 
 cannibals. 
 
 The rush was checked. For a few seconds the 
 Red Bones wavered and milled about. Into 
 their mass poured a cloud of arrows and blow- 
 gun darts from the silent but no less deadly 
 weapons of the Mayorunas. As the whites 
 paused to reload, Pedro opened a new blast 
 from Lourengo's rifle, which his comrade had 
 passed to him on the run. Lourengo was not 
 shooting, but working madly and alone to save 
 the equipment. And, thanks to the renewed 
 deadly fire of the guns, he saved it. 
 
 Before the wicked belch of the three rifles 
 and the two automatics the Red Bones gave 
 back more and more. Their arrows plunged all 
 around the fighting men, but they fell at
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 267 
 
 random, for the gunmen and the canoes were 
 virtually invisible in the deep shadows. Down 
 stream, Tucu's harsh voice jarred in commands 
 as he straightened out the line of boats. 
 
 At the next lull in the firing Lourengo panted: 
 "In, comrades! We are loaded. In!" 
 
 "Great guns! Are you still here?" snapped 
 McKay. "I told you" 
 
 "In! Talk later. Come!" 
 
 The three gun fighters swiftly obeyed. With a 
 powerful heave Lourengo sent the canoe after the 
 others. Americans, Brazilians, and the Raposa 
 hunched up among the packs, all went sliding 
 down a jungle Styx. 
 
 A moment later the Red Bone warriors, taking 
 heart from the cessation of firing, poured an 
 avalanche of arrows into the spot where they had 
 been. And as the canoe, last in the escaping line, 
 was swallowed up in the impenetrable blackness 
 of the forest a hair-raising screech of diabolical 
 fury blended with a swift succession of splashes 
 back where the cannibals were plunging headlong 
 into the stream to reach the dead or wounded 
 men whom they vainly hoped to find on the 
 farther shore. 
 
 "I told you to take this man and go!" McKay 
 fumed. "By disobeying orders you risked losing 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, pipe down, Rod!" remonstrated Knowl- 
 ton. "If they had, where'd we be now? This 
 was the last canoe."
 
 268 THE PATHLESS TRAIL] 
 
 "Si. It is so," added Lourengo, his voice 
 hard edged. "As it is, the man and the equip 
 ment and you also are here. And let me tell you 
 this, Capitao Makkay, whether you like it or not : 
 Pedro and I would see this wild man and a million 
 others like him in a hotter place than this before 
 we would abandon righting comrades." 
 
 To which McKay, finding no adequate answer, 
 made none whatever.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. THE SIREN OF WAR 
 
 E33 a fleet manned by sightless sailors the 
 line of boats blundered on through the 
 blackness. With no guiding light, the 
 canoes bumped the banks and collided with one 
 another in perilous confusion. Speed was im 
 possible, yet speed was imperative. Knowlton 
 and his little flashlight solved the problem. 
 
 "Say, fellows, let's take the lead," he suggested. 
 "This little light isn't much, but it's something r 
 and there are some extra batteries in my haver 
 sack when this burns out. We can see a little 
 way ahead, and pass back the word to the rest. 
 What say?" 
 
 "Na terra dos cegos quern tern um olho e rei in 
 blindman's land he who has one eye is king," 
 said Pedro. "That little white eye in your box 
 may save us all. Lourengo, tell those ahead to 
 let us pass." 
 
 Without question the preceding dugouts 
 swerved, and the boat of the white men slipped 
 by. At the head of the line they found Tucu 
 and his crew struggling manfully to make prog 
 ress without wrecking the whole fleet at the 
 turns. Vast relief and instant acceptance of the 
 new leadership followed Lourengo's explanation. 
 At once the floating column began to pick up 
 speed. And it was well that it did.
 
 270 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Howls of baffled hate came faintly through the 
 tree mass from the Red Bone town. Some time 
 later more yells of rage sounded, much nearer 
 back at a place on the creek which the last boat 
 had cleared only a few minutes previously. Some 
 of the Umanuh men had made torches and run 
 along one of the Red Bone trails to a bend hi the 
 stream, only to find the water bare of every 
 thing but dying ripples. 
 
 Whether the enemy attempted to follow in 
 canoes the escaping party never knew, for none 
 succeeded in overtaking the rearmost boat. And 
 after that one snarling uproar on the creek bank 
 they heard no more of the land pursuit. The 
 narrow margin of safety gained by the aid of the 
 flashlight proved enough to give a commanding 
 lead, and from that time on the only obstacles 
 to their retreat were those of darkness and wind 
 ing waters. 
 
 Hour after hour Knowlton squatted in the ex 
 treme bow, picking out the turns and snags just 
 ahead and passing the word back to Lourengo, 
 who, in the stern, steered in accordance with his 
 orders and relayed the course to Tucu, just be 
 hind. Amidships, Pedro and McKay plied steady 
 paddles and the Raposa lay all but forgotten on 
 the baggage. There were no halts. If any boat 
 back in the blackness got into difficulties it ex 
 tricated itself as best it could, unaided by the rest, 
 and fell into a new place in the column. 
 
 At last a wan light, which was scarcely a light,
 
 THE SIREN OF WAR 271 
 
 but rather a lessening of the density, came about 
 the stream. The renewed racket of birds and 
 beasts announced that up overhead the sky had 
 paled into dawn. Slowly the nearest tree trunks 
 began to take shape in the void, and presently 
 the shore line became visible to all eyes. At the 
 same time Knowlton's tiny lamp dimmed and 
 faded out. 
 
 "Another battery gone," he announced, open 
 ing the case and dropping its contents into the 
 creek. "Ho-yo-ho-hum! Gee! I'm all in! 
 Eyes feel like a couple of burnt holes. Well, 
 gents, I move that at the first available spot we 
 go ashore, feed our faces, look at the ladies, and 
 perform our morning salute to Umanuh said 
 salute consisting of applying the right thumb to 
 the end of the nose and snappily twiddling four 
 fingers." 
 
 "Motion carried." McKay's set face relaxed. 
 Then, his glance dropping to the Raposa, it 
 tightened again. "Oh, hullo, Rand! How you 
 feeling?" 
 
 The unconscious man was unconscious no 
 longer. Moreover, his expression was not that 
 of one just emerging from a stupor and be 
 wildered as to his surroundings. Though he 
 had made no movement to change his position, 
 his eyes indicated that he had been awake for 
 some time. They dwelt steadily on McKay, then 
 strayed past the captain to Pedro, Lourengo, 
 and the first Mayoruna crew following a few
 
 272 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 feet behind. His face was inscrutable, and he 
 spoke no word. 
 
 "You're with friends. Understand? Friends. 
 You're going home. These Indians are friends, 
 too. Get that? Friends!" 
 
 The green eyes hung on McKay's face again; 
 but, as before, no answer came in word, move 
 ment, or expression. 
 
 "No good, Rod," said Knowlton, who could 
 not see the rescued man's face, but watched 
 McKay's. "'Fraid I knocked his last brains 
 down his throat. Dead from the neck up." 
 
 "I don't know about that. He doesn't look 
 vacant. See here, Rand. We're going to land 
 and eat! You hungry? Uh-huh. Thought 
 you'd understand that. He's alive, Merry. 
 Maybe not all here, but enough to get us." 
 
 "Good!" 
 
 The blond man turned his attention down 
 stream again. Soon he suggested, "How about 
 landing at that little open space down there at 
 the left, Lourengo?" 
 
 "Very good, senhor. It looks dry." 
 
 The canoe swerved and floated down to a spot 
 on the left shore where bright light poured 
 down from an opening in the overhead wall of 
 foliage. 
 
 "Now look here, Rand," warned the captain. 
 "We'll untie you. But if you try to duck into 
 the bush, now or later, you get shot. Shot! 
 Understand?"
 
 THE SIREN OF WAR 273 
 
 He tapped his pistol, and the gray eyes boring 
 into the green ones were hard as chilled steel. 
 For the first time Rand responded a slow, short 
 nod. 
 
 McKay cut the cord around the wild man's 
 ankles, then stepped ashore and held out a hand. 
 Rand arose quietly, jumped to the earth un 
 assisted, lifted his bad foot and stared at it, 
 then limped onward into a spot where the sun 
 now shone bright and warm, and sat down to 
 bask. 
 
 "Have to fix that foot, I expect," yawned 
 Knowlton. "But my eyes right now are one solid 
 ache, and I'm going to rest them. Watch him, will 
 you, Rod? Can't tell what he might do. Of 
 course you wouldn't shoot him, but " 
 
 "Wouldn't I? Not to kill, no. But if he makes 
 one break I'll drill a leg for him. He's going to 
 the States!" 
 
 "Sure. I'm with you all the way. Now beat 
 it and let me repose myself." 
 
 He bathed his eyes, then lay down hi the canoe 
 with a wet handkerchief across them. Pedro 
 and Lourengo already were ashore and raiding 
 the slender packs for food. The Mayorunas were 
 debarking and watching each new boat as it 
 drew up, their eyes on the women who had 
 wielded paddles with them but whose faces they 
 now saw closely for the first time. In the shaft of 
 sunlight McKay stood tall and forbidding, rifle 
 in the crook of one arm, hat pulled low, guarding
 
 274 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 the gaunt man at his feet and viewing the landing 
 of the expedition. 
 
 The women, all young, numbered eleven. 
 Their skins looked slightly pallid, then* eyes too 
 big and black, their faces somewhat drawn the 
 results of close confinement and anxiety; but none 
 showed any sign of abuse. For commercial rea 
 sons alone, Umanuh had seen to it that the 
 woman flesh he held for sale should remain unin 
 jured. Now, saved from the slave trail or worse, 
 the girls showed no more emotion than if on a 
 mere journey after turtles or fish. A few spoke 
 to men whom they evidently knew. Others 
 gathered in a dumb cluster and awaited whatever 
 might come next. With these Tucu talked in 
 gruff monosyllables. 
 
 When all were ashore, a dozen of the men went 
 into the jungle to hunt. The others sought fire 
 wood, inspected weapons, talked with one an 
 other and with the girls, who stared at McKay 
 and asked who he was. A number of the warriors 
 looked sourly at Rand, whose face still bore the 
 Red Bone tribal streaks which now, to Mayo- 
 rum minds, was the insignia of the enemy. All 
 knew he was the man who had been sought, all 
 saw that he was not a Red Bone, but a white 
 man; yet their mental reaction to the sight of the 
 sinister red cross on the forehead and the straight 
 cheek lines was rabidly hostile. McKay, all-see 
 ing, decided to wash Rand's face for him before 
 journeying much farther. But Rand himself
 
 THE SIREN OF WAR 275 
 
 gave no sign that he either knew or cared what 
 the feeling of the Mayorunas might be. Utterly 
 impassive, he stared back at them. 
 
 Then one of the women pointed at him and said 
 something to Tucu. The tall watchdog's jaw 
 set a little harder as he waited the effect. Some 
 what to his surprise, Tucu and a couple of the 
 other men now gave Rand a more friendly look. 
 Soon afterward Tucu passed Lourenco, who 
 talked with him a few minutes. Catching the 
 Brazilian's eye, the captain motioned him nearer 
 and asked for any news. 
 
 "Tucu says, Capitao, that most of these girls 
 are from malocas other than that of Monitaya, 
 though some of Monitaya's women also are here. 
 And one of them says this man, the Raposa, tried 
 to release them a short time ago and was nearly 
 killed by the Red Bones for it. They let him live 
 only because he is crazy, and they fear to kill a 
 crazy man." 
 
 "What! He tried to get them clear?" 
 
 "Yes. He opened the door and motioned for 
 them to run, but before they could escape they 
 were caught. He was badly beaten. You will 
 remember that he was hiding behind that same 
 house when Pedro and Senhor Knowlton saw 
 him. Perhaps he meant to try again." 
 
 "Hm! Crazy and wild, but a white man for 
 all that. How did you manage to free the 
 women?" 
 
 "Very simple/' was the cool answer. "We
 
 276 THE' PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 stabbed the guards, opened the door, and came 
 back to the creek with the women." 
 
 "Just like that, eh? And the guards made no 
 resistance, I suppose." 
 
 "Not much," grinned the bushman. "They 
 were not allowed to." 
 
 "I see. Very simple, as you say. About as 
 simple as our calm and unhurried departure." 
 
 "Something like that, Capitao. What do you 
 desire for breakfast salt fish and coffee, or coffee 
 and salt fish?" 
 
 "A little of everything, thanks. Here comes 
 some monkey meat, too." 
 
 The first of the hunters had returned, bringing 
 two big red howlers. Others drifted in at inter 
 vals, and not one returned empty handed; for here 
 in the virgin jungle the game was plentiful, par 
 ticularly at this early hour. Soon the ah* was 
 heavy with the odor of broiling meat, and from 
 the fire of the Brazilians the fragrance of coffee 
 was wafted to the nostrils of the recumbent 
 Knowlton. He arose, swallowing fast. 
 
 "Gee! I'm half drowned!" was his humorous 
 complaint. "The smell of eats makes my mouth 
 water so fast I have to gasp for ah". Must tickle 
 your nose, too, eh, Rand, old top?" 
 
 Rand, famished though he was, gave no sign 
 of assent or of hunger. In fact, he gave no sign 
 of anything. Stoically he sat, eyes front. 
 
 "By thunder! the man's got pride!" the lieu 
 tenant added, in a lower tone. " Almost ready to
 
 THE SIREN OF WAR 277 
 
 keel over from lack of food, but stiff as a cigar- 
 store Indian. Darned if I'm not beginning to 
 respect him!" 
 
 Tucu approached, carrying two big monkey 
 haunches. One he offered to McKay, the other 
 to Rand. The latter's immobility vanished in a 
 flash. With a lightning grab he seized the prof 
 fered meat and sank his teeth in it. As he wolfed 
 down the tough flesh the three men standing 
 over exchanged glances. Tucu laid a hand on his 
 stomach and pressed inward, signifying that 
 the man had long gone hungry. The others 
 nodded. Then they split the other haunch 
 between them and fell to gnawing. 
 
 Lourengo, bringing coffee to the captain, asked 
 Tucu in what direction the Monitaya houses lay. 
 Without hesitation the Indian pointed off to the 
 left. The Brazilian glanced at the creek, estimat 
 ing its general direction and rate of flow, then re 
 turned to his fire. 
 
 Offered coffee, Rand took it and sipped it with 
 evident relish. Likewise he accepted a cigarette, 
 which he puffed like a man just learning to 
 smoke or one who has not smoked for years. 
 For his meat, his drink, and his smoke he gave no 
 indication of gratitude. His attitude was as in 
 different and matter-of-fact as if he were one of 
 the Mayorunas. When his smoke was ended he 
 began inspecting his bad foot. 
 
 "Let's see that," said Knowlton, dropping on 
 one knee. "Looks pretty sore. Yes, it's more 
 
 19
 
 278 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 than sore; it's infected. How'd you get it, any 
 way?" 
 
 No answer. Knowlton probed his face keenly. 
 Rand straightened out his legs, wriggled his 
 toes, and scowled. 
 
 "Queer!" muttered the lieutenant, rising. 
 "He looks as if he actually didn't know how he 
 got that wound. You'd think he'd remember 
 that much, anyhow. I sure am afraid his head 
 is all scrambled up." 
 
 He went to the canoe, returned with his 
 meager medical kit, and knelt again. 
 
 "Now listen here, Rand. I don't know how 
 well you understand me, but I'm taking the 
 chance. This foot has to be opened up and 
 cleaned out. Otherwise you're going to have 
 serious trouble with it. I'm going to hurt you. 
 If you raise a row you'll get an anesthetic a 
 swift punch under the ear. Better sit still and 
 make no fuss." 
 
 With which he went to work. He did a thor 
 ough job, and there was no doubt that it hurt. 
 But Rand gave no trouble, nor even a sign of 
 pain except that he dug his fingers into the 
 dirt. 
 
 "Good boy!" the amateur surgeon approved, 
 when he finished. "You're a Spartan if you 
 happen to remember what that is. Now we'll 
 move on. But before we go, wash your face 
 good and hard. Get that tribe paint off. These 
 Indians with us don't like it. You're no Indian,
 
 THE SIREN OF WAR 279 
 
 anyhow; you're white, like us. Savvy? White 
 man. Wash off paint!" 
 
 He rolled up his kit and returned to the 
 i canoe. The Mayorunas, men and women, were 
 entering their own craft. Rand sat motionless 
 a moment, McKay and the Brazilians watching 
 him keenly. Slowly then he got up of his own 
 accord, limped to the water's edge, and began 
 to scrub his face. 
 
 When he desisted the marks still showed, for 
 the red dye clung stubbornly to his skin; but 
 they were fainter than before. The other men 
 eyed him thoughtfully, none speaking. He set 
 tled himself in his former place, curled up, and 
 began to doze. 
 
 "A queer fish!" Pedro said, softly. "Is he 
 crazy or not?" 
 
 "Hanged if I know," replied McKay. "He's 
 no maniac, anyhow. I'd give real money to 
 know just what his mental condition is. But we 
 can forget him for a while. I'm going to let you 
 fellows sleep by turns now. I had some sleep last 
 night; you've had none at all. Merry, your eyes 
 need rest. You curl up in the bow and snooze 
 one hour. Then another man, and so on. And 
 how about letting Tucu lead the parade again?" 
 
 "Excellent, Capitao! I was thinking of that." 
 Lourengo talked to Tucu, who swung out into 
 the current. The boat of the white men fol 
 lowed, then the others. At a steady cruising 
 speed the brigade surged on downstream.
 
 280 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Knowlton's allotted hour passed. Pedro took 
 his place and was instantly asleep. In turn he 
 was aroused, and Lourengo laid down his paddle. 
 But just then Tucu's canoe slowed and floated 
 in to the left bank. 
 
 The others backed water and looked at a 
 very narrow ravine almost a cleft in a rising 
 hillside. Through it led a lane of water. From 
 the third boat, in which were two women of the 
 Monitaya tribe, now came voices carrying infor 
 mation to the Indian leader. At once he turned 
 his boat into the cleft. 
 
 "This is the connection we have been seeking," 
 Lourengo explained. "The women say the boats 
 of their captors came through this crack in the hill. 
 At the end we shall find the creek of Monitaya." 
 
 The women spoke truth. After threading 
 their way along the weedy water-path, which 
 was barely wide enough to give passage for the 
 boats, they emerged at a slant into another 
 stream. Down this, with the sure instinct for 
 direction of the hereditary jungle-dweller, Tucu 
 turned his prow without asking the women 
 whether to go with or against the current. Once 
 more on the waters of their home creek, the 
 Mayorunas quickened their strokes and howled 
 merrily on toward their malocas. 
 
 Lourengo took his nap and resumed his place. 
 Hour after hour the fleet sped on. Noon passed 
 without a halt, the paddlers munching at what 
 ever fragments remained from breakfast. By
 
 THE SIREN OF WAR 281 
 
 turns the Americans and Brazilians each got 
 another hour's sleep, McKay consenting to relax 
 when all his mates had rested. Rand dozed and 
 awoke at intervals, seeming content and com 
 fortable despite his cramped position. 
 
 By four o'clock even the Mayorunas began 
 to lag in their strokes. Excluding the halt at 
 sunrise, they now had been journeying for fif 
 teen hours, in the last nine of which they had 
 covered many miles of serpentine water. The 
 heat of the day and the constant drive of the 
 paddles had taken their toll, and now the body 
 of every man fiercely demanded more food. 
 McKay, knowing that in jungle travel distance 
 is not a matter of miles, but of hours, had begun 
 to figure that the journey which had taken 
 nearly five days of overland work might be com 
 pleted that night by the swiftly moving canoes. 
 But now, recognizing the signs of exhaustion, 
 he realized that without some powerful spur the 
 Indians would not attempt to reach the home 
 malocas until the morrow. 
 
 Then the spur came. Even as Tucu began 
 scanning the shores for a good camp site, he and 
 every other Mayoruna suddenly ceased paddling 
 and threw up his head. Faint and far, a xylo- 
 phonic call of beaten wooden bars rapped across 
 the jungle, rising and falling in swift, regular 
 cadence a sirenical flow and ebb of sound 
 waves. Over and over it undulated, rapid, 
 incessant, imperative.
 
 282 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 A chorus of excited grunts broke from the 
 canoe brigade. The dugout of Tucu leaped away 
 like a roweled horse. Lourenc.o and Pedro 
 buried their paddles in mighty strokes, hurling 
 their boat ahead to keep from being run down 
 by those behind. 
 
 Lourengo barked at Tucu, who flung back an 
 answer. 
 
 "Paddle hard, Capitao! If we do not keep 
 up we shall be wrecked. That message is the 
 war call of the Mayorunas calling in the 
 hunters from the forest to take arms against an 
 enemy. We must race now with these madmen 
 around us, or we go under. Paddle!"
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. STRATEGY 
 
 IN the last light of the fast-fading day the 
 canoes darted from the forest into the 
 clearing where stood the Monitaya malocas. 
 
 Long before their arrival the siren call had 
 ceased, but there had been no lessening of speed 
 by the racing dugouts. On the contrary, the 
 last long mile had been covered in a final des 
 perate spurt, the paddles swinging in swift 
 unison to the accompaniment of a ferocious 
 chant of one syllable : ' ' Hough ! Hough ! Hough ! ' ' 
 This explosive cadence had echoed down the 
 stream ahead of them; and now, as the panting 
 crews emerged from the jungle, they found them 
 selves flanked by a long line of their fellow- 
 warriors, bristling with drawn arrows and ready 
 spear points. But of the enemy whose presence 
 that great xylophone had betokened there was 
 no sign. 
 
 At sight of the familiar feather bonnets of 
 their own men the tense Monitayans let their 
 weapons slowly sink. And when Tucu, leaping 
 ashore, gaspingly demanded news of the fight, 
 the line dissolved into a mob which rushed to 
 welcome him and his mates. In the first few 
 breaths it was learned that no fight had yet 
 taken place, but that all the warriors had been 
 brought in and ordered to prepare to march at
 
 284 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 the next sunrise; and that the sudden war call 
 had been sent out as the result of the arrival of 
 a stranger. 
 
 Then the crowd parted, and through it came 
 striding two men whose appearance caused the 
 white men to erupt into hoarse shouts of greeting. 
 One, whose hard face swiftly relaxed into a half 
 smile of relief, was the great chief himself. The 
 other, whose jutting jaw suddenly dropped and 
 whose blue eyes opened in incredulity, was Tim 
 Tun, once more strong and florid and aggres 
 sive, gripping his rifle, astounded at the sight of 
 his comrades standing there alive and alert. 
 They soon learned why. 
 
 Dropping his gun, he sprang at them with an 
 inarticulate roar of welcome. He wrung their 
 hands, pounded their shoulders, laughed, cried, 
 swore, all at once. Then he burst out: 
 
 "Glory be! Ye're alive, homelier 'n ever and 
 tough as tripe! We thought ye was wiped out 
 sure! We was all set to start in the mornin' 
 and pull them Red Bones to pieces. Mebbe 
 we'll do it yet, too. How'd ye break through? 
 Did ye kill Sworn-off and his gang?" 
 
 "Schwandorf? Gang? Haven't seen any 
 body but Red Bones though we sure saw 
 plenty of them," replied Knowlton. "What are 
 you talking about?" 
 
 "Then ye missed him by about one point 
 windage. When'd ye leave? Last night? I bet 
 he's there by now. Gee! Where'd ye git them
 
 STRATEGY 285 
 
 girls? And who's this guy? Great gosh! Is 
 he the Raposy? Wai, for the love o' Mike 
 
 "Tim!" broke in McKay. "What's all this 
 about? Now wait. This is the Raposa. These 
 girls are Mayoruna women held prisoners by 
 the Red Bones. We got them last night and lit 
 out in the middle of a general engagement. Now 
 open up with your news." 
 
 "Right, Cap. We got a visitor to-day old 
 friend of ourn li'l' old Hozy, the only white guy 
 in that Peruvian crew we had. He's all dolled up 
 like an Injun shaved face, tribe paint, and so on. 
 He come through the Injun country that way 
 I dunno yet how he done it, him bein' a Peruvian 
 and all, but he got through, and he says Sworn-off 
 and a whole gang of bad eggs is back here to git 
 this Raposy guy and all the girls they can lay 
 hands on. He says Sworn-off's got them Red 
 Bones workin' for him, and you fellers must be 
 massacreed sure by now. 
 
 "Good thing I was here when he come, or he'd 
 be cut up and in the stewpot. Monitaya's a good 
 skate, but he sure is poison to anything Peruvian, 
 and soon as Hozy begun to try to talk he got 
 wise and dang near bumped him off. I got him 
 to cool down some, and he believes Hozy's tellin' 
 the truth, but even at that they got Hozy tied up 
 like a dog. Come look at him." 
 
 But it was necessary to wait awhile for Tucu 
 and Lourengo to tell Monitaya the tale of what 
 had taken place; for the chief demanded im-
 
 286 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 mediate and full details, and not until he had 
 them would he return to his maloca and his 
 hammock throne. By that time the little moon 
 was again ruler of the sky and the keen hunger of 
 the voyagers had grown ravenous. Followed by 
 the rescued and the rescuers, he then stalked into 
 the tribal house and to his usual place, where he 
 commanded that food be brought. 
 
 On the ground, directly Jn front of the chief's 
 hammock, sat a gaunt, painted Indian around 
 whose neck was a stout noose, the other end of 
 the cord being held by a muscular savage whose 
 skull-smashing club was gripped loosely in his 
 other fist. As the whites reached them the 
 noosed man's face cracked in a grin. 
 
 "Greetings, senores," said the voice of Jose". 
 "You will pardon me for remaining seated, yes? 
 The man behind me is itching for an excuse to 
 crush my head." 
 
 "Jose!" exclaimed both Knowlton and McKay. 
 Though Tim had said Jos was "tied like a dog," 
 they had not thought to find the expression 
 literal truth. The sight angered them and they 
 turned to Lourengo. 
 
 "Tell Monitaya we want this man freed!" 
 McKay snapped. At his peremptory tone the 
 cannibal chieftain looked oddly at him, and when 
 Lourengo translated the demand though in a 
 more diplomatic manner he scowled. But he 
 gave the clubman the word and the rope was 
 lifted from the prisoner's neck.
 
 STRATEGY 287 
 
 " Gracias, amigos," he bowed. " If I still remain 
 seated, it is because I am very weary and I 
 have not eaten since yesterday." 
 
 His thin face and his projecting ribs not only 
 corroborated his simple announcement, but in 
 dicated that for more than one day his food and 
 rest had been almost nil. Naked, painted, minus 
 his fierce mustache and flamboyant headkerchief , 
 he appeared a far different man than the dom 
 ineering puntero of a short time back. But his 
 bold black eyes, his reckless grin, and his 
 mocking tone proved him the same swashbuckling 
 Jose", undaunted by hunger, exhaustion, or his 
 position as prisoner of man eaters whose enmity 
 was implacable. 
 
 "Well, you're going to eat now, or we'll know 
 why not!" vowed Knowlton. "We understand 
 that you brought a warning to Monitaya. Is this 
 his way of treating men who risk their lives to 
 befriend him?" 
 
 Jose" shrugged. 
 
 "Once an enemy, always an enemy. That is 
 their rule. And do not think that I traveled the 
 bush and threw myself into this snake heap from 
 love of Monitaya. I do not care if he and all his 
 race are blown to hell. I am here because, as I 
 once told you, Jose" Martinez never forgets. 
 Thank you, sefior, I will eat now and talk later." 
 
 Deftly he extracted a chunk of meat from a clay 
 pot which had been placed before Knowlton and 
 in turn tendered to him. Monitaya watched him
 
 288 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 eat, but gave no sign of disapproval; and the 
 Americans, and even the Brazilians, made an 
 aggressive show of friendship toward the lone 
 Peruvian for the express benefit of the chief. They 
 knew well that by their rescue of the Mayoruna 
 women they had made their own position among 
 these people virtually impregnable, and that their 
 recognition of Jos6 as a friend probably would be 
 his only bulwark. Wherefore they left no doubt 
 in the minds of the watchers as to where he stood 
 in their regard. 
 
 Monitaya, sitting in regal dignity, looked 
 down upon two parties of seven feasting with 
 famished speed the rescued women who were 
 not members of his own tribe, and the four 
 Americans, two Brazilians, and one Peruvian. 
 All the others had scattered Tucu and his band 
 to theu* own family triangles, and the four Moni 
 taya girls to become the nuclei of feminine groups 
 which demanded intimate accounts of their cap 
 ture and treatment by the captors. 
 
 To the strange women at his feet the chief paid 
 scant attention now, though he meant to inter 
 rogate them after their hunger was satisfied. 
 His eyes dwelt on Rand, the strange combination 
 of white man, Indian, and jungle demon of whom 
 he had heard so much and on whose tanned skin 
 the red skeleton streaks told the tale of a "mind 
 out of the skull." Jos and Tim stared in frank 
 curiosity at the dead-alive newcomer, whose 
 silent composure remained totally unperturbed.
 
 STRATEGY 289 
 
 But the seven new girls, though ignored by the 
 chief and his guests, were by no means neglected 
 by the other men of the maloca, being thoroughly 
 stared at by most of the young bucks and, it 
 must be confessed, by a goodly proportion of the 
 married men also. 
 
 When at length the meal was finished Moni- 
 taya commanded the girls to stand before him and 
 narrate their experiences. The men lit smokes, 
 Jose* seizing the proffered cigarette with avidity, 
 Rand accepting his with the usual odd delibera 
 tion. 
 
 "Wai, Hozy, old feller, ye're in right with the 
 chief now/' asserted Tim. "Ye got all our gang 
 with ye, and she's some li'l' old gang, I'll tell the 
 world. This feller Renzo can talk cannibal so 
 good he makes Monitaya hunt for the dictionary, 
 and he'll tell the chief in ten seconds what I tried 
 half an hour to say this afternoon that ye 
 belong. I 'ain't been here long enough to learn 
 much o' their lingo, ye understand. If I could 
 spout it like French, now, there wouldn't been no 
 trouble." 
 
 McKay and Knowlton snickered. They knew 
 Tim's French was several degrees worse than the 
 usual American doughboy's "frog" talk. 
 
 "Good thing you couldn't," derided Knowlton. 
 "You'd have had Jose" crucified before we got 
 here." 
 
 "That's right, gimme the razz! Course, I did 
 have a li'l' trouble makin' some o' them frogs
 
 290 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 understand, but that was because they was so 
 ignorant they didn't know their own language 
 when they heard it spoke right. Anyways, ye 
 got to admit Hozy's still with us and sassy as 
 ever, and he wouldn't been if Timmy Ryan 
 hadn't been round to powwow for him." 
 
 "You have it right, senor," Jose* agreed, 
 gravely. "Without you I should now be dead. I 
 can speak the Mayoruna tongue quite well, but 
 of what use is it to talk any language when men 
 will not listen? It was you and your gun that 
 saved me." 
 
 "Gun? Good Lord! Did you pull a gun on 
 Monitaya?" ejaculated the lieutenant. 
 
 "Aw, no. That is I guess mebbe I did wave 
 me piece around while I was arguin' I can al 
 ways convince a guy better if I got somethin' in 
 me hand. But I didn't git real rough." 
 
 "You are lucky to be still alive, Senhor Tim," 
 said Lourengo. "If Monitaya were not the man 
 he is you would not be alive. I am glad we have 
 returned." 
 
 "Meanin' I need a guardeen? Say, lookit 
 here now " 
 
 "As you were!" clipped McKay. "We're all 
 wasting tune. Jose", let's hear your report. I 
 thought you were going to put Schwandorf out 
 of action for good?" 
 
 "And I am, Capitan! That is why I now am 
 here. If I had reached him immediately after 
 leaving the Nunes place it would have been done
 
 STRATEGY 291 
 
 at once. But a man travels slowly when he is 
 alone and has lost much blood, and before I met 
 Schwandorf again I had time to think coolly. 
 Then when I saw him I changed my plans. 
 
 "Some days down the river I met him traveling 
 fast in a canoe paddled by hard men whom I 
 know. He pretended to be greatly grieved when 
 I told him you all were dead. Oh yes, senores, I 
 told him that! I was playing with him, and it 
 amused me to see how he thought he was deceiv 
 ing me when I was really fooling him. I said we 
 were attacked by Indians a short way above the 
 Nunes place and that I alone escaped. Then he 
 said something that made me decide not to kill 
 him for a time. 
 
 "He told me he had learned that this man 
 here his name is Rand, yes? that the man 
 Rand was a bank thief who had run away from 
 North America, and that a reward would be paid 
 for him. He said your real reason for coming 
 here was that you were detectives trying to earn 
 the reward. That is false, is it not, senores?" 
 
 "We're no detectives. Rand's no thief." 
 
 "Ah, so I thought. But Schwandorf often tells 
 truth to conceal his lies, so that it is sometimes 
 hard to know which is true and which untrue. 
 He went on to say he had warned you not to 
 come into this Indian country, and he was sorry 
 you had been killed the snake but since you 
 were dead we might get the money for ourselves. 
 If we succeeded in catching the man Rand and
 
 292 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 taking him out alive I should get half the reward, 
 or five hundred dollars. 
 
 "I saw plainly what his plan was. I might be 
 useful to him in catching Rand if Rand was out 
 in the bush, for I have traveled this country 
 alone more than once and am a far better bush- 
 man than the German. But whether I got Rand 
 or not, I never should live to demand my part 
 of the money. I know too much about Schwan- 
 dorf things which I shall not tell now. So when 
 the right time should come, Jose* would meet 
 with a fatal accident, such as a bullet in the 
 back, or a knife in the throat while sleeping. 
 But I did not let him know I saw this. I pre 
 tended to fall in with his plan like the fool he 
 thought me to be. 
 
 "It was not Rand alone that brought him 
 here. You have brought back Mayoruna women 
 from the Red Bone country, so you know the 
 Red Bones are women stealers. And they steal 
 for Schwandorf. You may believe me or not, 
 senores, but I did not know this until the German 
 told me. Oh yes, I knew he dealt in women, 
 but of the Red Bone part of his business I was 
 ignorant. As soon as I learned it I saw how I 
 could put the illustrious Senor Schwandorf out 
 of action, as you say, and at the same time try- 
 to save you. 
 
 "I sharpened my knife to a razor edge, deserted 
 the German when we reached the right place, 
 shaved with my knife, painted myself with the
 
 STRATEGY 293 
 
 red and black plant dyes, and came overland 
 to this place, thinking you would be here if still 
 alive. But you had traveled faster than I 
 expected and had gone into the Red Bone 
 country, so my chance to save you seemed to 
 have passed. I could only try to tell this chief 
 the Red Bones were stealers of his women and 
 that the German was with them, knowing that 
 if he believed me he would go on the war trail 
 against them and kill them all. But if Senor 
 Tim had not befriended me I should have died 
 too soon to tell my tale. That is all, senores. 
 Now can you spare a little more tobacco?" 
 
 They could and they promptly did. With a 
 new cigarette glowing he lay back and looked 
 quizzically at the women lined up before Moni- 
 taya. 
 
 "How many men has Schwandorf?" asked 
 McKay. 
 
 "About twenty in all, Capitan. There were 
 eight in his crew, and they were to meet a 
 dozen more at a place on the Peruvian side." 
 
 "All riflemen?" 
 
 "Si. He brought many cartridges for them. 
 They are to raid tribe houses of these people." 
 
 "Capture women and run them into Peru?" 
 
 "Si." Jose* yawned as if speaking of a deal in 
 salt fish. 
 
 The Americans looked thoughtfully around 
 the big house. They saw that every man near 
 them was inspecting some kind of weapon
 
 294 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 making sure that bow cords were unfrayed, that 
 arrow heads and spear points were firm, that 
 the long blowguns had received no cast from sus 
 pension, and that darts were absolutely straight 
 and true. The strong but cruel faces of the 
 warriors were stamped with malignant hatred 
 of the Red Bone tribe and the Blackbeard who 
 enslaved their women. The command to pre 
 pare for a march at dawn had not been with 
 drawn. 
 
 "We'll be expected to go, too, and I'd sure like 
 another crack at Umanuh, not to mention 
 the Schwandorf outfit," said Knowlton, "but 
 we have friend Rand on our hands now, and 
 our first duty is to get him out of here safely." 
 
 "Aw, Looey, have a heart! I 'ain't had no 
 action since that liT scrap down the river, and 
 I got to have some excitement before we blow. 
 What's more, we can't beat it now, with Moni- 
 taya dependin' on us to fight on his side. He'd 
 git sore, and I don't blame him." 
 
 His superior officers and the Brazilians 
 frowned. Every man of them itched to close 
 with the enemy in one final decisive battle. 
 Yet 
 
 "What '11 we do with Rand?" Knowlton 
 voiced the general thought. 
 
 The green eyes of the Raposa turned to him, 
 rested long on his, traveled deliberately along 
 the other faces. And then, to the utter astonish 
 ment of all, the dumb spoke.
 
 STRATEGY 295 
 
 "I'll fight," said Rand. 
 
 Speechless, the men around him stared. His 
 face was inscrutable as ever, his eyes fathomless, 
 his voice flat and toneless. But slowly he 
 raised his hands as if holding a bow; twitched 
 his right thumb and forefinger in the motion of 
 loosing a shaft; let the hands sink. His gaze 
 calmly lifted from theirs and dwelt on the 
 farthest wall. Not another word did he speak. 
 
 "Begorry! there's yer answer!" triumphed 
 Tim. "He says, 'Fight!' And I bet he can 
 sling a wicked bow and arrer, at that. Don't ye 
 s'pose he wants a crack at them Red Bones, 
 after the way they used him?" 
 
 "I think, comrades, that the man has settled 
 the matter for us," Pedro seconded. "None of 
 us wants to run away; and, as Tim says, we are 
 expected to help Monitaya. We should be con 
 sidered cowards, worse than dogs, if we refused. 
 If we do not fight the Red Bones we may have 
 to fight these Mayorunas, who now are our 
 friends. We must stay." 
 
 McKay nodded, still studying the expression 
 less countenance of Rand. 
 
 "That's settled," he announced, crisply. 
 "Now, Lourenc.o, find out Monitaya's plan of 
 battle." 
 
 The chief had finished his examination of the 
 women and Lourengo promptly put the ques 
 tion. Monitaya laconically replied. 
 
 "His purpose is not changed by our arrival,
 
 296 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Capitao. He and his men go to-morrow to attack 
 and destroy the Red Bones. Yfhen they reach 
 the town of Umanuh they will surround it, and 
 all will rush in when the chief gives his yell of 
 war." 
 
 "About what I expected. An Indian has a 
 single-track mind always. But his strategy is 
 rotten. Might be good enough if he had only 
 Umanuh to deal with, but with Schwandorf in 
 the game it's different. Ask him how he expects 
 to protect his women while he's gone." 
 
 "He says," Lourengo reported, "that there 
 will be no danger to the women, because his 
 warriors will be between the women and their 
 enemies until those enemies are dead." 
 
 "Very simple. So simple that it's foolish. 
 He doesn't figure on the other fellow's mind at 
 all; doesn't realize that a man like Schwandorf 
 is bound to outguess him on such straightaway 
 tactics and isn't at all likely to play into his 
 hands. But that's the exact situation. The 
 German will outguess him, and it's up to him to 
 outguess the German in turn. We'll do his 
 guessing for him. 
 
 "Schwandorf goes into Umanuh's town, learns 
 what's happened, finds the Red Bones frothing 
 at the mouth, and is sore himself. He figures 
 that we've returned here with the women, that 
 Monitaya's men are blood-mad against the Red 
 Bones, and that they'll do just what they are 
 planning to do march on Red Bone town and
 
 STRATEGY 297 
 
 leave their women unprotected except by the 
 old men, whose defensive power is negligible. 
 He is in this country for the express purpose of 
 getting girls, and with Monitaya's men away 
 from their malocas he has a wide-open chance 
 to make the biggest slave haul of his life. So 
 he plans to outmaneuver Monitaya, attack this 
 place, capture all the young women, allow the 
 Red Bones to massacre everyone else and burn 
 the houses, and then move on without the loss 
 of a man. After that perhaps he intends to find 
 us and get Rand, or perhaps to attack other 
 Mayoruna malocas. At any rate, his first 
 objective is this place. Am I right so far?" 
 
 "Dead right," Knowlton nodded. 
 
 "Very well. Now he may figure that, having 
 found the water connection between the two 
 creeks, the Mayorunas will come against Umanuh 
 by the canoe route. Or he may think they'll 
 make the overland trip. In either case, the Red 
 Bones have to come through the bush, for the 
 simple reason that they haven't boats enough to 
 carry all their force. Their canoes were rather 
 few when we were there, and we commandeered 
 several of them for our own use. If they decide 
 to come part of the way hi canoes they'll have 
 to work a come-and-go transport service, bring 
 ing the fighting men down in batches to some 
 rendezvous from which they must finish the 
 journey on foot. Chances are that they'll 
 disregard the canoes and all march overland by
 
 298 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 some route that would dodge the Mayoruna 
 line of march. But in either case they're coming 
 here. And it's here, in the place where he's not 
 expected to be, that Monitaya should meet them. 
 Let him fortify himself and await the assault. 
 It will come." 
 
 "And we shall be saved many weary miles 
 of leg work/' Jos6 smiled. "Capitan, your 
 strategy is magnificent." 
 
 "Begorry! it ain't so bad at that!" Tim 
 approved. "Hozy, me and you will have our 
 hammicks slung out front here when the show 
 starts and do our shootin' prone. Suits me fine. 
 Put it up to the chief, Renzo." 
 
 Lourenc.o did. Very carefully he explained it 
 all to Monitaya, dwelling on the fact that 
 McKay himself was a warrior chieftain and 
 familiar with the fighting methods of such men 
 as the atrocious Blackboard, and depicting 
 graphically the horror of an attack by the 
 barbarous Red Bones on the defenseless women. 
 It took him some time to divert the chief's 
 stubborn mind from the original plan, but in 
 the end he succeeded. 
 
 To the vast astonishment and disappointment 
 of the vengeful warriors, Monitaya curtly an 
 nounced that the projected march would not 
 take place. They stared as if disbelieving their 
 ears, and more than one black look was given 
 Lourengo. But not a man questioned the 
 countermanding of orders, not a mutter waa
 
 STRATEGY 299 
 
 heard. The great chief had spoken, and his word 
 was final. 
 
 Reluctantly they laid aside the weapons on 
 which they had been toiling with such purposeful 
 zeal. The chief watched them with a little smile 
 of pride pride in their zest for war, pride in their 
 unquestioning acceptance of his dampening order. 
 Then he coolly told them to continue their work; 
 told them, further, that the next morning all the 
 streams were to be poisoned, new traps set, and 
 scouts stationed far out on every trail to await 
 and report the approach of foes. Instantly their 
 faces flamed again and from every quarter of 
 the wide house rose an excited hum. They were 
 to fight, after all! 
 
 "Tough eggs, these lads, if ye ask me," yawned 
 Tim. "Bet ye we'll see a row worth lookin' at 
 when she does break." 
 
 He forebore to mention the fact that in rule 
 power their assailants would outnumber them 
 four to one.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. THE BATTLE OF THE 
 TRIBES 
 
 THE next four days, though they were days 
 of waiting, were busy enough to satisfy 
 the most impatient Mayoruna warrior. 
 
 Outposts were established on every route by 
 which the attacking force would be likely to ap 
 proach the twin malocas, the watchmen being 
 given the strictest commands not to fight, nor 
 even to allow themselves to be seen, but to run 
 at top speed with the warning. 
 
 Poison detachments went forth to collect the 
 ingredients for making deadly the water and the 
 weapons. Those detailed to the work of polluting 
 the streams gathered quantities of blue-blossomed, 
 short-podded plants with yellow roots, the roots 
 being pulped and thrown into the slow currents, 
 which straightway became fatal to man or beast. 
 The wurali squad procured their favorite ma 
 terials and, in a flimsy shed well away from the 
 houses, prepared a plentiful supply of the 
 venomed brew. 
 
 New traps were set at points where a man or 
 two might be picked off, though it was realized 
 that these would have little effect on the final 
 result. And inside the big houses men especially 
 skilled in the manufacture of arrows and darts
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 301 
 
 toiled swiftly and steadily from dawn till far into 
 the night. 
 
 These activities, however, were only the usual 
 defensive preparations made by the warriors 
 whenever they knew a sizable body of foes was 
 somewhere in the vicinity. It remained for the 
 brains of the white men to devise additional 
 features, simple enough in themselves, but 
 astounding to the savages, who were accustomed 
 only to the primitive battle tactics of their 
 ancestors. For the first time in their lives the 
 cannibals found themselves digging hi and also 
 digging out. 
 
 After a survey of the terrain and a catechism of 
 Loureno and Monitaya as to the usual methods 
 of attack and defense, the two officers broached 
 an idea born of the exigencies of the situation. 
 As they expected, the great chief was somewhat 
 slow to approve it, for it involved a literal under 
 mining of the walls of his fortresses. But despite 
 the natural inflexibility of his mental processes he 
 was an unusually intelligent savage, and even 
 tually the patient reiteration of the advantages 
 of the scheme won him first to assent and then 
 almost to enthusiasm. Wherefore the amazed 
 tribesmen were set to work, armed with crude 
 wooden shovels, in digging holes under the logs 
 which sheltered them from man, beast, and jungle 
 demon. 
 
 All along the walls, at intervals marked by 
 McKay and Knowlton, the tunnels were dug. At
 
 302 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 the same time another large gang excavated 
 before each of the malocas a deep, curving trench, 
 the two long pits being separated by a ten-foot 
 space of solid earth affording free passage from 
 the houses to the creek. Meanwhile the women 
 and the older children were weaving flimsy covers 
 from withes and vines. As soon as a tunnel was 
 completed it was masked outside the walls by 
 one of these covers, on which a thin layer of earth 
 and grass was laid. The two trenches were like 
 wise concealed, and the loose earth was carried 
 inside the house and packed solidly against the 
 walls flanking the doors. 
 
 At sundown of the fourth day the work was 
 ended. And so well was it done that when the 
 great chief, his subchiefs, and his foreign allies 
 went on a final tour of inspection they could find 
 no sign that the houses were honeycombed with 
 exits or that the ground in front of the little 
 entrances was not solid at all points. 
 
 "Rod and I took the idea from those pit traps 
 out on the trails," Knowlton explained for the 
 dozenth tune. ' ' Holes are covered to look exactly 
 like the rest of the ground. Every man of us has 
 to be inside when the enemy arrives, but we have 
 to get out quick when the right time comes, so 
 we go under the walls. And can't you see those 
 brave women stealers go kerplunk down into the 
 trenches? Oh boy!" 
 
 Whereat Lourengo and Jose* smiled as if en 
 joying a secret joke. They were. For they
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 303 
 
 knew something of which the Americans were 
 not aware that Monitaya had improved on the 
 trench-trap idea of the whites by studding the 
 bottom of those trenches with barbed araya 
 bones smeared with wurali. 
 
 "Yeah, and I figger them guys '11 git some jolt 
 when these houses, which 'ain't got nobody in 'em 
 but women and kids, begin to spit lead out o' 
 loopholes and spew screechin' cannibals up out 
 o' the ground. Gosh! I wouldn't miss seein' 
 Sworn-off's face for a keg o' beer and that's 
 sayin' somethin'." 
 
 Wherein Tim expressed the general sentiment. 
 
 So ended the fourth day. When the fifth broke 
 no man showed himself outside the walls. Except 
 the few outposts, every male of the Monitaya 
 malocas bided within, awaiting with growing 
 tension the arrival of the enemy. It was more 
 than likely, McKay had pointed out, that 
 the main body of the barbarous force led by 
 Schwandorf would be preceded by a handful of 
 scouts, and quite possible that one or more of 
 these would slip past the outguards and spy on 
 the tribal houses. The sight of even one warrior 
 would instantly apprise any such spy that the 
 others must be near, and the word would go back 
 at all speed to the Red Bones. Wherefore the 
 only Monitayans to pass through the tiny door 
 ways that morning were a few young women sent 
 out as bait. These, naturally, took good care 
 to stay near the entrances.
 
 304 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Within, the men waited at their appointed 
 places. Each tunnel had its quota of warriors, 
 the number being divided evenly to assure a 
 speedy and simultaneous exit. The Americans 
 had elected to fight from the maloca of the great 
 chief, while the Brazilians and Jose* were to 
 garrison the doorway of the other house as soon 
 as the warning came. Rand, wordless and im 
 perturbable as ever, now was armed with a strong 
 bow and plenty of new arrows with unpoisoned 
 heads; and he, of course, would remain with his 
 own countrymen. Thus, preparations completed, 
 all settled themselves to the interminable hours 
 of waiting. 
 
 Up on the heaped earth near the doorway, 
 which made the walls practically bullet-proof 
 to a height of six feet and thus would protect 
 the women and children, one or more of the 
 Americans was constantly on the lookout through 
 some inconspicuous loophole. Hour after hour 
 dragged past, and no unusual movement or sound 
 came to reward their vigilance. Under the glare 
 of the sun the roof and walls grew hot; under 
 the silent strain of endless anticipation the 
 impatience of the fighting men became a ferment. 
 At length Pedro, unable to keep still, mounted 
 to a peephole near Knowlton. Scarcely had he 
 put his eye to the opening when both men 
 sucked in their breath. 
 
 At the edge of the bush a man's head peered 
 from behind a tree. And at the same moment a
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 305 
 
 single canoe came creeping out of the bush and 
 up to the landing place. The head behind the 
 tree was that of a Red Bone spy. The two in 
 the small canoe were Yuara and a companion 
 from the Suba tribe. 
 
 ' ' Lourengo ! ' ' hoarsely whispered Pedro. ' ' Yu 
 ara comes. Tell girls to run to welcome him 
 and guide him between the pits. A spy is watch 
 ing. If Yuara walks on the pits he dies and our 
 trap is revealed. Por amor de Deus, send girls 
 quickly!" 
 
 Lourengo acted instantly. Seizing two young 
 women, he propelled them doorward, talking 
 swiftly the while. Yuara and his mate were 
 already advancing innocently toward the few 
 girls outside, none of whom had wit enough to 
 warn him. But the two whom the Brazilian had 
 grasped happened to be of quick intelligence, 
 and now they darted out. Before the visiting 
 pair could reach the death trap the girls were 
 upon them, laughing as if delighted to see a man 
 once more, and deftly turning them aside to the 
 point where two unobtrusive stubs marked the 
 bridge of safety. 
 
 Vastly astonished by such effusive welcome 
 from two girls whom they did not know, but by 
 no means displeased thereby, the young warriors 
 of the Suba clan were piloted to the door and 
 inside. As they disappeared, the head of the 
 spy also vanished. 
 
 "Woof!" muttered Knowlton, wiping sweat
 
 306 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 from his brow. "That was close! Here's hoping 
 we have no more visitors." 
 
 Yuara and his companion meanwhile were 
 being interrogated by both Lourengo and Moni- 
 taya, who in turn enlightened them as to the 
 present state of affairs. At the promise of war 
 the faces of the Suba men lit up. 
 
 "Yuara comes only on a visit to learn news," 
 Lourengo told the rest. "You remember that 
 the day after our return a canoe was sent down 
 stream to a point where the wooden bars could 
 be beaten and heard by Suba's men, and that a 
 warning against the Red Bones and Schwandorf 
 was given in that way. Yuara has become 
 anxious to know more, so he is here." 
 
 "If he sticks around he'll learn a lot," pre 
 dicted Tun. 
 
 With no waste of words or motion Yuara 
 coolly attached himself and his fellow-tribesman 
 to McKay. Monitaya and his subchiefs were 
 informed of the arrival and departure of the 
 enemy scout. The word passed among the 
 warriors, who, despite their innate equanimity, 
 began to grit their pointed teeth and quiver 
 like dogs held in leash. But another hour 
 passed, and yet another; and still no word from 
 the outposts arrived. 
 
 Suddenly a chorus of screams shrilled from 
 the women outside. In a frenzy of fear they 
 plunged through the doorways. Blending with 
 their outcries, a hoarse yell of ferocity rose
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 30t 
 
 raucously from the direction of the creek. At 
 once a louder ululation burst forth at the rear 
 and sides of the clearing. Monitaya's outguards 
 had failed and the malocas were surrounded. 
 
 Loping from the bush fringing the stream 
 came a score of yellow-faced, shirtless, barefooted 
 brutes crisscrossed with cartridge belts and 
 gripping rifles. At their head loomed a burly 
 black-whiskered creature with a revolver in 
 each hand the malignant Schwandorf himself. 
 
 Grinning like a pack of yellow-fanged wolves, 
 they doubled toward the low entrances, their 
 guns spouting wantonly at the upper walls 
 a ragged volley meant to terrorize the defenseless 
 women within, none of whom were to be killed 
 until the handsomest had been cut out and set 
 aside for slavery. Some of the heavy bullets 
 bored through between logs and thudded wick 
 edly into rafters and roof poles within. But 
 from the loopholes where the defending rifles 
 lurked no shot cracked in reply. 
 
 The fiendish howling of the Red Bones, 
 sweeping in from all sides to the butchery, 
 swelled into a f eline screech that almost drowned 
 the roar of the rifles. Into the view of the 
 watchers at the loopholes streamed hideous 
 faces and naked brown bodies swerving inward 
 from left and right to follow at the heels of the 
 Blackboard and his gunmen. In a few seconds 
 more the trotting line of Peruvians was backed 
 and flanked by a horde of demons hungering
 
 308 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 for the "taste of women and babes. On they 
 came 
 
 With the suddenness of a cataclysm the ground 
 opened. Riflemen vanished in midstride. Sav 
 ages screaming triumphant hate were gone 
 in the flick of an eye. Others, instinctively dig 
 ging their heels into the ground the instant 
 those ahead of them disappeared, were hurled 
 forward and down by the momentum of the 
 following mass. Before the rush could be checked 
 the trenches were packed with men struggling 
 in frenzy to get out, wounding themselves and 
 one another with the deadly points of their poi 
 soned weapons. 
 
 Of the twenty gunmen only four remained. 
 They were the four immediately behind Schwan- 
 dorf . By blind chance the German had set foot 
 on the narrow isthmus separating the twin 
 trenches, saving himself and the henchmen at 
 his heels from being engulfed. Now, as the Red 
 Bones fought back from the trap yawning before 
 them, he and the surviving Peruvians stood 
 staring in momentary stupefaction at the welter 
 of death on their flanks. The malevolent yells 
 of the savages had been cut short by the catas 
 trophe, and for the moment no sound was heard 
 but the grunts and snarls of struggling men. 
 
 Then into the semisilence burst a mighty 
 voice the battlefield voice of McKay. 
 
 "Now! Fire at will!" 
 I The walls spat flame and lead. A scythe of
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 309 
 
 death swept above the ground where stood 
 Schwandorf and his riflemen. The Peruvian 
 half-breeds collapsed and lay still. But Schwan 
 dorf, shocked into activity by the impact of 
 that first word, dodged death by an infinitesimal 
 fraction of a second. Hurling himself back 
 ward, he struck the earth just as the bullets 
 sped through the air over him. With a light 
 ning rebound he was up while fresh cartridges 
 were jumping into the rifle barrels menacing 
 him. Headlong he dived into the mass of Red 
 Bones just behind. And the next bullets dart 
 ing after him killed the savages, leaving him 
 unharmed. 
 
 The command of McKay and the crack of 
 the rifles sent the quivering Mayorunas into 
 the fight. In a flash every masking tunnel 
 cover was thrown bodily into the air. Before 
 the thunderstruck Red Bones had recovered 
 from the shock of finding their gun-armed 
 leaders annihilated and their mass being swept 
 by swift-shooting rifles hidden hi the walls, 
 they beheld a horde of vindictive foes erupting 
 from under those walls like warrior ants rushing 
 from subterranean galleries. A blood-chilling 
 yell of concentrated fury smote their ears; a 
 hastily loosed storm of war arrows and short 
 throwing-spears ripped into their flesh; a swift- 
 running arc of light-skinned men swerved around 
 them, shooting and stabbing as they went. 
 They, who had so exultantly surrounded the
 
 310 THE PATHLESS TEAIL 
 
 homes of women and children, now were sur 
 rounded in turn. 
 
 From the doorway of Monitaya's maloca the 
 two Brazilians and Jose* now leaped forth and, 
 firing as they ran, dashed to hold the entrance 
 of the other big house. A few arrows whirred 
 around them during their transit, but the 
 shafts were shot hurriedly and missed. Mean 
 while the three bushmen were striking down 
 enemies at every flash of their guns, firing with 
 the swift surety of veterans of many a running 
 fight. They reached their objective unwounded; 
 and when they reached it a fringe of dead foes 
 marked their passage along the face of the hostile 
 array. Once within the door, they rapidly 
 reloaded and sprayed lead along the trenches, 
 which, though now nearly full, had become a 
 dead-line past which no Red Bone sought to go. 
 
 Up on the earth embankments within the 
 chief's house the four Americans fought steadily 
 on; the soldiers shooting as coolly as if engaged 
 merely in rapid-fire target practice, the silent 
 Rand methodically driving arrows in swift suc 
 cession from his wall-slit. Arrows thudded 
 thickly into the logs masking them. Bullets, 
 too, slammed into their rampart bullets from 
 the heavy revolvers of Schwandorf, who, ever 
 keeping himself protected by the bodies of his 
 cannibal allies, shot with both hands as the chance 
 came. And the German could shoot. With 
 only the small gun muzzles as targets, he planted
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 311 
 
 bullets so close as to knock dirt more than once 
 into the eyes of the riflemen and render them 
 momentarily useless. After a time he got a 
 bullet fair into a loophole. 
 
 Knowlton grunted suddenly, swayed back, 
 toppled, fell down the parapet. For a few 
 seconds he lay still. 
 
 "Looey!" howled Tim. "How ye fixed? Hurt 
 bad?" 
 
 The lieutenant heaved himself into a sitting 
 position, stared around, clapped a hand to his 
 right shoulder, looked at the red smear his palm 
 brought away, reeled up, and scrambled back 
 to his rifle. Schwandorf's bullet had drilled clear 
 through the shoulder, and in falling his head had 
 struck one of the upright poles. Without a word 
 he got his gun into action once more, shooting 
 now from the left shoulder. Tim, with a tight 
 grin of relief, devoted himself once more to trying 
 to shoot down the dodging German. 
 
 The encircling Mayorunas, their first paroxysm 
 of fury vented, now settled in cold hate to their 
 work. On all sides their clubmen and spearmen 
 were bludgeoning and stabbing at the close- 
 packed Red Bones, leaping in, killing, springing 
 back and onward with terrible efficiency. Be 
 yond these a thin but deadly line of bowmen 
 poured arrows in high-looping curves over the 
 heads of the hand-to-hand combatants, the shafts 
 whizzing far up, turning, and plunging down 
 unerringly into the center of the enemy force.
 
 312 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Each of those arrows could, and many did, end 
 the lives of two or three adversaries by gouging 
 their skins and letting the fearful wurali into their 
 blood. The blowgun men too were darting into 
 every opening, handling their clumsy weapons 
 like feathers and constantly moving to spy out 
 fresh targets. 
 
 But the men of Monitaya were by no means 
 escaping unscathed. The Red Bones, assailed 
 from every quarter and milling about in hopeless 
 disorder, were fighting now with desperate 
 frenzy. Their own clubbers and stabbers were 
 charging out and smashing skulls or piercing ab 
 domens, their arrows rose in all directions at 
 once, and some into whose veins the wurali had 
 struck sprang in the last moments of life on near 
 by foes and bit like mad dogs. With a leader 
 and a chance to form into any sort of flying wedge 
 they might have broken through with compara 
 tive ease and taken a far heavier toll. But they 
 had no leader: for Umanuh, whose name meant 
 "corpse," now was a corpse in truth, his merciless 
 brain oozing from a skull shattered by a Mayo- 
 runa clubman; and Schwandorf was very busy 
 looking out for Schwandorf. So it was every man 
 for himself, with the devil rapidly taking not 
 only the hindmost, but the foremost as well. . 
 ^ Thicker and thicker fell the dead. The 
 trenches now not only were filled to the level of 
 the ground, but piled with a windrow of bullet-torn 
 bodies knocked down by the ever-spitting rifles
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES 313 
 
 Jose", Pedro, and Lourengo abandoned all shelter 
 and knelt in plain sight before the door which 
 they had kept clear of all close attack. Moni- 
 taya, until now a field general who strode up and 
 down roaring commands and encouragement, 
 suddenly cast away his regal role and, seizing a 
 club from one of his bodyguard, hurled himself on 
 the nearest Red Bones a raving, ravening 
 demon of destructiveness whose glaring eyes 
 smote terror into those fronting him and whose 
 weapon swung like the club of Hercules. His 
 bowmen and blowgun men, at last out of mis 
 siles, came charging in with bare hands or 
 weapons seized from fallen warriors. Maneuver 
 ing had ended. Henceforth the fight was a grap 
 pling mel^e. 
 
 Then the gunfire dwindled and died. The rule 
 cartridges were spent.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. THE PASSING OF 
 SCHWANDORF 
 
 THE three soldiers flung down their hot, 
 empty guns. 
 
 "Nothin' left but the gats and the 
 steel," rumbled Tim. "Me, I'm goin' out and 
 git some fresh air." 
 
 With which he drew pistol and machete, 
 leaped down, and lunged through the door. 
 McKay bounded at his heels. 
 
 "Merry! Rand! Stay here!" he commanded. 
 Then he was outside, his pistol roaring in uni 
 son with Tim's. 
 
 Knowlton and Rand looked at each other. 
 The lieutenant fumbled his pistol from its holster, 
 got it firmly hi his left hand, slid down the em 
 bankment, and staggered out. Rand coolly 
 walked over to Tun's discarded gun, picked it 
 up, and followed. 
 
 Over at the other doorway the bushmen threw 
 aside their useless guns and drew their machetes. 
 Jose, grinning like a death's-head, whirled the 
 bush knife aloft and mockingly dared the Red 
 Bones still fronting him to come and take it from 
 him. Pedro and Lourengo indulged in no such 
 bravado, but leaped like jaguars at their foes. 
 Whereupon Jose*, muttering a curse on them for
 
 THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 315 
 
 getting the jump on him, dashed forward with 
 furious abandon. 
 
 Their pistols emptied, the Americans also drew 
 machetes all except Rand, who had no weapon 
 but the bulletless rifle and waited. Few un- 
 wounded Red Bones now were left; but among 
 those few Schwandorf still lived. 
 
 "Schwandorf !" bellowed McKay. "You yel 
 low cur you Schweinhund! Come and fight!" 
 
 "Yeah!" taunted Tim. "The women and 
 kids are inside. Come and git 'em!" 
 
 Schwandorf came. He came not because he 
 wanted to, however, for his guns, too, were 
 empty. He came because the Red Bones, sens 
 ing the challenge and loathing the Blackbeard 
 who had shielded himself so long among them, 
 threw him out bodily. They had no tune to 
 stand and watch what might happen to him, 
 but they took time to cast him out where he 
 must stand on his own legs. Then, snarling, they 
 resumed their now hopeless battle against their 
 encompassing executioners. 
 
 For a moment the German stood glowering at 
 McKay. Then, with a dramatic gesture, he 
 threw aside his useless revolvers and advanced 
 empty handed. 
 
 "Man to man?" he growled. 
 
 "Man to man!" echoed McKay, passing his 
 pistol to Tim and sheathing his machete. Fists 
 clenched, he sprang forward. 
 
 Schwandorf halted. His hands remained
 
 316 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 empty until the captain was within eight feet 
 of him. Then he leaped back, his machete 
 jumped into his fist, and its point stabbed for 
 his antagonist's abdomen. 
 
 An instantaneous side-step and twist of the 
 body saved the captain from evisceration. The 
 blade ripped through breeches and shirt and 
 scraped the skin. As Schwandorf yanked it 
 back for another thrust McKay struck it away 
 with one hand and, without drawing his own 
 steel, jumped again at his assailant. An instant 
 later the two blackboards were clenched in a 
 death grapple. 
 
 Schwandorf found his long knife useless and 
 dropped it. He strove for a back-breaking hold, 
 but found it blocked. McKay, though an indif 
 ferent swordsman, was a formidable wrestler 
 and fist fighter, and the German's advantage 
 in weight was more than offset by the Ameri 
 can's quickness and wiry strength. Science was 
 thrown to the winds. A heaving, choking, 
 wrenching man -fight it was, stumbling over 
 bodies, each straining every muscle, trying every 
 hold to twist and break the other and batter 
 him down to death. 
 
 Smashing fist blows brought blood dripping 
 from their faces. Bone-wringing grips forced 
 gasps from their lungs and superhuman spasms 
 of resistance from their outraged nerve centers. 
 They fell across a corpse, rolled on the ground, 
 throttled, kicked, struck, and tore. Finally, hi
 
 THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 317 
 
 a furious outburst of energy, the American 
 fought his enemy down under him, clamped his 
 body with iron knees, and crashed a terrific 
 punch squarely between the German's glaring 
 eyes. Schwandorf went limp. 
 
 At that instant a backward eddy of the battle 
 surged over the pair. The maniacal Red Bones, 
 fighting to the last bitter drop of doom, found 
 two white men under their feet. Screeching, 
 snarling, they fell on them like wild beasts, tearing 
 with tooth and nail. Their arrows were gone, 
 their darts exhausted, and no spearman was 
 among them; they fought with nature's weapons, 
 while above them one lone clubman struggled 
 to swing down his lethal bludgeon without 
 killing his fellows. 
 
 McKay, wrenching his machete loose and 
 gripping it with both hands, got its point upward 
 and jabbed blindly at the weight of flesh bearing 
 him down. Faintly to his ears came yells of 
 rage and the impact of blows the battle roars 
 of Tim and Knowlton, who with their machetes 
 were cleaving a way to their captain. But the 
 beastly demons over him still crushed him down 
 on Schwandorf, smothering him under the bur 
 den of bodies dead and alive. His stabs grew 
 weak. Exhaustion and lack of air were killing 
 him more surely than the savages. 
 
 Pedro, Lourengo, Jose" and the inexplicable 
 Rand came slashing and clubbing a path of their 
 own to the beleaguered Scot the Brazilians
 
 318 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 cutting straight ahead with deadly surety, the 
 painted Peruvian chopping and thrusting with 
 a fixed grin, Rand swinging the gun butt down 
 on head after head. From still another direction 
 Yuara and his satellite came boring in with 
 spears snatched from dead hands. The three 
 rescue parties reached the squirming heap at 
 almost the same moment. But Yuara was the 
 one whose arrival counted most. 
 
 In one last convulsive struggle McKay heaved 
 himself up until he was once more on his knees. 
 His head came out of the welter, his mouth 
 wide and gulping for breath. The lone clubman 
 grunted, swung his weapon high, and with all 
 the power of his muscular body drove it down 
 at that upturned, unprotected face. 
 
 With a mighty plunge Yuara threw himself 
 over the captain. His spear sank into the 
 stomach of the clubman. But the heavy wooden 
 war hammer fell with crushing force. As the 
 Red Bone collapsed with the spear head buried 
 in his middle, his slayer also dropped under that 
 terrible stroke with head mangled beyond recog 
 nition. 
 
 Yuara, son of Rana, warrior of Suba, who 
 owed his life to McKay's rough surgery, had 
 paid his debt. 
 
 Under the impact of his body McKay also 
 slumped forward, senseless. 
 
 Over them now burst the bloodiest berserk 
 battle of that bloody day. The soldiers, the
 
 THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 319 
 
 bushmen, and the reclaimed Raposa, already 
 smeared from head to foot with red stains from 
 their own veins and those of foemen, went stark 
 mad. Before their united ferocity the men of 
 Umanuh dropped as if rolled under by an inex 
 orable machine of war. Backward they reeled, 
 striving now to escape the red wall of cold steel 
 surging at them only to fall under a fresh 
 attack of ravening Mayorunas who came pouring 
 in upon them from the sides. The last of the 
 group lurched headless to the ground under a 
 decapitating side-swing from the awful club of 
 Monitaya himself. 
 
 Then Knowlton, his lifeblood still draining 
 slowly but surely away through his wounded 
 shoulder, pitched on his face and was still. 
 
 "Back!" gasped Tun. "Git looey and cap 
 out o' this! Here, you Raposy! Lend a hand!" 
 
 The Raposa, his green eyes ablaze and his 
 obdurate calmness totally gone, glared around 
 as if seeking one more Red Bone to kill. Then, 
 as Tun heaved the lieutenant across his shoul 
 ders and went lunging across contorted bodies 
 toward the malocas, he ran back to the heap 
 where McKay lay and dug him clear. Lourengo 
 aided him in lifting the captain, and they bore 
 him off after Knowlton. 
 
 Pedro and Jose shoved the other bodies aside 
 until they uncovered the prone figure of Schwan- 
 dorf a ghastly form dyed from hair to heels 
 with the blood of the cannibals whom he had led
 
 320 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 there. To all appearances he was dead. Yet 
 the Brazilian and the Peruvian looked keenly 
 at him, then at each other. 
 
 "There is a saying, is there not, that the devil 
 takes care of his own?" grinned Jose. "It would 
 be sad if this man should yet live and escape. 
 See! What is that tall Red Bone doing over 
 yonder?" 
 
 Pedro followed his pointing finger. He saw 
 no such Red Bone as Jos6 had mentioned. But 
 when he looked back at Schwandorf he noticed 
 something that made him glance quickly at 
 Jose once more. 
 
 "Ah yes, Senor Schwandorf is truly dead," 
 the Peruvian added, wiping his machete carelessly 
 on one bare leg. "Whether or not the devil 
 takes care of his own, as I was saying, there is 
 no doubt that el Aleman now is with the devil. 
 So, since we can do nothing for him, let us look 
 after the two North American senores." 
 
 Pedro, with a grim smile, turned with him 
 toward the tribal houses. There was nothing 
 else for them to do, for the Mayorunas now were 
 dispatching the last survivors of the attacking 
 force. Before the pair entered the low doorway 
 a long, triumphant yell burst from the hoarse 
 throats of the men of Monitaya. Of all the Red 
 Bones who had swept in such ghoulish glee into 
 that clearing not one now remained alive. 
 
 At that shout of victory and the entrance 
 of the men to whose precautions and prowess
 
 THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 321 
 
 they owed so much, the women flocked again 
 into the center of the maloca and the children 
 dived out through the tunnels to behold the 
 battlefield. Though bullets and arrows had 
 come through the doorway, those inside had 
 escaped all injury by hugging the protective 
 earth embankment or taking refuge in the vacant 
 shafts under the walls. Now the older women, 
 experienced in treatment of wounds, busied 
 themselves with the white warriors, while the 
 younger ones fetched water and pieces of isca 
 a natural styptic made by ants or made up 
 pads of poultices of healing herbs. 
 
 Tim, who had expected to play surgeon with 
 his crude knowledge of first aid, found himself 
 not only relieved of his job, but being bathed 
 and plastered with the others. He, Jose", Pedro, 
 Lourengo, and even Rand were gashed by thrusts 
 from broken spear hafts, bleeding from open 
 bites, ripped by glancing sweeps of tooth-set 
 clubs, bruised by fierce blows minor injuries 
 all, but such as might easily have resulted in 
 blood poisoning unless given prompt attention. 
 Later on they were to be thankful for those 
 ministrations, but now they tolerated them 
 only because they could do nothing for the 
 captain and the lieutenant. 
 
 McKay and Knowlton were under the direct 
 and capable treatment of the wives of the great 
 chief. Of the two McKay looked by far the 
 worse, but actually was in much better condi-
 
 322 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 tion. From the waist up he was clawed, bitten, 
 and bruised so badly that he was a fearsome 
 spectacle; his left arm was dislocated, three fin 
 gers of his right hand were broken, and his muscles 
 were so wrenched that for a week afterward he 
 moved like a cripple; but his present uncon 
 sciousness was largely due to exhaustion and 
 partial asphyxiation. Knowlton, whose skin 
 was comparatively unmarked, but whose veins 
 had continued to pour vital fluid from his gaping 
 bullet wound during his stubborn fight, now was 
 badly weakened. But whatever could be done 
 for him was being done, and the others could 
 only stand by. 
 
 The women not engaged in caring for the 
 fighting visitors soon found themselves busy 
 with their own male relatives, who came stum 
 bling hi by themselves or were carried by others. 
 The Red Bones, though finally annihilated, had 
 made then* mark in the Mayoruna tribe. At 
 that moment thirty-six of Monitaya's warriors 
 lay dead among the bodies of their enemies, 
 and before the next sunrise several more passed 
 on to join the spirits of their comrades in arms. 
 Yet all who survived, though some were crippled 
 for life, thought only of the victory and gloated 
 on their scars of combat. As for those who had 
 fallen, they were dead, had died as Mayorunas 
 should, and so needed no sympathy or regret. 
 Even now their bodies were being collected for 
 immediate transportation into the forest, where,
 
 THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 323 
 
 in accordance with the tribal custom, they would 
 be burned. 
 
 Some of the men who brought in the wounded 
 men continued on to the bushmen and, in signifi 
 cant sign manual, requested a loan of their 
 machetes. Having received them, they hastened 
 out to join those who, equipped with hardwood 
 knives, were gathering the sinister trophies of 
 triumph before heaving the dead Red Bones out 
 to the waiting vultures. 
 
 "Urrrgh!" growled Tun. "'Twas a lovely 
 scrap, but I wisht I was somewheres else, now 
 it's over. While ye was away they brought in 
 the fists and feet o' some guy they caught in a 
 trap" 
 
 "We know," nodded Pedro. 
 
 "Yeah. Wai, I s'pose we got to look pleasant. 
 Dog eat dog, as the feller says. Long as some 
 body has to git et, I'm glad it ain't us." Where 
 with he turned to the Raposa and changed the 
 subject. "Raposy, old sport, ye sure done some 
 good work, for a crazy guy. I'll tell the world 
 ye cracked heads like a Bowery cop full o' boot 
 leg booze." 
 
 The Raposa's geeen eyes glimmered. In fact, 
 they almost twinkled. And for the second tune 
 the wild man spoke. 
 
 "I am not crazy." 
 
 "Huh? My gosh! Ye spoke four whole 
 words! That makes six in a week. Be careful, 
 feller, or ye'll strain yerself. And as far 's bein'
 
 324 
 
 crazy's concerned, don't let it worry ye none. 
 We're all crazy, too, or we wouldn't be here." 
 
 Under cover of his banter the veteran eyed 
 the other sharply. As he turned his gaze aside 
 to the moving figures about him he thought: 
 "Begorry! he don't look like a nut, at that. 
 Mebbe somethin's unscrambled his brains again. 
 Here's hopin', anyways." 
 
 The big tribe house now was full of life. Small 
 groups of warriors, their hurts dressed with 
 primitive poultices, gathered around the ham 
 mocks of those more seriously injured and dis 
 cussed the battle. Others came in bearing arm- 
 fuls of severed Red Bone hands and feet, which 
 were distributed among the family triangles. 
 The women, their remedial work done, now 
 turned to the clay cooking vessels, freshened the 
 fires, stripped the flesh of their enemies from the 
 bones, and set it to boil. Among the hammocks 
 moved the subchiefs, their eyes still shining with 
 the light of battle, examining the wounded men 
 and glancing at the preparations for the dire 
 feast to come. 
 
 Over all drifted a steadily thickening smoke 
 which rolled up and out through the vent in the 
 peak of the roof, where the setting sun smote 
 it with rays of gleaming red. Around the 
 maloca gleamed the red light of the cooking 
 fires among whose burning fagots bubbled the 
 red pots and pans. Red men and women passing 
 about hi a crimson setting the scene formed a
 
 THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF 325 
 
 fitting end to the reddest day in the unwritten 
 records of the tribe, who since noon had proved 
 themselves worthy champions of the ancient god 
 whose name they never had heard, but who 
 nevertheless ruled their lives the red god Mars. 
 
 Monitaya himself, head high and chest swelling 
 with pride, now came striding lithely in, followed 
 by a young warrior carrying something. He 
 stopped between the hammocks of McKay and 
 Knowlton, studied their faces gravely, listened 
 as his wives told of what had been done. At 
 almost the same moment the eyes of the pair 
 slowly opened and stared up at him. 
 
 The face of the great chief melted in one of 
 its transforming smiles. The captain and the 
 lieutenant grinned pluckily back. With a nod 
 of silent comradeship the big savage turned to 
 his own hammock and sat down. Two of his 
 women built up the royal fire and fell to work 
 on the things handed over by the young warrior. 
 Tun and his mates took one squint at what they 
 were doing. Then they moved between the fire 
 and the two officers, blocking the view. 
 
 "'Bout time ye woke up and listened to the 
 birdies," Tim chaffed. "Fight's over, and we 
 been hangin' round waitin' for ye to quit snorin' 
 so's we could hear ourselves think. Lay still, 
 now! Ye're all plastered up nice and comfy 
 and don't preach to me no more about the girls. 
 Ye had every dang one o' the big chief's wives 
 hangin' over ye and kissin' ye so hard it sounded
 
 328 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 like a machine gun. Ain't that right, fellers? 
 Me, I'm so jealous I could bite the both of ye." 
 
 "Schwandorf dead?" hoarsely queried McKay. 
 
 "Huh? Oh, him? Sure. Ye fixed him right, 
 Cap. The pretty liT blackbirds has flew away 
 with him by now. Say, ye mind that feller 
 Yuarry? Know what he done? Wai " 
 
 And while he talked, behind his back the 
 wives of Monitaya completed their task and 
 dropped into the great chief's stewpot the flesh 
 of the black-bearded slaver and slayer who would 
 menace them no more.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. PARTNERS 
 
 SEVEN men squatted around a camp fire on 
 the river bank. Beyond them, half revealed 
 by the flickering light of the flames, rose 
 the poles of a tambo wherein empty hammocks 
 hung waiting. At the edge of the water lay two 
 canoes. 
 
 Five of the men wore the habiliments of 
 civilized beings, though their shirts and breeches 
 were so tattered and stained that a civilized 
 community would have looked askance at them. 
 The other two were nude as savages, but their 
 beards and tanned skins were those of white 
 men. Beards of varying length seemed, in fact, 
 to be the fashion, for everyone present wore 
 one, and all but two were very dark. Of the 
 odd pair, one's thin face was partly covered by 
 stubby, blond hair, while the other's jaw was 
 masked by a growth of unmistakable red. 
 
 Lifting their cigarettes, the blond man and 
 a tall, eagle-faced comrade moved their arms 
 stiffly, as if still hampered by injuries. Newly 
 healed scars showed on the skins of the rest. 
 
 "Injuns are a funny lot," declared the red- 
 haired one. "There's Monitaya, now. Keeps 
 us a couple weeks, doctors us half to death, 
 feeds us till we gag, gives us new canoes, sends 
 a platoon o' hard guys with us to see that we
 
 328 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 git to the river safe and don't even say good-by. 
 No handshake, no 'Good luck, fellers' jest a 
 grin like we was goin' to walk round the house 
 and come right back. And the lads that come 
 out with us done the same turned round and 
 quit us without a word. I bet if we lived amongst 
 'em long we'd git to be dummies, too." 
 
 For a moment there was silence. For no 
 apparent reason all glanced at one of the naked 
 men, on whose skin faintly showed reddish 
 streaks. 
 
 "You would," he said. 
 
 "Huh! Gee! Rand's talkin' again! First 
 tune since we licked them Red Boneheads. Two 
 whole words. Go easy, feller, easy!" 
 ? " I will be easy. But it's tune I talked. lam 
 not dumb. I am not crazy." 
 
 The green-eyed man spoke slowly, as if form 
 ing each word in his mind before pronouncing it. 
 The rest squatted with eyes riveted on his face. 
 
 "I have not talked before because I had to 
 find myself. I had to hear English spoken and 
 become used to it. I had to put things together 
 in my mind. Even now some things are not 
 clear. But I can talk and make sense of my 
 talk. I will tell what I can remember. First 
 tell me one thing. McKay, am I a murderer?" 
 
 "A murderer? You? If you are we never 
 heard of it." 
 
 "A man named Schmidt. Gustav Schmidt. 
 German merchant at Manaos."
 
 PARTNERS 329 
 
 "Gustav~ Schmidt? Piggy little runt, bald 
 and fat, with a scar across his chin?" 
 
 "Yes.'? 
 
 "He's dead, but you didn't kill him. He was 
 shot a little while ago by a young Brazilian for 
 getting too intimate with the young fellow's wife. 
 We heard about it while we were in Manaos, and 
 saw his picture. What about him?" 
 
 "I thought I killed him. I struck him with a 
 bottle. I was told he was dead. How long have 
 I been here?" 
 
 "You left the States in 1915. It is now 1920." 
 
 "Five years? My God! What has happened 
 in that time? Is my mother well?" 
 
 The others looked pityingly at him. Slowly 
 Knowlton spoke. 
 
 "Your mother died two years ago from heart 
 trouble. Your uncle, Philip Dawson, also is 
 dead." 
 
 Rand's jaw set. The others shifted their 
 gaze and busied themselves with making new 
 cigarettes, spending much tune over the simple 
 task. 
 
 "Poor mother!" Rand said, huskily. "Uncle 
 Phil he was a good old scout. And I was here 
 buried alive only half alive! My head 
 Tell me, what happened on the night before you 
 dressed my lame foot? I remember clearly 
 everything from the time I woke in the canoe 
 before daylight that morning. Before that 
 there is a blur."
 
 330 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 Knowlton sketched the events of that night, 
 and told also of the glimpse which he and Pedro 
 had caught of the "wild man" while waiting 
 outside the house of the Red Bone chief. A 
 flash lit up Rand's face. 
 
 "So that is how I got my sore head. You 
 struck me with your rifle butt. That explains 
 much. Before I became a wild beast I was shot 
 in the head. The bullet did not go through the 
 skull. It struck me a terrible blow on the 
 crown. When I recovered consciousness I was 
 not myself. I have never been the same 
 until" 
 
 "Gee cripes!" exploded Tim. "That's it. 
 I seen that same thing up home. Bug Sullivan, 
 it was. When he was a li'l' feller he tumbled 
 downstairs and hit his head, and for 'most ten 
 years he was foolish. Then a brick fell off a 
 buildin' and landed on his bean. It knocked him 
 for a gool, but when he come out of it he was 
 bright as a new dime. Looey, when ye busted 
 Rand with yer gun ye jarred some thin' loose 
 inside, and now he's good as any of us." 
 
 "By George! You're right!" cried the lieu 
 tenant. "Things like that do happen. I've 
 heard of them. Haven't you, Rod?" 
 
 McKay nodded. 
 
 "That is it," affirmed the Raposa. "I have 
 not been insane. But much was gone from me. 
 My mind was a house full of closed doors which 
 I could not open. I knew who I was and why
 
 PARTNERS 331 
 
 I was here, but I knew also that something had 
 happened to my brain; knew I was defective; 
 believed I was wanted for murder. So I could 
 not go out. I could only stay here, prowl the 
 jungle, live the jungle life. 
 
 "Now that the closed doors have opened 
 again, others have swung shut. I cannot remem 
 ber much of my wild-beast life here. Some 
 things are clear. Too clear. Torturings and 
 horrible feasts. Perhaps I should be grateful 
 that some things are forgotten. 
 
 "But now my life up to the time I was shot 
 is plain again. I talked with a man who had 
 traveled the Amazon and the Andes. I never 
 had seen either, and I was ripe for something 
 new. A steamer was just sailing south, and I 
 got aboard in a' hurry. No baggage but a suit 
 case and five thousand dollars. I had traveled 
 a good deal Europe, Canada, Japan and 
 always found that plenty of money was all a 
 man needed. Thought it was the same way 
 here. I've learned better. 
 
 "I visited Rio a few hours and then came 
 up along the coast and inland. At Manaos I 
 got into trouble. Went ashore and got to drink 
 ing with two Germans. One of them Schmidt 
 grew ugly and said a lot of rotten things about 
 the States. Tell me something, men is the 
 war over and did our country get into it?" 
 
 "It is, and it did." And Knowlton outlined 
 the epochal occurrences of the world conflict.
 
 332 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "And I missed that, too!" mourned Rand. 
 "But I started a war of my own down here, 
 anyway. When I quit seeing red I had a bottle 
 neck in my hand and both the Germans were 
 down. Somebody said Schmidt was dead. A 
 couple of men tried to grab me. I fought my 
 way clear, hid awhile, got back on the boat 
 without being noticed, and paid one of the crew 
 well to hide me in the hold and feed me. Nearly 
 died from heat and suffocation down there, but 
 lived to reach Iquitos, where my man smuggled 
 me ashore. I thought I was safe there. But 
 before I could make a move to travel on I fell 
 into the hands of that cursed Schwandorf." 
 
 "Schwandorf!" 
 
 "Sehwandorf. He was in Iquitos. The sailor 
 who hid me must have sold me out to him. 
 Schwandorf told me he was a police officer in 
 Brazilian employ. Said he would take me back 
 to stand trial for murdering Schmidt. The 
 dirty blackmailer took all my money to keep 
 his mouth shut and take me to a 'safe place.' 
 The safe place was up this river. I came up here 
 with him in a canoe paddled by some tough 
 Peruvians. Then he began trying to bully me 
 into doing dirty work for him running women 
 into Peru. I saw red again and jumped for him. 
 He gave me that bullet on the head. 
 
 "After that things are badly blurred. I found 
 myself among savages. How I got there, why I 
 wasn't killed, I don't know. Schwandorf was
 
 PARTNERS 333 
 
 there awhile. Then he went away with his 
 gang, leaving me very sure of only one thing 
 I was a murderer and would be executed if 
 caught. And well, that's about all, except 
 that the savages seemed rather afraid of me and 
 didn't want me around." 
 
 There was another silence. Then Lourengo 
 remarked: 
 
 "Between Schmidt and Schwandorf you have 
 suffered much. It is possible that there was a 
 connection of some sort between them. But 
 neither can ever trouble you again. I do not 
 see why Schwandorf took the trouble even to 
 put you among the Red Bones. One more 
 bullet would have ended you." 
 
 "Any ideas on that subject, Jose*?" asked 
 McKay. 
 
 "Only a guess, Capitan. I was not here five 
 years ago, and I knew nothing of Schwandorf 
 then. But I know he always schemed for his 
 own good and overlooked no chances. So 
 perhaps, rinding this man not dead, but darkened 
 in mind by his bullet, he thought he might be 
 able to use him in some way at some future time. 
 A dead man is not useful to anyone. If this 
 man should never become valuable he could 
 live and die forgotten among savages, where 
 he could do Schwandorf no harm. If worth 
 something he could be found again." 
 
 "Cold-blooded Prussian efficiency," nodded 
 McKay. Then he spoke directly to Rand.
 
 334 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 "Since you're mentally sound," he went on, 
 "we may as well tell you how you happen to 
 be among us. We three Merry, Tim, and I 
 came here to find you. The settlement of the 
 Dawson estate hinges on you." 
 
 "On me? How? I've no claim to it. Paul 
 Dawson, Uncle Phil's son " 
 
 "Is dead, too. Killed in action hi the Argonne. 
 You're next in line." 
 
 McKay watched him keenly. So did Knowl- 
 ton. The half-expected jubilance did not come. 
 
 "So Paul's gone," was Rand's reply. "Hard 
 luck. Suppose I hadn't been found then 
 what?" 
 
 "In due time the money would go to a school. 
 Boys' school." 
 
 "Orphans? Blind? Cripples?" 
 
 "Hardly." McKay's mouth curved sardon 
 ically. He named a preparatory school of the 
 "exclusive" type. Rand's mouth also twisted. 
 
 "That hotbed of snobbery? That twin sister 
 to a society girls' finishing school? Might have 
 known it, though. Uncle Phil was fond of the 
 sort of education that doesn't educate. I'm 
 glad you fellows found me. I'll go home and 
 collect every red cent, just to keep it out of the 
 hands of the supercilious bunch of bishops that 
 run that sissy-spawner." 
 
 Knowlton chuckled appreciatively. 
 
 "It's not the sort of school that breeds he- 
 men, for a fact," he agreed. "But you don't
 
 PARTNERS 335 
 
 seem much enthused over having a couple of 
 millions dropped into your lap." 
 
 Rand sat still. His face remained cheerless, 
 impassive. 
 
 "What is money?" he said, presently. "I've 
 always had plenty of it. What's it done for 
 me? When you have it you can't tell whether 
 people are friends to you or only friends to your 
 money. It makes you cynical, suspicious. 
 What's worse, you depend too much on it. You 
 think it will do everything. Then if you land 
 in a place where it's no good and you haven't 
 got it, anyway, you're up against it a good deal 
 harder than the fellow who never had it but 
 knows how to handle himself without it." 
 
 "True for ye," Tun concurred, heartily. "All 
 the same, I bet ye'll change yer tune after ye 
 git home." 
 
 "Will I?" The green eyes impaled him. 
 "Maybe. But I don't think so. I've had my 
 run at blowing in money on myself alone. Now 
 I'm going to blow some on other folks. I missed 
 out on the war, but There must be quite a 
 few of our fellows lamed and crippled by that 
 war. And I'll gamble that the government 
 isn't treating them all like princes. I know 
 something about governments." 
 
 "Princes? Say, feller, there's many a dog 
 that's took better care of than some of our boys 
 back home!" 
 
 "So I thought. The income from a couple
 
 336 THE PATHLESS TRAIL 
 
 of millions, along with some of the principal, 
 will do a lot of good if used right. And " 
 His eyes turned to the three bushmen. 
 
 "Do not look at us hi that way," said Lou- 
 rengo, reading his thought. "We can make all 
 the money we need, and we came with the 
 capitao and his comrades only because we 
 wanted excitement. Use your money for the 
 crippled men who need it." 
 
 "And Jose Martinez also is well able to pro 
 vide for his wants," coolly added the other naked 
 man. "I am here only to settle old scores, and 
 now they are settled. Each man is goaded by 
 his own spur money, wine, women, excitement, 
 revenge. Money is not mine." 
 
 He yawned, arose, stretched like a cat, and 
 stepped toward his hammock. The two Bra 
 zilians also moved toward the tambo. The others 
 stood a moment longer beside the fire. 
 
 "Well, since we three didn't come here because 
 of wine, women, or revenge," Knowlton said, 
 whimsically, "it must have been for money and 
 excitement. Don't know which was the stronger 
 lure, but if we could have only one of the two 
 I think we'd let the money slide. How about it, 
 Rod?" 
 
 "Right! And, Rand, let me say this: Before 
 we knew you we had an impression that you 
 were more or less of a worthless pup. We've 
 changed our ideas. If you ever go broke and 
 want to hit a trail into some new place to make
 
 PARTNERS 337 
 
 a strike of your own, and you need partners, 
 let us know." 
 
 And he held out his hand. 
 
 The naked millionaire took it. For the first 
 tune a faint smile lightened his face. 
 
 "I'll do that, partners!" he promised. 
 
 "Yeah! That's the word. Pardners! Only, 
 liT Timmy Ryan bucks at ever travelin' back 
 into this here, now, Ja-va-ree jungle. I got 
 enough of it. Right now I'm homesick." 
 
 "So say we all," affirmed Knowlton. "Now 
 let's turn in." 
 
 But Tim stood a little longer looking out at 
 the moonlit river and the two waiting canoes. 
 His gaze roved along the stream, northward. 
 He lifted his head, opened his mouth, expanded 
 his lungs, and then the astounded denizens of 
 forest and stream cut short their discordant 
 concert to listen to something they never bad 
 heard before and never would hear again a 
 great voice thundering a censored version of a 
 North American army song. 
 
 "Home, boys, home! Home we want to be! 
 Home, boys, home, in God's countree! 
 We'll raise 01' Glory to the top o' the pole 
 And we'll all come back not a dog-gone soul!" 
 
 THE END
 
 "The Books You Like to Read 
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 There Are Two Sides 
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