Tupahn--the Thunderstorm/Chapter 5
V.
RAPID scouting of the ground around the dead man told us several things.
He had brought his prisoner ashore, taken food from the canoe, mixed up some chibeh in a couple of gourds, and started to eat. Then he had been attacked and killed by several Indians armed with arrows and spears. The wild men had looted the boat, and with their plunder and the white girl they had gone back into the bush.
We followed the footmarks of the killers a short distance before turning back to Senhor Tom, and found that they led almost straight eastward. We found also something very valuable to us just at that time—a bag of farinha, dropped or flung aside by some man who thought it not worth carrying. It was one of our own bags, and it held little enough; but we pounced on it as if it were gold. Returning to the dead man to pick up the two upset gourds, we spied a couple of chunks of our salt pirarucu fish which he had not lived long enough to eat. With these and our news, we went back to our comrade who sat patiently waiting.
We gave him the news first, of course, and half the fish and farinha next. Pedro and I shared the other half between us, glad that he could not see how we were favoring him—for he certainly would have refused to eat more than his portion. As it was, he devoured all he had before saying a word.
“I feel better,” he announced then. “Wish I could have manhandled that brute myself, but since I couldn't I'm sure glad the Indians did him up so thoroughly. And Miss Marshall is at least one degree safer with the Indians, even though they are killers, than she was with the scum who dragged her here.
“This isn't cannibal country, as far as I know. The Indians hereabouts are mostly Tucunas, and they're a pretty decent lot. Likely as not they're taking her along to protect her. They'll lead her to their chief, anyway, and she's safe until then or later. Now we'll just have to trail them and talk straight to the chief, and everything will be fixed up. Let's go.”
Pedro and I looked at each other and tried to grin. We knew, and Senhor Tom himself knew, that matters were not so hopeful as he said. For one thing, we did not know that the Indians were Tucunas, and the body lying near us certainly did not look as if the killers were a “pretty decent lot.” Even if they were Tucunas, the Tucuna race had made up the army of the dead Black Hawk, who preyed on whites and was a destroyer of women. True, the Indians in his gang had obeyed him because they feared him, and most of them were glad of his death. Still—no, the outlook for the girl was not at all bright.
Nor were the chances very good that three men—one blind, the others poorly armed—could peaceably rescue a prisoner from a tribe who had just shown such ferocity toward the strange man who had landed there that morning. But there was only one thing for us to do—to take the trail as Senhor Tom had said. And we could waste no more time in talking about it.
Yet, with the path plain before us, we found ourselves facing a new problem. Up to this point our blind companion had been no hindrance to us; but now, with stealthy bush-work ahead, a sightless man was likely to be the worst possible obstacle to either speed or silence. For a minute or so we pondered. There was no way out of it—he must come with us. We could not leave him alone there, even if we hoped to return soon. Many things might come about while we were gone, and if we failed to come back he could only die in misery.
“Are your eyes any better, comrade?” Pedro asked gently.
“No better. Can't see a thing. You fellows had better leave me behind. I'm no good any more.”
“We shall do nothing of the kind,” I refused. “We stick together. It takes only one eye to follow the track of those savages, and we have four eyes among us. I will go ahead, and Pedro will follow with you.'
“But”
“But nothing!” Pedro cut him off. “We shall do just that. The Indians probably have not come far from their village, and we ought to find them before long. You are so well used to jungle travel that you can walk nearly as quietly as we, so long as you have a guide. I will cut a short stick, which you and I will carry in our left hands. I will move the stick to right or left as we turn, lift it if we have to step high, and push back if we must stop. If you feel me drop it suddenly, squat as low as you can and keep still.”
With that he cut a small stiff piece of bush and trimmed it to a bare stick about a yard long. With no more argument, Senhor Tom grasped the end Pedro gave him and stood behind him, ready to follow. I took the revolver from my partner and started away along the trail.
Once started, I gave little attention to the pair behind me. Pedro, I knew, would give all his care to helping Senhor Tom move quietly, and I could use my eyes and ears altogether for tracking the men ahead.
On the soft, watery ground of that low flat the footmarks were easy enough to follow. I judged that eight or more men had filed through that bush, and the tracks they left behind would have been plain even to a child—that is, a jungle child. Now and then I saw bootprints, but not often. This told me that the girl was walking with most of the men behind her. Nowhere could I find any sign of a scuffle or an attempt by her to break away from her new captors. This might mean either that she was not much afraid of them or that she knew any such effort would be useless.
The trail wound along in a rambling way, veering around dense or thorny patches of undergrowth—the path of men without machetes to cut their way. But it always swung back eastward, and I knew the men were going as straight as they could to their own little town. Either they were walking fast or they had left the creek earlier than we supposed, for I never got sight or sound of them. For that matter, my own gait was not speedy, for I paused at times to listen or to give my companions a chance to gain on me.
Senhor Tom was doing splendidly. Not once did I hear him stumble. As Pedro had said, the explorer was experienced in jungle travel and knew how to put his feet down, and with the pressure of the little stick to guide him he needed no words to make him step right. The couple walked so quietly that twice I waited until Pedro came into sight to make sure that nothing had happened to them. Both times Pedro motioned me onward, and after that I attended only to what was ahead.
The ground began to rise and become firm. Then the undergrowth thinned out and the light became more dim. Tall trees, their crowns thickly matted far overhead, towered around me. The trail became harder to follow now, as the tracks of the traveling band became much less plain on the harder dirt. Yet, by keeping keen watch of it, I remained on it until a smell stopped me.
It was the odor of wood-smoke, drifting on a little breath of air from some place not far ahead. As I stood quiet, shouting voices sounded faintly from a distance, and then came a sound which might be either the barking of a small dog or the yapping of a toucan. The Indian town was near.
Waiting until Pedro again appeared, I gave him a warning signal. He halted at once; and so closely was Senhor Tom attending to the movements of the guiding stick that they did not bump. I signed ahead, saw him sniff the air and listen, then come on more carefully; and I resumed my way.
Only a few steps farther on I found a path. Here the tracks which I had followed disappeared. But I noted which way they turned on entering that path, observed the direction of the path itself—and then avoided it. Drawing back from it, I signaled again to Pedro, then began traveling toward the place to which the path led, though keeping well away from the beaten track. I wanted to reach the town unseen, not to be met on the way by some Indian who might alarm the others and force a fight on us before we could speak. Fighting was the last thing we wanted just then.
The voices ahead became silent, but the yapping sound continued until it suddenly ended in a shrill yelp. There was no question now that it was made by a dog, which had just been kicked by some one tired of his racket. With the ceasing of the animal's noise all became quiet.
Soon the roof of branches before us gave way to open sky, and bright light struck in among the trunks from a space empty of trees. Slipping along between the tall columns, I reached their end. Beyond was a small clearing. In the clearing stood a long house.
And that was all I saw—the house. Not a man, woman, or child—not even the yelping dog—was in sight. Smoke rolled lazily from roof-holes, though, showing that the house was not empty. It was a maloca, or tribal house, and just then every one was inside.
While waiting for Pedro and Senhor Tom, I studied the shelter. I had seen the malocas of wild men farther south, but not until recently had I been in the Tucuna country, and this type of shelter was new to me. Instead of being circular in shape and walled with logs, it was oblong, with walls of palm-leaves; a place not built for defense, but the sort of house in which peaceable people ought to live. If those flimsy walls meant anything, these Indians were not warriors. Still, one can not always tell, from the appearance of a house, what sort of people are inside it; and men who were peaceful yesterday may be ugly foes today.
I took my gaze off the place to look at Senhor Tom, who now had come up and stood quiet behind me. His face seemed drawn, and I judged that the heat and the fatigue of marching without sight had made his head ache again; but he made no murmur. Quietly I told him what was before us.
“Uh-huh,” he breathed. “Regular Tucuna maloca. All inside looking at the prisoner. No use in our sticking here. What are you waiting for?”
I looked again at the house and back at him. Then I slid his revolver back into its holster and loosened my machete.
“If trouble comes, senhor,” I said, “your gun will not be of much use to me among half a hundred Indians. At close quarters I can do much work with cold steel. So you had best keep it.”
“If trouble does come,” he answered, his mouth tightening, “you fellows try to cut your way out with Miss Marshall and make your getaway. I'll guarantee to damage whatever is in front of me, and I'll make such a riot that maybe you can break out with her. You two chaps are wicked scrappers with machetes, and among the three of us we can make a sizable hole in this town's population—if we have to. But maybe a bold front will turn the trick without a row.”
Then, for the first time, he showed the strain of sightlessness. His blank eyes flickering, he blurted bitterly: “God! What wouldn't I give for a pair of real eyes just now?”
“Perhaps you will need no eyes, comrade,” Pedro soothed him. “Let us walk three abreast, with you in the middle. Hold your head high and look grim, and with us to guide you nobody need know you can not see.”
“Right! That's the dope. Run a bluff on them if we can. When you're dealing with Tucunas, even if they're friendly, it doesn't pay to look weak.
With that we stopped our muttering and walked out into the open.
Shoulder to shoulder we strode across the open space, steering the explorer's steps by slight touches on the arms, but never looking at him. With heads up and eyes straight ahead, we came to the narrow door of the tribal house, swung so that I was ahead of Senhor Tom and Pedro was behind him, and stepped boldly inside.