CHAPTER XV

THE CHARGE OF THE INDIANS

When Miguel admitted that he, too, was lost, the intelligence came as a great shock to David. One of his first thoughts upon seeing his rescuer was that at last his aimless, heart-breaking wanderings in the forest had come to an end. The walk back to camp might be of several days’ duration, but that did not matter. It made a difference whether one was walking in hopeless desperation because there was nothing else to do, or whether there was a definite goal to reach and one had the assurance of being on the right track. Now they were little better off than before. However, he suppressed the bitter disappointment he felt and tried to smile.

“How did that happen?” he asked. “I thought you couldn’t lose your way.”

“It was the fever,” Miguel said dejectedly. “Before that I knew where I was every minute of the time. Now I can’t remember how I got here or how many days I spent wandering around before my head cleared.”

“Well, the two of us together ought to find some way of getting out--when I’m able to travel. And it’s better than being all alone.”

“Yes, the lonesomeness nearly drove me crazy. It was terrible. It was the one thing I couldn’t stand. Fever, hunger--anything but that.”

Miguel turned the bird, which had been impaled on a stick, and when it had browned to a uniform color on all sides he brought it to the tree where David sat and stuck the stick into the ground. They cut off pieces of the tender flesh with their knives, but David’s appetite was not nearly so good as he had thought, while the absence of salt robbed the meat of much of its flavor.

“I could open one of the cartridges in my revolver,” he said, “and use the powder for salt; but we might need it more to shoot with before we get out of this.”

Miguel agreed that they had better save the ammunition for the purpose for which it was intended.

“How do you feel now?” he asked.

“I knew I’d feel better, and I do,” David replied. “But the fever left me all wrung out like a wet rag. Wish we had some quinine!”

“Quinine is good, but _guanabara_ is better. The root grows in the forest. I hunted for it every day but couldn’t find it. I’ll look again. Maybe there is some near here. But first we need a shelter. We have to stay here a few days at least. You are too weak to walk far. I’ll build a place to sleep first and then I’ll go in search of the medicine.”

David wanted to help in the construction of their shelter, but that, of course, was out of the question. Even the sitting posture had tired him so much that he slid to the ground, where he lay watching Miguel as he proceeded to erect the structure that was to house them until they should resume their wandering.

First he cut stout poles and fastened them to either side of two thick trees that stood about ten feet apart, by tying them to the trunks with strips of bark. Then he fastened cross-pieces to the poles, thus making a platform that was shoulder high above the ground. He piled dry palm leaves on this for a bed. After that he fastened two other poles a few feet above the platform and covered them with green palm leaves that hung down far over the sides, forming a roof.

The work required only a short time and the shelter that had been provided was entirely practicable and serviceable. Miguel surveyed it proudly as he explained its good points.

“It’s up high enough to be out of reach of snakes, scorpions, spiders and most of the mosquitoes; they all like to stay close to the ground. And if it should happen to rain, the roof will keep us dry,” he said.

David replied that he thought it was fine and would like to try it. The springy platform with the thick layer of dry leaves would be more comfortable than the hard ground.

Miguel helped him into the aerial perch and then went to hunt for the _guanabara_ root that would cure them both of the fever. He did not return until shortly before dark, and then it was only to report failure. However, he would go again the following morning.

After the Brazilian, too, had climbed into the platform bed the two lay awake and talked far into the night. One plan after another of escape from their predicament was discussed, and finally sleep overtook them before anything definite had been decided on.

The next day found both greatly refreshed, although David was still too ill to stand without assistance. But the change that had come over Miguel was remarkable; he cared for his companion in the best way he knew how and was most solicitous for his welfare.

They ate pieces of the bird left from the previous night and then the Brazilian again went to look for the medicinal root. This time he was successful. He came back shortly before noon and announced his arrival with a shout of triumph.

“Here it is at last,” he called as David peered out from under the ragged palm-leaf roof. “Look! It is the guanabara. It will cure your fever and mine. Thank _dios_, I found it!”

Miguel held several fleshy roots in his hand. They resembled slender sweet potatoes, but were of a bluish color.

“Let me have one,” David said feebly. “I’d eat anything to get rid of this awful feeling.”

“Wait! You can’t eat it raw, because it’s deadly poison that way. It has to be fixed first. Watch me. Some time you might have to do it when you’re alone.”

He laid a broad, green leaf on the ground and then scraped the roots with his knife until they had been reduced to a heap of pulp. He took the mass in his hands and pressed out the surplus juice, leaving a ball of doughy material; this was tossed into the fire and turned with a stick until it had baked thoroughly and evenly all around. When it had assumed a black color, which was in half an hour, he pronounced it ready for use.

Miguel now brought water in a folded leaf and scraped some of the medicine into it, and gave it to David to drink. When the particles dissolved they turned the water red, but the concoction was tasteless.

They drank the guanabara each hour, and before many doses had been taken its effect began to make itself felt. It was bracing, even stimulating, and all symptoms of malaria vanished as if by magic. Within two days David was able to accompany Miguel on his daily hunt for food.

Fortunately, they were now in a section of the country where game was not wanting. That indicated that they must be near a large river, for in the dry season the animals were always more abundant in a strip several miles wide bordering the larger streams.

“We’ll get a good supply of food; then we’ll hunt the river. If we can locate it we can get out,” Miguel said as they started on their tramp through the forest.

“Will we follow the river?” David asked.

“No. We’ll make a raft out of bamboo and float down.”

“I guess our luck has changed at last. Soon we’ll be back in camp.”

“We have to find the river first. When we have found it, who knows where it will take us to? It might take us right back to camp, or many leagues away from it.”

Miguel had his bow and a number of arrows. David was following close behind him; it was his duty to mark their trail by snapping twigs as they went along. Their shelter was too comfortable to lose so long as they remained in the locality.

Before long they came upon a flock of four large black birds feeding in the top of a tree. They were like the one Miguel had shot right after finding David, and moved about heavily as they fed on the fruits that grew on the branches.

The Brazilian took careful aim and released the cord of the bow. There was a sharp snap and the arrow sped whining through the air. Just before reaching the bird the shaft struck one of the numerous limbs a glancing blow; that was sufficient to deflect the missile from its path and it passed the mark by a goodly margin and continued its flight up above the trees and out of sight.

The birds were not frightened, but continued eating as if they had not noticed anything of an unusual nature in their midst. This was fortunate, for it permitted Miguel to take a second shot; this time the arrow found its mark and a great _mutum_ fell crashing to the ground while the other three flew away.

The bird was dead when they reached it. They removed the arrow carefully and then went to look for the first one that had been shot and gone astray, for they had only a limited number and the time might come when every one of them counted.

David thought the task of looking for the slender shaft in the thick jungle was hopeless, but Miguel assured him that he had marked its course as it soared over the trees.

“You see,” he added, “each one has a few bright-colored feathers on the end in addition to the black ones that make it fly straight.”

“Yes, I see them. You put them there for ornaments, I know.”

“No, they are not ornaments. They are put there as markers. Look! There is the lost one now.”

David saw what looked like a brilliant flower among the deep tints of the undergrowth. It was the arrow sticking in the ground where it had fallen; the red feather made it conspicuous among the green vegetation. They recovered it and replaced it in the pack.

A short time later they were startled by a chorus of “Oh’s” that came from the treetops not far ahead. The wails came in a rising crescendo, as if their makers were suffering intense pain or were in great fear.

“Flying monkeys,” Miguel announced gleefully as he started on a run toward the sound. David followed and soon saw the cause of the disturbance in the form of small, grayish bodies hurtling through space is if indeed flying.

The monkeys were leaping from tree to tree and swinging through the branches at an incredible rate of speed. When they jumped, the boughs sprang back into place with a _swish_ and the creatures landed with a thud, keeping the treetops bending and swaying as in a heavy wind. All the while they shrieked “Oh, oh, oh!” at the top of their voices.

Miguel sent an arrow after the fleeing animals and by a lucky circumstance brought down one of them. It was unlike any monkey David had ever seen, with a round head and a body like a very large cat’s. The tail was long and bushy.

They returned to the shelter and while the meat was roasting determined to start away early the following morning. They agreed that the rubber camp must be in a southeasterly direction from their position and they would therefore head that way, which was also the direction in which they hoped to find the river. It was true, the jungle was heaviest and progress would be slower; but, also, game was more abundant, and if they discovered the waterway it would save them days of walking in the end. If their calculations were correct the stream might even turn out to be a branch of the river on which the camp was situated.

The forest changed considerably in character as they advanced through it. Palms grew more abundantly than before and occasionally they saw a clump of orchids perched high overhead with sprays of gorgeous blossoms that drooped from among the leathery foliage like yard-long, brilliant plumes.

David had just stopped to look at an exceptional cluster the size of a tub and with panicles of deep orange flowers resembling a hundred gorgeous butterflies. Miguel stopped at the same time and laid a warning finger on his companion’s arm. He was staring straight ahead and, looking in that direction, David saw a dark form shaped like a cow silently appear from behind a clump of low palms. So soon as it was in full view it stopped, turned and faced its back trail, raised its head and sniffed the air. It had a very long nose that moved up and down as it drew short breaths. Then it turned quickly and faced at right angles to its previous position. At about the same time a volley of arrows struck the animal with a crash and as it staggered away a chorus of wild yells rent the air and a number of Indians rushed into view.

Miguel dropped to the ground the instant the arrows struck the tapir and David was not long in following his example. They were just in time and for the moment the Indians did not see them.

The stricken animal lurched forward only a few yards before it crumpled and fell in a heap, and soon the savages were upon it, dispatching it with clubs and spears.

That was the one opportunity that the white men must not lose if they hoped to escape with their lives, for in the excitement of the moment the Indians would not notice their movements.

Miguel began to crawl stealthily toward a nearby clump of thorny bamboo, David following at his heels, and not until they reached the inside of the dense growth did they breathe a sigh of relief.

The Indians continued giving their wild calls, as if signalling to other members of their party, and before long numbers of them began to come in from various directions. They came singly and in groups and still the yelling continued.

They were a savage-looking lot, entirely nude save only for necklaces of teeth and sticks tufted with feathers that they wore through large perforations in their ears. Their brown bodies were painted in irregular lines and dots of black, dark blue and red.

Each carried a bow and a number of arrows in his hands. Some also had long-handled spears and sword-like weapons made of tough palmwood.

Several of the savages began to skin and cut up the tapir while others went to gather firewood. First, however, each man disposed of his arms by sticking them into the ground in a little cluster; that prevented the possibility of their being stepped upon and broken.

“They are going to camp here for the night,” Miguel whispered. “We’ll have to stay here until they leave.”

“That suits me. We can watch them but they can’t see us,” David replied. He was glad of the opportunity of seeing the Indians engaged in their pursuits in a natural manner, unconscious of the fact that they were being observed.

“We’ll be all right so long as they don’t see us. We have to keep absolutely still.”

“Suppose they look in here through the hole by which we came in? Let’s close it!” David suggested.

“Yes,” Miguel agreed. “We must close it or one of them might happen to glance in.”

They pulled the thorn-covered branches together, very slowly and carefully, until the opening was completely blocked. They were now secure from discovery so long as they remained quiet. As he thought of this David also thought of the innumerable things that could happen to call attention to their hiding-place. Suppose one of them had to cough or sneeze; or what if a scorpion, tarantula or snake should creep in to dispute their quarters with them? He dared not think further along these lines.

The Indians had started a fire by rubbing together two sticks until they glowed, then applying them to dry leaves and blowing the heap into a blaze. Then they piled on wood and before long the roaring flames were leaping high into the air. The carcass of the tapir had been hacked into pieces; some of the chunks of meat were now thrown upon the fire to roast.

“They belong to the Parintintin tribe,” Miguel said as he watched them. “They are headhunters. They are the ones who attack the rubber camp at times. But they haven’t bothered it lately, because they were beaten badly in the last fight. But this may be a war party going there again.”

“What made Dom Carlos tell Rice, then, that the Indians were killing all the men?” David asked quickly.

Miguel looked confused for a moment. “He, he--meant others, not these,” he stammered.

David gave him a sharp look.

“Oh, I see,” he said and resumed watching the antics of the mob before him.

“Here is our chance to get more arrows,” David said suddenly. Several of the savages had placed their weapons in the ground beside their place of concealment. “Do you need any more?”

“No!” Miguel was horror-stricken. “Don’t touch them. They would miss them and then find us.”

“Well, I won’t take any, then, but I’m going to have some fun. Wait until it’s dark,” David whispered with a chuckle.

By the time night had fallen some of the meat had been charred to the desired degree and the Indians raked it out with long poles; after it had cooled somewhat they tore off strips and began to eat. So soon as one chunk was taken from the embers a new one was thrown into them. And all the time individuals were coming and going, collecting fuel or engaged in other enterprises.

The scene was a weird yet fascinating one. The lithe savages, outlined against the glare of the fire; the flickering light playing on their bare skin; the dark tree-trunks; and beyond all this the inky blackness of night, made a picture never to be forgotten. It was one of those things suggested by the sombre, mysterious, silent jungle when viewed from the open reaches of a great river, but which was forever veiled to those who lacked the trepidity to penetrate into its depths.

The two dared not leave their cover for fear of running into some of the prowling savages. But when it seemed that all of them were busily engaged in consuming as much of the charred meat as possible David worked his way carefully to the edge of the barrier and reaching through it removed two arrows from one of the clusters and placed them in another one; then he took two from the latter one and inserted them in the first group to replace the ones he had taken away. Miguel was badly frightened at this action and tried to prevent it.

“I want to see what will happen when they discover the exchange,” David whispered. “It can’t do any harm.”

Scarcely had he crawled back to the center of the bamboo screen when pandemonium broke loose around the fire.

The group had just been joined by one of the tribesmen, who rushed into the circle of light, talking and gesticulating wildly.

“I told you; I told you not to do it,” Miguel gasped in terror. “He saw you and he’s telling them about it.”

“Look!” David, too, was trembling. The speaker was pointing their way and the others were looking in their direction, as if trying to pierce the blackness with their eyes.

In a moment every man was on his feet and rushing toward his bow and arrows.

The fire and the food were forgotten. The clamor of voices was stilled. Only one thought was uppermost in the mind of each Indian and that was to get hold of his weapons before the passing of another second.

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