CHAPTER VIII

THE ROAD TO LAS PALMAS

That lonesome walk through the towering forest was an experience David would never forget.

How tall the tree-trunks were and how thick and straight. It must have taken centuries to grow to that size. On some, the lowest branches did not start until fifty feet or more above the ground; they reached toward and intermingled with their neighbors, forming a sturdy framework for the canopy of leaves that shut out the sunlight except in scattered spots where a bright shaft penetrated the thick mat and cast a dazzling, wavering blotch on the sombre forest floor.

The steady drip of water came from overhead, and the ground underfoot was soft and spongy from the drenching of the previous night, so that there was not a sound as David walked rapidly up the narrow trail.

Suddenly it came upon David that the silence was not only under his feet; it was all about him. While he had expected to find the jungle teeming with life, there was not a sign of life. Instead of the chorus of screams, roars and howls that should have greeted his ears there was only the breathless silence of a vast solitude, so intense that the beating of his own heart seemed to pound in his ears like the blows of a sledgehammer.

The wilderness was full of life--it must be--but where was it? David felt that inquisitive, eager, even menacing eyes were gazing at him from places of concealment in the dense vegetation; but he could not see their owners. This thought added to the uncanny feeling that was slowly taking possession of him.

What if he should be charged by a jaguar? Or suppose a herd of ferocious peccaries should surround him? The trees were too thick to be climbed. There was no means of escape open to him.

A twig snapped in back of him. He wheeled instantly, but saw nothing. Standing motionless, he waited a few minutes. Not a leaf stirred, but a faint, shuffling sound reached his ears, like the footfalls of some heavy creature stealing away. Without awaiting further developments he opened his pack and took out his revolver; he strapped the holster to his waist. That gave him a feeling of security and he continued the tramp through the gloomy forest.

As time passed the pack on his back seemed to grow heavier and the perspiration ran down his face in rivulets. Also, the parcel was a serious impediment in crossing the numerous little streams spanned by a single log and that, frequently, of small size.

Walking across the slippery foothold with the deep, murky water below was precarious in itself; the pack rendered it doubly so. He walked across the larger trunks and hitched over those of more slender proportions.

David had just negotiated one of the latter and had stopped to readjust the weight of his burden. A faint rustle made him turn suddenly and look down the trail. There, not a dozen paces from the stream he had just left, stood an Indian, a long bow in one hand, an arrow in the other. The brown skin of the savage, marked with stripes of black paint, blended well with the sombre tree-trunks and dark foliage.

For a moment neither stirred but each gazed at the other, David in surprise and consternation, the Indian with an air of resentment at having been discovered. Then the latter advanced a step menacingly and raised the bow to the level of his shoulders. David’s hand flew to the holster on his belt and a shot, aimed high, rang out clear and sharp in the silent forest. The Indian gave a wild yell, sprang to one side and dashed away. The thud of his feet and the swishing of the branches were ample proof that he had no intention of stopping in the near vicinity.

“I guess that fixed him for the present,” thought David; “but I’ll have to hurry; he might come back with others and then it would not be so easy to scare away the whole pack.”

A hundred yards up the trail he stopped, slipped the pack off his back, and hid it in a mass of ferns growing between the buttressed roots of a great tree. After that he could walk more rapidly.

When another hour had passed he noticed that the forest was becoming more open in character. The trees were further apart and the sunlight found its way to the ground in numerous splashes and pools of bright light. About the same time he heard the call of a bird--the first sign of animal life on all that long, solitary tramp. It was fortunate that he saw the author of the sound, for it was a shrill, quavering note that was unearthly and weird in the extreme.

The bird was of the shape and size of a guinea hen, but of a rich brown color. It ran out into the trail just ahead of him and stood looking at the man with bright, black eyes until he was nearly upon it, when it flew away with a loud whirr of wings. It was a poor flyer, however, for although it hurtled through the air at great speed, its course was erratic; it darted one way, then another, until it dashed against a tree-trunk and fell to the ground, where it lay fluttering. David started toward it, but before he had covered half the distance separating him from the now quiet creature a lithe form sprang out of the cover on one side of the path, picked up the bird in its mouth and darted out of view again.

The marauder was of the cat family and spotted like a leopard, though not so large. Its sudden appearance gave David a start, for it proved that there was life in the silent forest in spite of the hush that prevailed. Unseen eyes and keen ears were about him; it required only the proper combination of circumstances to bring the creatures from their hiding-places. This thought was far from comforting and the lone wanderer redoubled his vigilance in an effort to forestall a surprise attack on himself.

At last the forest gave way to a scrubby growth, and this was soon replaced by open country; that is, it seemed open in comparison to the jungle through which David had just passed.

There were low bushes in scattered groups; between them lay grassy areas of considerable extent. Clumps of trees stood like dark islands in the sea of lighter green; and here and there was the glint of water--lagoons fringed by reedy marshes.

The picture was that of a perfect wilderness, but it was an enticing one. It bore the stamp of primeval nature and seemed pregnant with the promise of rich rewards for the one who cared to go in quest of them.

“The ranch cannot be much farther,” David thought. “It would have to be out in the open, of course.” And he scanned the country in all directions for some signs of the buildings or their occupants.

But the wilderness stretched on unendingly on all sides, with only the narrow thread of a trail to give evidence of the fact that the country was not unknown to man.

There were other foot-paths, too, but they had been made by animals--deer, peccaries and tapirs, and occasionally there was the deep, broad imprint of a jaguar’s foot, or the smaller, uncertain track of an ocelot.

Birds of many kinds dotted the sky and were spread out over the landscape. Parrots and great macaws sped by overhead; herons and egrets covered the trees as with a snowy mantle; and rafts of ducks floated on the quiet water, while smaller birds dabbled among the grass and reeds lining the lagoons. Of the latter, one kind in particular attracted David’s attention. They had long legs and long necks and could have been mistaken for snipe but for the fact that they seemed to run and skip over the surface of the water with the ease of covering firm ground. But when David drew nearer he saw that the birds had wide-spreading toes which enabled them to use the mats of small, floating plants as a footing. They were reluctant to fly, but when they did they fluttered like grasshoppers, exposing a greenish patch of color in each wing, and uttered queer, cackling, scolding notes.

Some of the smaller ponds or sloughs had begun to dry. The water that remained was muddy and teemed with fish that had been left stranded far inland by the flood of the last rainy season. The imprisoned creatures were struggling frantically in the slimy liquid, dashing back and forth in futile efforts to find an outlet into some larger and friendlier basin. In their frenzy they attacked one another and numbers threw themselves out upon the land, where they gasped their last. Apparently this state of affairs had been going on for some time, for the ground was littered with heaps of the remains in the form of white bones that had been crushed by opossums and other nocturnal prowlers.

The depressing sight and the stench made David avoid these places by wide detours whenever possible.

It seemed as if the trail ran on interminably, winding between the lagoons and forest islands, traversing the highest, dryest places of the open country, but always leading on and on. If the ranch were in the neighborhood, there should be some indications of it. But so far neither horses nor cattle, smoke nor houses could be seen.

David was beginning to wonder if he might not have taken some branch of the original trail that was simply taking him deeper and deeper into the wilderness. He stopped for a moment to consider what best had be done. As he scanned the country his eyes caught sight of moving objects in the distance and a first glimpse convinced him that they were horsemen. He could have shouted for joy, for now it was but a matter of minutes until they should see him and then they would soon take him to the ranch. It never occurred to him that the riders might not want to see him or that they would refuse to help him if they could not avoid him, and that, too, in spite of the things he had been told he was to expect from the owner of Las Palmas. Just beyond, the ground was more open; he decided to go there and wave his hat to attract the attention of the men.

As he started through the thick grass a warning bellow from directly in front stopped him in his tracks; he looked in the direction from which the sound had come, but could see nothing. A moment later a second bellow, more like a roar, reached his ears and at the same time he caught sight of a long, waving object like the head and neck of a great snake. Before he had time for action of any kind a huge, grayish body leaped out of the grass and charged. It was a rhea or South America ostrich. Onward it came with lowered head, hissing as it sped over the ground, the short wings drooping and feathers ruffled in a terrifying manner. It was upon David in a few seconds. The attack had been so sudden that he had not had time to grasp his revolver; as the great bird lunged at him he stepped aside and caught the outstretched neck in his hands. That action, unexpected as it was new to the bird, bewildered it and it stopped. However, the surprise of the reception lasted but a moment.

David clung desperately to the creature’s neck. Back and forth they struggled, the bird striking with its huge feet, beating with its wings and bellowing in its frantic efforts to break the man’s hold.

The outcome of the struggle depended upon endurance. Sooner or later one of the two must give out, and for a time it was impossible to guess which would be that one. The bird was first to show signs of succumbing to the strain. Its struggles grew weaker and finally they ceased altogether, much to David’s relief, for he too was on the verge of exhaustion.

When the rhea was quiet he relaxed his grasp. Instantly it again became charged with life. It gave a powerful wrench and the thick neck slipped from his aching fingers. But instead of renewing the attack, the bird seemed to have but one thought, but one desire, and that was to leave the locality as quickly as possible. It turned and fled in a series of long strides, its head held high, wings stretched out like sails, and feet that moved so rapidly the eye could not follow them in their prodigious leaps.

The supposed horsemen had come nearer all the while and David now saw that they were a flock of the ostriches, which his attacker joined, when the entire company turned and soon disappeared in the distance.

David went to the spot where he had first sighted the bird. To his delight he found a mound of huge eggs. They were of an oval shape, creamy white color, glossy, and so large he could not span one with his fingers. There were twenty of them, neatly arranged in a slight hollow scooped in the ground. He could not take them with him, of course, on account of their great weight and size, but thinking that he might have need of them at some time in the near future he tore a strip of cloth from his trousers--rent by the bird’s sharp claws during the struggle--and tied it to the highest reed near the nest, to serve as a marker for the spot.

Another half hour’s walk under the broiling sun and the end of the trail was in sight. There it was at last, but it looked nothing like the ranch-house David had pictured. Instead of the long, low, rambling building he had expected to find, with its corrals, and groups of saddled horses standing dejectedly under the shade trees, there was a ramshackle structure built of bamboo poles and covered with a thatched roof. A dozen or so smaller huts were scattered about the immediate vicinity. Here and there grew a cluster of tall, graceful palm trees; that was why the place was called Las Palmas.

The surrounding country did not appear very inviting. It looked forsaken and, under the hot sun, almost desolate.

David drew a deep breath and kept on his way. Perhaps the new life he had chosen was not going to be so interesting as he had imagined; but he would keep on just the same. This was no time for regrets. He must stick by his determination to see the thing through.

As he approached the largest house a lone dog darted out from some place of concealment, growling and bristling; he called to it in a friendly manner, but it bared its teeth and slunk away. A man, obviously a native, came to the doorway of the nearest hut and stared at the stranger in open astonishment. David started toward him; the man gave him a malicious look and faded from view in the darkened interior of the hut.

“Not a very inviting atmosphere around the place,” thought David. “But I’ll walk right into the big house as if I owned it and see what happens.”

On the threshold he stopped, however, and knocked. There was no response from within, but, hearing the sound of voices in back of him, he turned quickly to see who was responsible for it. A small group of natives stood in the doorway of each hovel, or in front of it, eyeing him in a curious manner.

“Enter!” one of them called to him. “The _patron_ is inside.”

David heeded this advice and walked in. He found himself in a long, low room with a hard-packed earth floor. A number of benches lined the walls and at one end were a wooden table and a chair. A man of burly appearance sat on the chair; his back was turned toward the doorway so that David could not see his face, but the neck was dark brown--David did not know whether the color was that of a native or caused by the hot sun. His clothes--a tan silk shirt and khaki-colored riding breeches, with tall boots and huge spurs--were neat and not unattractive.

The youth saw that much during the minute he waited respectfully just inside the room. Then, as the man paid no attention to him, he took a few steps forward.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep out of here?” The man’s voice sounded like a roar, but still he did not look up from the papers before him. “Wait just a minute--then I’ll kick you out, so you will remember it the next time.”

The man stood up and turned quickly.

“Well, for the--” he exploded and stopped short in apparent surprise. His face was tanned also and smooth, and his eyes were blue. But for the fierce scowl he wore he would have been a most amiable-looking sort of a person.

“Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you get here? What do you want?”

The questions were hurled in such rapid succession that David was bewildered.

“I am Jones,” he said, after an instant’s hesitation, and he tried to smile.

“Jones? Jones who?”

“David Jones. You are expecting me.”

“Boy, you must be crazy. I am not expecting anybody”--with a sneer--“and furthermore, if I find out who brought you here I’ll break his neck.”

“You don’t understand--” David began, but the other interrupted him.

“Don’t you tell me I don’t know my own business,” he snapped.

“Pardon me. I did not intend to be rude. But I understood that my father and you were old friends and that he had made arrangements for my coming here. He sent several cables----”

“Oh, that’s it, is it? Just because he happened to know me he thinks he can send his lazy, shiftless son to me to look after. What does he think this is, a kindergarten? What I want is men, real men--not babies. What do you know, what can you do? Nothing.”

David’s first feeling of consternation was giving way; also, he felt decidedly less important than he had when telling of his plans just before sailing, and on the steamer. What did he know after all? What had he ever accomplished? Now that he was actually face to face with the rugged type of man he had held up as his ideal, he felt very small indeed.

“You are right,” he said meekly. “I don’t amount to much. I knew it, and that is why I wanted to get away to a place where I had to depend on myself and would have the chance to make good under trying conditions.”

“You picked out the poorest place in the world. Don’t lie to me; you thought you could come here as Mr. David Jones, son of the big New York business man, and that I would let you hang around as an ornament, wear fancy cow-boy clothes, so you could send pictures to your friends at home to admire; and that I would pay you a big salary for the honor of having you here. Well, you guessed wrong.”

“I didn’t think of any of those things. I don’t want a cent until I honestly earn it. All I expect is a chance to do the things I have always wanted to do. My father did not send me away to get rid of me; I had a hard time to get him to let me come here.”

The ranchman seemed to relent a little and, encouraged, David told him all, including his difficulties at Manaos and how he had finally succeeded in reaching the ranch on the trader’s boat.

“You did have tough luck all around,” Rice commented, “but if I let you stay, it would only grow worse. Everything here has to be done by men who know their work; we haven’t time to be teachers. So you can rest up a bit; then I’ll send you back down the river. And that settles it.”

A loud knock sounded on the door-frame.

“Come in,” Rice called, and into the room stepped a tall, lean man, dressed in a blue cotton shirt and fringed, leather breeches. He had a cruel, swarthy face and small, restless eyes.

“Now what?” his employer asked.

“The launch is back from the Iguari; there has been more trouble with the Indians.” He cast a meaning look at David.

“I’ll go outside,” David quickly said.

“No!” Rice bellowed. “You will stay right here until I tell you to go.”

David stopped and quickly turned to face the two.

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