Chapter XXII: The Siren of War

Like 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 impossible, 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, and there are some extra batteries in my haversack 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 quem tem 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. Lourenço, 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 progress without wrecking the whole fleet at the turns. Vast relief and instant acceptance of the new leadership followed Lourenço’s explanation. At once the floating column began to pick up speed. And it was well that it did.

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 in the stream, only to find the water bare of everything 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 winding waters.

Hour after hour Knowlton squatted in the extreme bow, picking out the turns and snags just ahead and passing the word back to Lourenço, who, in the stern, steered in accordance with his orders and relayed the course to Tucu, just behind. 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 extricated 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, 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, opening 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 bewildered 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, Lourenço, and the first Mayoruna crew following a few 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, movement, 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 downstream again. Soon he suggested, “How about landing at that little open space down there at the left, Lourenço?”

“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?”

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 unassisted, 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 in the canoe with a wet handkerchief across them. Pedro and Lourenço 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 the gaunt man at his feet and viewing the landing of the expedition.

The women, all young, numbered eleven. Their skins looked slightly pallid, their 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 reasons alone, Umanuh had seen to it that the woman flesh he held for sale should remain uninjured. 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 firewood, inspected weapons, talked with one another 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 Mayoruna 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-seeing, decided to wash Rand’s face for him before journeying much farther. But Rand himself 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. Somewhat to his surprise, Tucu and a couple of the other men now gave Rand a more friendly look. Soon afterward Tucu passed Lourenço, 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.”