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 desperate 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 themselves 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 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--Tim, once more strong and florid and aggressive, 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 anybody 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 girls? And who’s this guy? Great gosh! Is he the Raposy? Wal, 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 Lourenço to tell Monitaya the tale of what had taken place; for the chief demanded immediate 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 in 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, señores,” said the voice of José. “You will pardon me for remaining seated, yes? The man behind me is itching for an excuse to crush my head.”

“José!” exclaimed both Knowlton and McKay. Though Tim had said José was “tied like a dog,” they had not thought to find the expression literal truth. The sight angered them and they turned to Lourenço.

“Tell Monitaya we want this man freed!” McKay snapped. At his peremptory tone the cannibal chieftain looked oddly at him, and when Lourenço 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.

“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 indicated 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 domineering puntero of a short time back. But his bold black eyes, his reckless grin, and his mocking tone proved him the same swashbuckling José, 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?”

José 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, José Martinez never forgets. Thank you, señor, 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 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 José 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 their own family triangles, and the four Monitaya girls to become the nuclei of feminine groups which demanded intimate accounts of their capture and treatment by the captors.

To the strange women at his feet the chief paid scant attention now, though he meant to interrogate 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.” José and Tim stared in frank curiosity at the dead-alive newcomer, whose silent composure remained totally unperturbed. 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 Monitaya commanded the girls to stand before him and narrate their experiences. The men lit smokes, José seizing the proffered cigarette with avidity, Rand accepting his with the usual odd deliberation.

“Wal, 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 José crucified before we got here.”

“That’s right, gimme the razz! Course, I did have a li’l’ trouble makin’ some o’ them frogs 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, señor,” José 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 always 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 Lourenço. “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 time. José, 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 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, señores, I told him that! I was playing with him, and it amused me to see how he thought he was deceiving 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.