Chapter III: The Voice of the Wilds

McKay, eyes twinkling again, awaited them at the top of the hotel’s street ladder.

“Rooms any good, Rod?” hailed Knowlton.

“Best in the house, Merry.”

“See any insects in the beds?”

“Nary a bug--in the beds.” The twinkle grew. “Didn’t look in the bureaus or behind the mirrors. Come look ‘em over.”

Entering a sizable room evidently used for dining--for its chief articles of furniture were two tables made from planed palm trunks--McKay waved a hand toward a row of four doorways on the right.

“First three are ours,” he explained. “Only vacancies here. Eight rooms in this hotel--the other four over there.” He pointed across the room, on the other side of which opened four similar doors. “They’re occupied by two sick men, one drunk--hear him snore?--and one she-goat which is kidding.”

“Huh?” Tim snorted, suspiciously. “I think ye’re the one that’s kiddin’, Cap.”

“Not a bit. I looked. The last room on this side is the Dutchman’s, and these are ours. Take your pick. They’re all alike.”

Knowlton stepped to the nearest and looked in. For a moment he said no word. Then he softly muttered:

“Well, I’ll be spread-eagled!”

“Me, too,” seconded Tim, who had been craning his neck.

The room was absolutely empty. No bed, no chair, no bureau, no rug--nothing at all was in it except two iron hooks. Its floor consisted of split palm logs, round side up, between which opened inch-wide spaces. Its walls were rusty corrugated iron, guiltless of mirrors or pictures, which did not reach to the roof.

“Observe the excellent ventilation,” grinned McKay. “Wind blows up through the floor--if there is any wind--and then loops over the partition into the next fellow’s room.”

“Yeah. And I’ll say any guy that drops his collar button is out o’ luck. It goes plunk into the mud, seven foot down under the house. But say, Cap, how the heck do we sleep? Hang ourselves up on them hooks?”

“Exactly.”

“Kind o’ rough on a feller’s shirt, ain’t it? And the shirt would likely pull off over yer head before mornin’.”

“Yes, probably would. But the secret is this--you’re supposed to hang your hammock on those hooks. You provide the hammock. The hotel provides the hooks. What more can you ask of a modern hotel?”

“Huh! And if a guy wants a bath, there’s the river, all full o’ ‘gators and cattawampuses and things. And if ye eat, I s’pose ye rustle yer own grub and pay for eatin’ it off that slab table there. There’s jest one thing ye can say for this dump--a feller can spit on the floor. But with all them cracks in it he might not hit it, at that. Mother of mine! To think Missus Ryan’s li’l’ boy should ever git caught stayin’ in a hole like this, along o’ drunks and skiddin’ she-goats and--did ye say a Dutchman?”

“German. Chap named Schwandorf.”

“Yeah?” Tim’s tone was sinister. “Say, Cap, gimme the room next that guy. And if ye hear anybody yowlin’ before mornin’ don’t git worried. It won’t be me.”

“None of that, Tim,” warned Knowlton. “The war’s over--”

“Since when? There wasn’t no peace treaty signed when we left the States.”

“Er--ahum! Well, technically you’re right. But this fellow may be useful to us. He knows the upper river, they say.”

“Aw, well, if ye can use him I’ll lay off him. Where is he?”

“Out somewhere,” answered McKay. “I haven’t seen him yet. Want this first room, Merry?”

“Just to play safe, I’ll take the one next the German. And if I hear any war in the night, Tim, I’m coming over the top with both hands going.”

“Grrrumph!” growled Tim.

“That goes, Tim,” warned McKay. “I’ll take this room and you can have the one between us. Here comes the baggage train with our stuff. In here, men!”

Puffing and grunting, Antonio and Jorge and Rosario and Meldo shuffled in with the boxes and bundles. Under the directions of McKay and Knowlton, these were stowed in the bare rooms. Then the four shuffled out again, grinning happily over a small roll of Brazilian paper reis which McKay had peeled from a much larger roll and handed to them. Immediately following their departure, in came a youth carrying three new hammocks.

“Our beds,” McKay explained. “I sent this lad to a trader’s store for them. He’s the proprietor’s son. Thank you, Thomaz. Tell your father to put these on our bill, and take for yourself this small token of our appreciation.”

More reis changed hands. The young Brazilian, with a flash of teeth, informed them that the evening meal would soon be ready and disappeared through a rear door.

“Do they really feed us at this here, now, hotel?” Tim demanded. “Then the goat’s safe.”

“Meaning?” puzzled Knowlton.

“Meanin’ I didn’t know but we had to kill our supper, and I was goin’ to git the cap’n’s goat. That is, the goat the cap’n’s kiddin’--I mean the goat that’s kiddin’ the cap--the skiddin’ she-goat--Aw, rats! ye know what I’m drivin’ at. Me tongue so dry it don’t work right.”

Wherewith Tim retreated in disorder to his room and began wrestling with his new hammock and the iron hooks.

Swift darkness filled the rooms. The sun had slid down below the bulge of the fast-rolling world. Thomaz re-entered, lit candles stuck in empty bottles, and, with a bow, placed one of these crude illuminants at the door of each of the strangers. By the flickering lights McKay and Knowlton disposed their effects according to their individual desires, bearing in mind Tim’s observation that any small article dropped on the floor would land in the mud under the house, whence sounded the grunts of pigs. Their work was soon completed, and they sauntered together to the small piazza.

“Nice quiet little place,” commented Knowlton. “Make a good sanitarium for nervous folks.”