A FAT MEDICINE MAN MADE ALL SORTS OF FANTASTIC GESTURES OVER HAL.A FAT MEDICINE MAN MADE ALL SORTS OF FANTASTIC GESTURES OVER HAL.
A FAT MEDICINE MAN MADE ALL SORTS OF FANTASTIC GESTURES OVER HAL.
Nevertheless, Hal continued to get better and, whether or not it was because of the medicine man’s mysterious magic, he was quite able to hobble out of themalokaon the second day of his convalescence.
It was, of course, quite a gala day in the little settlement. Men, women, and children stood about in a staring circle to watch their guest emerge. All small of stature, they looked up with awe at Hal’s towering physique and shock of red, curly hair.
He hobbled about the clearing, smiling brilliantly, though feeling dizzy and weak from his sickness and long confinement in the gloomymaloka. Nevertheless, he could not help smiling, for he felt ridiculous in his soiled and wrinkled flannels and a ten days’ growth of golden beard.
For quite a time the natives continued to follow him about, but seemed to tire of it toward afternoon and went back to their various pursuits. Meanwhile, Hal saw something that gladdened his heart—a river, which his guardians explained, with violent grunts and gestures, was a little river to the big river, or in other words, a small tributary.
The larger of the two Indians (his head just reached Hal’s elbow), whom Hal dubbed “Big Boy,” motioned to a canoe pulled up on the bank. After a series of gestures which represented a man paddling down the river, he looked straight up at the tall young man.
“You mean that canoe is for me?” Hal motioned the question. “Formeto go back?” he added, pointing to himself and then to the river.
Big Boy nodded assent.
Hal partook of the evening meal with a little more relish than he ordinarily would. He sat with the tribe outside themalokamincing on the unpalatablebeijupancakes, which were a distinctly Indian concoction, and thinking of the day near at hand when he could turn his face towardManaos. He nibbled on thepimenta, with whichbeijuis always eaten, and forgot that it usually burned his civilized throat.
All his thoughts were on his uncle and how overjoyed he would be to know that he was alive and well, after he had been given up for lost. For certainly he must be thought lost and dead. Even his mother must think it by now. His mother....
Hal got up from the communal supper circle to be alone with the thought of his mother. The rest of the natives, busy appeasing their hunger, seemed not to notice him hobbling away toward the surrounding jungle, particularly his guards.
Hal did not seem to notice this relaxation of their guardianship. In point of fact, he thought nothing at all about it, so filled were his thoughts of the day on which he could get word to his mother that all was well with him.
He found the dimness of the jungle trail inviting and hobbled along deep in his own reflections. Tomorrow or the next day he would be well enough to start his journey, he felt sure of it. And he would leave the little settlement with a heart full of gratitude. Indeed, he had already tendered to the chief of the tribe his empty gun as a token of deep appreciation, and with much bowing and grunting, the gift was received in good spirit.
There was nothing to mar his joy then, so much did he appreciate recovering from the fever. He stopped, stretched his long arms delightedly and happened to notice through the trees a small thatched hut. Before it, stretched out on the ground asleep, was one of the natives.
Several monkeys disported themselves on the branches of the tree over the hut and were about to pelt the sleeping native with some nuts. Hal tried to frighten them off by waving his long arms but they paid no heed. Instead they set up a chatter and let go a rain of the hard nuts which fortunately missed their intended victim and hit Hal instead.
“Ouch!” Hal cried as several of the nuts hit his tender head. “For the love of Mike!”
The words had barely been uttered when out of the gloomy hut came a heart-rending cry, muffled and unintelligible, yet full of poignancy and human wretchedness. Hal did not miss its pleading note—in point of fact, the utter misery of it seemed to make him powerless to do aught but wonder.
What was it?
Hal had not time to consider this at all, for in a moment, it seemed, the natives had swarmed up from the clearing and surrounded him. And the native lying before the hut had gotten to his feet in an amazingly short time, producing a bow and arrow and looking as if he would use it on the slightest pretext.
Hal’s pet guardian, Big Boy, stepped up to his side at this juncture and pulling him by the arm urged him back toward the clearing. He did so, willing but puzzled, and as he turned his back toward the hut, the same cry of misery broke out, pleading and utterly pathetic.
Hal stopped, hesitated, as if he were going to go back, when he noticed that a number of the warriors were following him with bows and arrows drawn. Big Boy, too, marching at his side, had acquired an exceedingly pugnacious expression on his usually bland countenance.
Straight back to themalokathey marched him, saw him safely to his apartment in the rear, then left Big Boy standing guard while they gathered in the front for a long and noisy conference.
Hal could make nothing out of the whole proceedings. He did not know what it was all about. Yet the uneasy thought recurred that it was not a promising sign to see naked savages following him about with drawn bows and arrows. They had not done so before. What did it mean now?
Had his presence before that strange hut incurred their enmity? And if so—why? Why should that wretched cry bring them swarming to his side and cause them to treat him as if he had committed some crime? Why?
Hal was to learn why, to his sorrow, and that the way of the Amazon Indian is indeed very strange.
In the meantime he was doing all in his power to get Big Boy in a spirit of good will. He coaxed and cajoled to find out why he was being guarded thus.
Big Boy, ever an admirer of Hal’s powerful physique and commanding grace, relaxed a little to motion that the warriors of the tribe were holding a pow-wow to ascertain what should be done about the incident before the hut.
“What about it?” Hal gestured with one of his sad-sweet smiles. “I have done nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders and put his hands over his heart to show that he was innocent of any wrongdoing.
Big Boy melted enough to wriggle his hands in a way that conveyed to Hal the information that the spirits were offended. His going along the trail to the hut and hearing those cries made him a thing of evil. And to the Indian, evil was a thing to be shunned.
Through Big Boy’s lucid mode of expression, Hal learned that a demented native occupied that hut, or rather he was incarcerated there as evidenced by the native guarding it. And a demented person, Big Boy explained by pounding his head vigorously, was unholy, evil. Thus the person upon whom this evil one cries also becomes evil.
“And so all you guys think I’m evil, huh?” Hal asked, gesticulating wildly and pounding his broad chest.
Big Boy nodded.
“What can they do about it?” Hal persisted, feeling not a little uneasy.
Big Boy shrugged his shoulders in answer and Hal could get nothing more out of him for quite a while. He went to sleep and slept for an hour. When he awakened, he saw that his wrist watch was being curiously inspected by the Indian.
“Like?” Hal motioned, sitting up.
Big Boy nodded, then, with a grave shake of the head, sat down alongside of Hal.
The tribe, Hal noticed, were all settled for the night in their apartments. No one but him and the Indian were awake at that moment. One could have heard the proverbial pin drop when Big Boy suddenly motioned to his bow and arrow.
For the next five minutes he enacted with pantomimical accuracy just what was going to take place in the settlement at dawn. He pointed first in the direction of the jungle hut, then he pointed toward the chief who was lying a few apartments distant, sound asleep. Big Boy mimicked that powerful personage by making a grave face and shaking a sagacious finger at Hal. Next he silently waved his arms, indicating all the sleeping warriors in themaloka, then pointed toward the heavens as a final gesture.
Hal comprehended it all, and he almost wished that he hadn’t, for it wasn’t terribly comforting news.
For his stroll through the jungle trail and the evil that the warriors believed had been visited upon the tribe through Hal, the sagacious chief had pronounced sentence on their white guest. That sentence condemned Hal to death at dawn—death by bow and arrow at the hands of the tribe’s picked warriors.
Hal shivered and glanced at his young captor a moment. The young man must have some liking for him, else why did he tell him all this? Could he use Big Boy’s liking and hero worship to his own advantage?
He tried, using all the wit and cunning that he could muster. Smiles, pleading looks, and even a cajoling shake of his captor’s shining shoulder which Hal followed up by thrusting his wrist watch under Big Boy’s nose. And that did the trick.
The Indian nodded his head, pleased, and sat as still as a mouse while Hal fastened the watch on his left wrist. When it was adjusted he indulged in a smile, moving his hand back and forth to see the glow of the radium-faced dial in the gloom of themaloka. He was like a child with a toy.
Hal waited long enough for him to enjoy it, then nudged him warningly. Time was fleeting, the fires were burning and every warrior was deep in sleep. From past observation he knew that such utter silence did not long reign in themaloka. He would have to act and act quickly.
Big Boy rose and motioned his captive to follow stealthily. Hal followed obediently, but never in his life did he seem to make more noise. The warriors, however, did not hear it, for no one stirred throughout the length of themaloka. Then they reached the door.
A full moon was coming up and Big Boy motioned Hal to walk close to the trees. He walked out in full view of the clearing, however, his dark shining body glistening with every stride. At intervals he stopped, listened intently, then pattered on toward the river.
They came out on the banks without incident, in the full light of the moon. The canoe was there—the canoe which the chief had decided was not to take the white young man back to civilization. But Big Boy had decided otherwise, and he motioned Hal to hurry, pushing the frail-looking craft well out into the stream.
Hal got in without a word or a sound. He turned, putting out his hand in gratitude to the young Indian lad who was saving his life, but was surprised to see that Big Boy had also clambered in the canoe and had taken up one of the paddles preparatory to departure.
He only nodded to Hal’s inquiring look and with a few rapid strokes put considerable distance between themselves and the settlement. Then he held up his hand on which the wrist watch was fastened, and shook his head darkly.
Hal understood and it made him feel mean. But Big Boy would not have it so. He smiled reassuringly to his white friend as if to tell him that it did not matter. He may have earned the eternal condemnation of the spirits and of his people by helping the evil-stricken white man to escape, but had he not gained a wrist watch and a friend? That was the gist of his violent gestures.
Hal shrugged his shoulders, but he was touched by Big Boy’s devotion. Truly, the way of the Amazon Indian was strange.
Hal helped Big Boy paddle for two hours, but he was so completely exhausted at the end of that period that he had to stretch himself out in the bottom of the craft. The Indian nodded understandingly and pointed to his white friend’s head as if to say that he knew all along what toll the fever had taken of his strength. Very wisely he had reckoned that his tall friend could not stand the strain of the journey alone.
Hal put out his hand and gave the Indian an affectionate slap. His gratitude knew no bounds, for he realized more than ever that Big Boy’s decision to come with him had been actuated by a high and noble motive, the desire to help a fellow being weakened by fever. And no one knew better than the Indian how weak his friend would be.
Hal was so deeply affected by this realization that he determined never to let Big Boy out of his sight, never in his life. And during the long night hours, though there was not a word spoken, nor a hand moved in gesture, they found a mutual contentment in each other’s company.
The moon slipped down behind the clouds after midnight and they paddled through the remaining dark hours. At dawn they came to a deserted settlement and agreed to get something to eat before going further. Big Boy motioned that the rest of the journey was going to be strenuous and that they needed all the nourishment they could get.
He proved himself to be ingenious in the matter of catching fish with his bow and arrow. And Hal watched him with something like awe when he got a fire out of two sticks just by rubbing them together for an amazingly short time.
Big Boy did the honors of cooking the fish also, and Hal had nothing to do but sit down and help him eat them when they were finished broiling. Needless to say he did justice to the Indian’s culinary accomplishments.
Hal noticed, however, that Big Boy’s appetite could top his own by a pretty wide margin. In point of fact, he seemed to stuff, rather than eat, and washed down the whole with tremendous draughts of river water. However, he seemed contented and not at all distressed by any thoughts of indigestion, and greeted his white friend’s questioning look with a merry shake of his flat, black head.
After setting out again they paddled but a half hour when they came to a waterfall and were confronted with the necessity of portage. For two hours they struggled through the jungle with the canoe and came at last to a stretch of smooth water.
But their good fortune was not lasting, for a half hour found them confronting a series of rapids. Hal insisted upon doing his share and took up a paddle, protesting that the breakfast of fish had given him all the strength he needed for the task.
They raced through the first without incident, but before attempting the second, a dangerous looking one, they held a sort of pow-wow. Hal was decidedly against it, but Big Boy, by means of guttural grunts and sounds, assured him that the thing could be accomplished with careful paddling.
Consequently, they set out and, from the very first, experienced hectic moments. For a few hundred yards the rocky cliffs compressed the river-channel to a narrow gorge. Through this the water angrily forced its way, venting its fury by sending up foaming spray and high, lashing waves.
Big Boy motioned Hal at this juncture that he would do the paddling alone, and as if on second thought he removed the wrist watch and gave it to his friend. With a grin he motioned toward the spray foaming in the gorge and shook his black head vociferously as if to say that he was loath to get the watch wet.
Hal laughed and put it in his pocket for safe-keeping. The next second they were headed for the gorge, shooting through it with lightning speed. But halfway through, a wave struck the frail craft, water poured in, and before they were able to bail it out, another wave caught them and turned them completely over.
HAL AND BIG BOY WERE THROWN OUT OF THE CANOE.HAL AND BIG BOY WERE THROWN OUT OF THE CANOE.
HAL AND BIG BOY WERE THROWN OUT OF THE CANOE.
Hal came up under the overturned canoe and rapidly swam from under. Once on the surface he looked about and saw that the Indian had been carried quite a little distance downstream.
Hal called vociferously and swam rapidly, but the nearer he got the stronger was the conviction that Big Boy was not as he should be. He seemed to be floundering about in the current and, as the motion of the water swirled him about, it was quite obvious from his expression that he was unable to swim.
Cramps! Hal guessed it in a moment when he saw the Indian’s pale lips and pain-contorted face. He was paying the penalty for a huge breakfast.
Hal called to him, motioned to him to hold on, but the Indian looked to be sinking. Too, he was in the very heart of the current which was gradually bearing him down to the torrent below. By this time, however, his would-be rescuer was rapidly approaching the spot, endangering his own life in the attempt.
Two waves in succession caught the Indian at this point and, just as Hal stretched out to grasp him, he was carried out of reach and plunged into a whirlpool. Conscious that there was no further hope, he lifted his black head in smiling resignation, then was churned out of sight by the roaring force of the water.
Hal cried out in despair, but just at that moment the floating canoe came past and he reached out and grasped it.
By sheer determination, Hal forced the stubborn craft back into position and, paddling with his bare hands, he managed to emerge safely at the other end. Once there, he had no heart to go further and pulled into the bank to rest and reflect upon the Indian’s sad passing.
It was the saddest experience of his life, he thought as he clambered up on the bank and sat down. Sadder even than Rodriguez’ death, for the Brazilian was but an acquaintance, while the Indian had proved himself the best friend a fellow could have. And what was worse, he felt that he himself was responsible, for the young man would never have come to such grief if he hadn’t left his people.
After an hour of these vain regrets he hobbled down just below the rapids, but there was no sign of the Indian’s body. Watch as he did, he saw nothing but the foaming spray as it roared down the rapids. Big Boy’s brave, faithful countenance Hal never saw again—not even in death.
He limped on downstream, despondent and irresolute. The canoe was no good to him without a paddle, the Indian was gone.... Fate, he decided, was taking an awful whack at him and he resented it. He had planned so much to repay Big Boy—he had even painted mind pictures of taking him home to his mother in Ramapo, N. Y. There in the shadow of the undulating hills he would have looked quite picturesque. But now it could never be, and the sad part of it was that he had not been given the slightest chance to show Big Boy his deep gratitude.
Suddenly Hal thought of the watch and he took it out of his pocket, looked at it a moment, then put it back on his own wrist with a wistful smile. It had been a queer give and take between them, yet he was glad that it had been so. Until the longest day he lived, he would always think of the watch as a farewell token of the Indian’s.
A macaw, gorgeously plumed, flew over his head, and further down along the bank he noticed that the jungle thinned out. That always meant a clearing, so he hesitated for a time, drawing back under the trees and listening. He would not, he determined, walk into any cannibal camps with his eyes closed.
He listened for fully five minutes and then suddenly noticed something golden flitting in and out of the trees below. Emboldened, he hurried on until he saw that it was not a mirage, but a real white girl with a crown of lovely golden hair who was running along the bank.
Hal’s heart seemed to come up in his mouth then. He wanted to call right away, but he seemed powerless to do aught but stand and stare at her slim figure swaying along under her flowing, old-fashioned skirt. And when she turned to look out over the river, he noticed that her feet were quite small, despite the clumsy canvas shoes she wore.
He thought of his own appearance then, bedraggled and unkempt. And though his ruined sport shoes were unsightly indeed, he felt really more conscious of his terrible growth of beard. Not being able to see himself, he visualized his appearance as being nothing short of disgraceful. Certainly, he was not fit to show himself before such a vision as that girl was who was standing on the bank.
And so in disgust, Hal was about to hide himself until she had gone, but he was just too late. She caught sight of him, hesitated with wonder, then started toward him on a run.
With a graceful bow, Hal hurried toward her, also, and steeled himself for the worst under a critical, feminine eye. But he was destined to be surprised, for she seemed not to notice any deficiency in his attire. Indeed, her first observation was quite unexpected.
“A white man—my goodness!” she exclaimed in a voice that was husky, yet not harsh. “My goodness!”
“Just what I was going to say,” Hal returned, blushing consciously under his beard. “A white girl—my goodness!”
They both laughed, then she cupped her tanned face in her right hand and searched Hal’s face eagerly. He noted at once that her eyes were gray.
“You’ve been hurt—sick—lost?” she asked solicitously.
“All three,” Hal admitted with a chuckle. “I don’t know where I’ve been, where I am, or where I’m headed for, but I do know that it’s darn sweet music to see a white girl in this wilderness and hear her talking the English language.Gosh!”
She laughed, huskily sweet.
“You’re not by any chance that person whom all the Amazon is being searched for—Hallett Keen?”
“Now I know the reason they haven’t found me,” Hal laughed. “If they’re searching for me with that name to go by, I wouldn’t care if I was ever rescued.”
“Then you arehe?”
“Not Hallett—Hal! Hal Keen is the only name my dog knows, and what’s good enough for my dog is good enough for me. So I’m Hal Keen, by your leave, young lady.”
“Oh, I’m so happy to meet you, Hal Keen,” she said laughing, but none the less sincere. “I really am. Particularly am I glad to know you’re alive. Word came through here four days ago that we were to watch out for a young man of your description, and here you are! Think of it!” Then, solicitously: “You’re pale and shaken looking, Mr. Hal—why, you’re not well!”
“Better than I’ve been in a week,” Hal assured her. “I’ve been through an awful lot,” he said, telling her the story of Big Boy.
She listened attentively while he talked, and, when he had finished, regarded him gravely.
“I’ve an idea you’ve been through a great deal more than even that.”
“Some,” Hal smiled winningly. “But there’s plenty of time to talk about my adventures—it’ll take me too long now. What I want to know is who you are and why, where are we, and why?”
“It would take too long to tell you why,” she laughed with gentle mockery, “but I can tell you where we are, first. We’re on the banks of thePallida Mors, known asRiver of Pale Death, alsoDeath River. It was so called by an Italian scientist who lost his party in the rapids just about where your Indian boy was lost. And as for me, I’m just Felice Pemberton and I live....”
“Did you sayjust?” Hal interrupted her.
Instinctively they sat down together on the bank. Hal, though weary, was not hungry nor suffering pain of any kind, and if he had been, he secretly thought that just talking to the flower-like Felice would drive it away.
“I heard about you—in fact, I heard about your whole family,” Hal told her. “My uncle and I listened to the story from the captain on the boat toManaos.”
“Not a cheerful story, I’m afraid,” she said wistfully.
“That’s why I made up my mind right then and there to pay you people a visit,” Hal said impulsively. “Funny, how I wanted to do that right away when I heard what hard luck you folks have had. But I didn’t think I’d bust in this way—gosh!”
Her gray eyes twinkled as she regarded him.
“I’m glad to have you too, Mr. Hal,” she said earnestly, “but I’m sorry you had to go through so much to get here. Grandfather will send one of the Indians down to let your uncle know you’re safe. But just as soon as you rest, we’ll walk down and get you into a hammock where you can sleep and recuperate. We don’t have beds up here,” she added with a note of apology; “we live very simply.”
“Say, a hammock will feel like a feather bed after what I’ve been sleeping on,” Hal assured her breezily.
“So thePallidaIndians captured you?” she inquired, interested.
“That what they’re called?”
“By us,” she smiled. “They’re a sort of mixture.Pallidaidentifies them sufficiently. They’re terribly warlike and superstitious.”
“Well, they were kind enough to me at the go-off. I was in pretty bad shape when they found me—they nursed me back. That is, a fat old medicine man did, and from the way I got well, I guess he’s not all fake. But then they were willing to shoot poisoned arrows into me after going to all the trouble of making me well. If you savvy that, I don’t.”
She laughed, and got him to tell her the story at the Indian settlement right from the beginning.
“I know about their superstition,” she told him when he had finished, “but I didn’t think they’d go to such an extreme as they tried with you. I’ve heard about the demented native, though. They keep him imprisoned in that hut in the jungle and none of the tribe will go toward it, face forward. They back toward it in order to keep the evil spirit from afflicting them. It does seem awful and odd, but it’s their native and their business, and nobody interferes. They never bother us, never in all these years. And they wouldn’t bother to come after you; don’t worry. Particularly, because one of their number came away with you.”
“Poor fellow,” Hal said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world. He deserved a better fate, believe me.”
“It seems that is the way with those we love,” said Felice with a poignancy that did not escape Hal.
“I know,” he said sympathetically. “I heard about your father from the captain, too. It was included in the story. What a tough break for him, huh?”
“Not only for him, but for all of us. You see, he had finally come to the conclusion that he was on the verge of a big discovery. He had kept it quiet, being afraid that it would prove disappointing. Consequently, we have never been able to find out just where the lode was. That it contained some gold was proven by the dust he brought home. The last trip he made was to decide just how much metal the lode would yield and if it would be worth while to go on.”
“And it was up this river—thePallida Mors?”
“Yes,” Felice answered wistfully, “our river of pale death. We were to leave this wilderness and live in civilization if Father’s expectations were realized. I went to school in Rio; we thought of going there to live.”
“And how a girl like you must like to live in Rio,” Hal said, looking around.
“But we have neither the money, nor the heart. You heard, I suppose, that none of us shall leave here for good until Father’s body is recovered?”
“Yes. But that’s making things awfully hard for yourselves, isn’t it? In a river where there’s rapids....”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “We’ve discussed that times without number. But we always come to the conclusion that Father was seized with one of those uncanny premonitions that should be given serious thought. He had a fear that something was going to happen to him and he had a fear that his dead body would be left unprotected, something ... we’ve not been able to guess why he had that fear. In any event, we’ve waited ten years—we’re too poor to do other than stay where we are and we’re conscience free that we haven’t gone away from the region where Father died, leaving him alone. Even though we haven’t found him we feel better about it than if we had gone away.”
“I suppose you do,” Hal agreed thoughtfully. “But it’s tough on you, Miss Felice.”
The girl’s face lighted up with a radiant smile.
“Not a bit,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve Grandfather to look after right now and just when I was beginning to worry, along you came. And there’s a lot of you to come along, Mr. Hal,” she added slyly. “When I first spied you, I was inclined to think it was a jaguar moving in the bushes; you backed away so, I was startled. The brownish color of your suit and the flash of your hair in the sunlight seemed terribly like the creature until I saw your vast height popping out of the bushes.”
“Gosh, a jaguar wouldn’t be so bold as to come out on the river bank, right in the daylight?”
“If we are to believe the story thePallidascirculated, the jaguar runs and cries at unexpected times. Especially the jaguar in whom they believe my father has been reincarnated. They say he runs up and down these river banks trying to lead us to his body and that he has been caught beneath one of the rapids. Of course, it’s absurd, but I am always startled when I hear the cry of a jaguar or see one flash through the brush.”
“They know about how you’re waiting to get your father’s body then, huh?”
“Of course. Indians have a way of gossiping among themselves, the same as the white men. And as they’re so terribly superstitious I suppose it pleased their fancy to make up the jaguar story out of that ghostly cry that sounds up in their region at night.”
“And this fabled jaguar is supposed to have a human voice, huh?”
“Yes, how do you know, Mr. Hal?”
“I heard it myself. It’s queer, darn queer....”
“That’s what my brother Rene has said.”
“Rene?Gosh, I’ll always like that name on account of a swell fellow I met. His last name was Carmichael.”
“That’s odd, Mr. Hal. My brother’s middle name is Carmichael.”
“Well, I’ll be darned. That’s not too odd to be a coincidence, Miss Felice. Let’s get together on this.”
And they did.
Hal acquainted Felice Pemberton with the facts of his acquaintance with the spies, Goncalves and Pizella. Then he launched onto the topic of his meeting with Rene Carmichael, and told her in detail all that had transpired up to the point where they had said farewell.
“That fits my brother,” said the girl worriedly. “It’sgotto be him, for who else is blond and gray-eyed with that name in this desolate region? And if he said he would get help to you, you may be certain he would have done so if it was humanly possible. But we haven’t seen him.”
“Then aren’t you worried about him?”
“Not yet,” the girl replied cheerfully. “You see he is something of an adventurer like yourself. Only he roams about Brazil picking up odd jobs here and there to support Grandfather and myself. We don’t hear from him for intervals. What worries me is that he didn’t get help for you.”
“Let that be the least of your troubles,” Hal assured her. “Perhaps he did. Anyway, I’m safe—and how!”
She smiled and got to her feet.
“Now to let Grandfather meet you,” she said quietly. “He’ll like you because of your liking for Rene, but I can’t say he’ll be terribly courteous. You see, he’s not outgrown the bitterness my great-grandfather brought down here from the war.”
“That’s right,” said Hal, following her along the narrow trail. “That was your great-grandfather, Marcellus Pemberton, huh? Well, he wasn’t to be blamed for feeling bitter. Pride. But your grandfather Marcellus; he shouldn’t....”
“All he knows about Yankees he learned from great-grandfather Marcellus,” Felice said whimsically, “and that wasn’t very complimentary from all accounts. So he’s not to be judged on his merits or demerits.” She laughed. “Rene and I are long enough out of that generation not to care what the Yankees did. So was my father. He was all for going back to the United States—to Virginia.”
“That’s right, you people originally hail from Virginia, huh? Well, it’s a lovely state. You wouldn’t go wrong in going back.”
“Wouldn’t we?” she asked wistfully and seemed to consider it. “What is the U. S. like, Mr. Hal?”
“The kind of a place that you criticize when at home, but miss it like the dickens when you go away. Anyway, she’s not so bad as countries go, Miss Felice. It’s fine for girls.”
“Girls!” she repeated softly. “It must be fine. Rio is nice, but no doubt Virginia is nicer.”
“And safer,” said Hal, looking about the lonely place.
“If you could only tell Grandfather that as convincingly as you’ve told me,” she sighed.
She glanced up at Hal and he noticed that, despite her tanned face, there was a pinched look about her that indicated uncertain health. And he wondered that she had any health at all for having lived all her young life in that jungle wilderness.
Felice Pemberton, Hal decided, was meant to live in the United States and nowhere else.
Marcellus Pemberton, the third, greeted Hal courteously, yet coldly. White-haired and rugged, he welcomed his guest with all the pompous grace of the old southern aristocracy. He promised to dispatch an Indian towardManaosat once, then sniffing airily asked what part of “Yankee-land” the stranger had come from.
Hal took it in good part and smiled. There wasn’t a Yankee-land any longer, he informed the old man. The United States was one; all those abiding there were Americans. Yankee was an almost obsolete word.
“Not for the spirit of the Old South,” said Old Marcellus defiantly. “We of the jungle are free men and not to be driven out of our homes by those who do not agree with our political and personal views. We can stay here until we die—we have our Indian servants....”
“Slaves?” Hal interposed, looking about at the ragged-looking Indians moving in and out of their miserable thatched huts.
“An ageless and honorable custom if one treats one’s slaves like human beings,” said the old man coldly. “I treat mine as best I can after all these years of poverty. Misfortune and hardship can come to any man, even to the free man of the jungle.” He said this last as if to reassure himself that he believed what he had said.
“Misfortune comes to all of us at some time or other, Mr. Pemberton,” Hal said politely. “I’ve had a touch of it myself, and I’m feeling rather low down just now. By your leave, I’ll rest until the old vim and vigor come back.”
Old Marcellus was the soul of hospitality despite his prejudices. To slight a guest on his property was the last thing in the world he would care to do, whether that guest was a hated Yankee or no. And, with Hal’s admission of indisposition, all his innate courtesy came to the fore. He poured out apologies profusely, and bade his granddaughter show their guest his quarters.
“Such as they are,” she smiled, as she led Hal to a rude hut next to their own. “But it’s the best we have to offer—we reserve it especially for infrequent guests.”
She led Hal through a low, narrow opening and nodded at the single chair, the hammock and the washbasin on an old-fashioned stand. It was primitive, but scrupulously neat and clean.
“Things have just gone along so-so with we Pembertons,” she explained apologetically. “It’s impossible to grow much more than potatoes here. We raise chickens and a half mile from here we can get all the pineapples you want to eat.”
“Boy!” Hal exclaimed. “That sounds darn good to me—just like home. And chicken? Young lady, I’m your friend for life. You don’t happen to drink such luxurious beverages as tea and coffee, do you?”
“Through Rene’s generosity we allow ourselves that luxury,” she smiled. “This property yields us no income whatsoever, Mr. Hal. And it yields but half of our food.”
“Then why on earth do you people stay here?” Hal asked, flinging himself down on the chair.
“Grandfather again,” said the girl wistfully. “It was here that we found Father’s canoe and camping outfit, but no lode. And Grandfather, bound as he is to memories and to the dim, dead past, had us pack up and leave our more comfortable quarters thirty miles below here and come live on this poverty-stricken site. He said that if Father had died here, we should live here in his memory. A queer man is my grandfather, Mr. Hal. He’s old and I respect him—indeed, I wouldn’t think of being aught but obedient to his every wish. Still, I cannot help thinking that his bitterness is not good.”
“Bitterness is terrible,” Hal agreed. “But one thing, it hasn’t affected you and that’s good.”
“I’ve seen too much of it. It hasn’t affected my brother Rene, except in a political way. Grandfather’s ideas about free men in the jungle has affected him, but that’s all. He’s come to believe that the jungle man should rebel and take part of the earnings of his more fortunate brother in the cities.”
“What a strange, struggling family you are!” Hal said, watching the girl’s sad, piquant face. “Memories and the past are all right as long as they don’t interfere with the happiness of the present, huh? I bet you think that way, don’t you, Miss Felice?”
“I do, Mr. Hal,” she admitted, “but you’re the first one to whom I’ve confessed it.”
“Then it’s safe with me,” Hal said whimsically, “and what’s more it’s better on my chest than on yours. I’m glad I came along to relieve you of the burden, honest I am.”
“And I’m glad you came along too. Rene stays away so long sometimes. It gets rather dull.”
“Not when I’m around,” Hal chuckled, and looked down at the girl intently. “There’s something about me, my uncle always says, that seems to whoop things up wherever I go. He says I’m not in a place very long before things just naturally begin to happen. So if that holds good here too, Miss Felice, just sit tight and hope for the worst.”
She laughed heartily and, shaking her finger playfully at Hal, stepped outside.
“The worst can’t be too bad for me,” she called back over her slim shoulder. “The worst would be better than just this!”
And by that same token did Felice Pemberton invite the long arm of destiny into that little settlement on theRiver of Pale Death.
Hal reveled in the luxury of a hammock that long afternoon and slept the sleep of the righteous. He awakened, feeling fresh and stronger than any time since the plane wreck. And to add to his delight, Mr. Pemberton’s favorite Indian, Joaquim, was standing patiently at the door proffering shaving materials and a change of clothes including a worn but clean pair of khaki knickers.
“The Señor Rene’s,” the Indian explained as he held out the knickers. “Señor will fit—no?”
“Yes—sure. Rene’s not so much shorter than I. And I bathe in the river, huh, Joaquim?”
“Yes, Señor. But watch for the electric fish. They send shock and sometimes people die from it.”