The Lost Mine of the Amazon

by Hugh Lloyd

  “Many pardons, Señors!” said he, bowing apologetically. “Thishalf-caste, Pizella—he come up from steerage to rob you—yes?”

  “I’ve been robbed of something important,” Denis Keen answered andexplained in Spanish the importance of his letter.

  The captain was irate with the half-caste, Pizella, and with the aid ofthe sailor proceeded to search him most thoroughly. But this availedthem nothing.

  “Nothing?” Hal asked. He glanced at the sailor. “You sure this is thebird I told you to beat it after?”

  “Most certain, Señor,” the sailor assured him. “I caught him half-waydown the stairway.”

  “Hmph,” said Denis Keen, “question him, then.”

  A few more minutes ensued in which the captain and the sailor took turnsat arguing with the man in an unintelligible patois. But nothing came ofthis either, for the half-caste protested that he was entirely innocent.

  “Then what can we do?” the captain beseeched Denis Keen. “We findnothing stolen on Pizella, the young Señor Hal does not know sure thatit was he in the cabin—he admits it very truly when he asks the sailorwas he sure.”

  “That is very true, Captain,” said Denis Keen. “My nephew could notswear to it that this man was the intruder, can you, Hal?”

  Hal could not. A fair-sized group of upper deck passengers had gatheredabout their cabin door listening to the singular conversation. At thehead of them stood Señor Carlo Goncalves in a state of partialdishabille and listening attentively.

  When Denis Keen had dismissed the wretched Pizella because of lack ofevidence, the dapper Brazilian came forward twisting his little waxedmoustache and smiling.

  “Perhaps you have lost not so very much—yes?” he asked sympathetically.

  “Perhaps not,” Denis Keen smiled. “Just a letter, Señor.”

  Señor Goncalves looked astonished, then comprehending.

  “Ah, but the letter is important—no?”

  “Yes,” Denis Keen smiled, “it is important. You know nothing about thisman Pizella?”

  “Nothing except he is half-caste and that speaks much, Señor,” saidGoncalves genially. “They do quite funny things, these half-castes.”

  “Such as _espionage_?” Denis Keen asked quietly, yet forcefully.

  Hal watched the dapper Brazilian narrowly, but caught not one betrayingmovement. The man’s swarthy face showed only a sincere concern thatthese aliens should be distressed in his beloved country.

  “The half-castes they are all rebels perhaps,” said the man at length.“But that they should bother the Señors—ah, it is deplorable. For whyshould the half-caste Pizella....”

  “Perhaps he had reason to believe I had something to do with yourgovernment,” interposed Denis Keen. “I have—as a friendly neighbor. Butmy letter—it was one of introduction to the interventor at _Manaos_.With his aid I am to get together a party suitable to my purpose. I aminterested in anthropology, Señor, just a dilettante, of course, and mynephew, Hal, inherits the curse.”

  Señor Goncalves laughed with great gusto and twisted his tiny moustacheuntil each end resembled sharp pin points.

  “Ah, but that is interesting, Señor,” said he genially. “But as for yourletter—ah, it is nothing, for I myself know the interventor—I can takeyou to him.”

  “That is indeed kind, Señor,” said Denis Keen relaxing. “Very kind.”

  “Ah, it is nothing, Señors, quite nothing. I should be delighted to helpmy neighbor Americanos on their interesting journey into the Unknown.And now shall we enjoy the rest of the journey to _Manaos_—no?”

  “Yes,” Denis Keen chuckled. “We shall indeed.”

  Hal smiled wryly—he was still smiling when the Señor had bowed himselfout of their cabin to dress for breakfast. Denis Keen observed himcarefully.

  “You seem to be laughing up your sleeve, as usual, Hal.”

  “I am, Unk. It’s a case of the noise is ended but the suspicion lingerson.”

  “You’re just hopeless, Hal. I watched the man closely—so did you.Besides, he is acquainted with the interventor and that serves mypurpose. I shall have no further use for the Señor, once I get anaudience with the interventor. He’ll know no more about us than he doesnow.”

  “Well, that gives him a pretty wide margin, Unk. Wasn’t it telling him alot just to say you missed that letter?”

  “Not at all. Most Americans on such expeditions as it is believed wecontemplate secure letters of introduction along their itinerary. Thedapper chap is just a former prosperous man forced by circumstances togo trading into the interior for rubber as his only means of livelihood.He’s a jolly chap, you must admit, and with an inherent sense ofhospitality. And as for any continued suspicion of him, Hal, you sawwith your own eyes that he was in pajamas and dressing gown, while youare sure that the man who ran from this cabin was fully dressed.”

  “Yes, that’s true, Unk. Oh, I guess I’m just a bug on hunches. I’ll tryand forget it, because I do admit the Brazil-nut’s a friendly littleguy—yes, he isn’t half bad for a shipmate. But I would like to knowabout that letter.”

  “Who wouldn’t? It’s futile to wonder, though. I’m convinced that thelittle Pizella isn’t what he looks. I think he took the letter allright, but my idea is that he’s either hidden it or thrown it into theriver before the sailor caught him at the foot of the stairs. But ourchances for holding him were nil when you couldn’t identify him.”

  “How could I in the dark and when he ran so fast, too?” Hal protested.“I couldn’t say it honestly even if I felt I was right.”

  “Of course. But put it out of your mind. The captain has promised tohave Pizella watched closely for the rest of the voyage. Now let’s hurryand dress so we can get breakfast over with. The Señor promised meyesterday afternoon that he’d escort me below this morning. He’s goingto explain in his inimitable way two or three quite interesting lookinghalf-castes that I happened to spot down in the steerage yesterday. Heseems to have a knack for worming historical facts out of people. He didthat with a Colombian sailor who was stationed up forward.”

  “Well, look out he doesn’t worm any historical facts out of you.”

  They laughed over this together and finished dressing. Breakfastfollowed, and when they strolled out on deck to meet the dapperBrazilian, the steamer was chugging her way through the Narrows.

  They spent an interesting hour down in the steerage with the vivaciousBrazilian, then lingered at the deck rail there to view the surroundingforest which all but brushed the ship on either side. At times it seemedas if the jungle had closed in and was trying to choke them, and thatthey were writhing out of its clutches, struggling ahead with heroiceffort.

  Hal felt stifled at the scene and said so. Señor Goncalves was at onceall concern. They would return to the upper deck immediately he said andproceeded to lead the way, when the half-caste, Pizella, shuffled intosight. Instinctively they stopped, waiting for him to pass.

  He glanced at them all in his shiftless, sullen way—first at Denis Keenand then at Hal. Suddenly his dark little eyes rested on the Brazilian,then quickly dropped. In a moment, he had disappeared around the otherside of the deck.

  Not a word passed among them concerning the wretched-looking creatureand Hal followed the others to the upper deck in silence. He wasthinking, however, and greatly troubled. Try as he would, he could notrepress that small questioning voice within.

  Was there any significance in the glance that passed between thehalf-caste and Goncalves?

  CHAPTER IV A DECK CHASE

  By nightfall they had wormed their way out of the Narrows and came atlast to the main stream of the Amazon River. Hal had his first glimpseof it shortly after evening coffee when he strolled out on deck alone.His uncle preferred reading a long-neglected book in the cabin untilbedtime.

  Hal stood with his elbows resting on the polished rail and placidlypuffed a cigarette. The setting sun in all its glory was imprisone
dbehind a mass of feathery clouds and reflected in the dark yellow watersurging under the steamer’s bow.

  The day had been a pleasant one and Hal had been untroubled by themorning’s haunting doubts. Señor Goncalves was proving to be more andmore a thoroughly good fellow and pleasant shipmate. There was nothingto worry about and, had it not been for the singular disappearance ofhis uncle’s letter, all would be well.

  But he tried not to let that disturb his placidity, and fixed his dreamyglance on the dense, low-lying forest stretching along the river bank inan unbroken wall of trees. Being at the end of the rainy season, thejungle seemed more than ever impenetrable because of the water coveringthe roots and creeping far up the trunks of the trees.

  A monkey swung high in the bough of a distant tree, a few macaws andparrots hovered near by seeking a perch for the night. Then the fleecyclouds faded into the deep turquoise heavens and the shadows of nightstole out from the jungle and crept on over the surging Amazon.

  The formidable shriek of a jaguar floated down on the breeze, leaving acurious metallic echo in its wake. When that had died away Hal wasconscious of a melancholy solitude enveloping the steamer. Not a soulbut himself occupied that end of the deck; everyone else seemed to be inthe saloon, playing cards and smoking.

  He yawned sleepily and sought the seclusion of a deck chair that stoodback in the shadow of a funnel. He would have a smoke or two, then go inand join his uncle with a book.

  He had no sooner settled himself, however, than he heard the soft swishof a footstep coming up the stair. It struck him at once as not beingthat of a seaman’s sturdy, honest tread. It sounded too cautious andsecretive, and though he was curious as to who it might be, he was toolazy to stir in his comfortable chair and find out. But when thefootstep sounded on the last step and pattered upon the deck in a soft,shiftless tread, Hal was suddenly aroused.

  He leaned forward in the chair and got a flashing glimpse of Pizella’sface as he disappeared around the bow toward port side.

  Hal was on his feet and stole cautiously after him. He was certain thatthe man hadn’t seen him, yet, when he got around on the deck, the fellowwas almost aft. It was then that he turned for a moment and, afterlooking back, darted about to the other side again.

  Hal chased him in earnest then, leaping along in great strides until hecame back to where he had started. Pizella was not to be seen, however,neither down the stairway nor anywhere about the upper deck, which theirate young man circled again.

  After a futile search, Hal strolled past the saloon. Señor Goncalves wasone of the many passengers in there making merry and contributing hisshare to the sprightly entertainment. In point of fact, the dapperBrazilian was the proverbial “life of the party” and his soft, purringvoice preceded several outbursts of laughter.

  Hal went on and he had no sooner got out of earshot of the merrymakerswhen he heard a door close up forward. Even as he looked, he recognizedPizella’s small figure going toward the stairway. He knew it was thehalf-caste; that time he could have sworn to it, yet....

  CHAPTER V A STORY OF THE PAST

  “He swore up and down that he wasn’t near this deck,” Hal declaredvehemently, when he got back to his uncle’s cabin ten minutes later. “Noone in the steerage saw him come up or come down. I was the only one whosaw him slinking around up here—I know it was him this time, Unk! Butthe sailors below thought I was seeing things I guess, for when I gotdown there, friend Pizella had his shoes and trousers off and wasstretched out in his bunk as nice as you please.”

  “Strange, strange,” murmured Denis Keen, putting his book down on thenight table beside his elbow.

  “Sure it is. The way I figured it, he must have started peeling off onhis way down. Undressing on the wing, huh?”

  “It would seem so, Hal. Your very earnestness convinces me that it wasno mere hunch you acted upon this time. The fellow is up tosomething—that’s a certainty. But he wasn’t anywhere near this cabin. Iheard not a sound.”

  “And the Brazil-nut was strutting his stuff in the saloon, so he’s outof the picture.”

  “Well, that’s something to feel comfortable about.” Denis Keen laughed.“Surely you didn’t think....”

  “Unk, when there’s sneaking business going around like this that youcan’t explain or even lay one’s finger on, why, one is likely to suspecteverybody. Anyway, I guess they’ll keep closer watch on him just to getrid of me.”

  “No doubt they’re beginning to suspect that you have some reason forpicking on Pizella. Either that or they’ll think you’re suffering from aPizella complex. But in any case, Hal, I think it won’t do a bit of harmto have the man watched in _Manaos_.”

  They forgot about Pizella for the rest of the voyage, however, mainlybecause Pizella did not again appear above decks. Hal quickly forgot hishasty suspicions and was lost in the charm of the country on either sideof the river. The landscape changed two days after they entered theAmazon, and in place of the low-lying swamps, a series of hills, the_Serra Jutahy_, rose to their right.

  After leaving the hills behind, they caught a brief glimpse of twosettlements, larger and more important than most of those they had seen.The captain pointed out the first of these, _Santarem_, which lay nearthe junction of the Amazon and _Tapajos_, the latter an importantsouthern tributary.

  “_Santarem_,” the captain obligingly explained, “should interest theSeñors.”

  “Why?” Hal asked immediately.

  “It is full of the romance of a lost cause,” said the captain. “Afterthe Civil War in your great United States, a number of the slave-owningaristocracy, who refused to admit defeat and bow their heads to Yankeerule, came and settled in this far-away corner of the Amazon.”

  “A tremendous venture,” said Denis Keen. “I dare say their task was toomuch for them.”

  “For some, Señor. Some of them returned to your fair country broken inbody and spirit, but others held on. Only a very few of the oldergeneration live, but there are the sons and grandsons andgreat-grandsons to carry on—yes? A few of these families—they havescattered up this stream—down that stream. One of them that is perhapsinteresting more than the others is the Pemberton family. Everyonefamiliar with the Amazon has heard their sad story. It began whenMarcellus Pemberton, the first, settled in _Santarem_ along with severalother old families from Virginia.”

  “Marcellus Pemberton, eh?” said Denis Keen. “That certainly smacks ofOld Virginia.”

  “He was a very bitter man, the first Marcellus Pemberton. A very youngman when he went to fight against the North, he fled from his home afterthe War rather than bow to Yankee rule. He settled in _Santarem_ withother Virginia families, took a wife from one of them, and had manychildren. All died but his youngest son—even his wife got the fever anddied. Marcellus and his youngest son left the settlement then and wentto live a little way up the _Rio Pallida Mors_. And so it is with thatson that the story centers, even though he married an American señoritafrom _Santarem_.”

  “And they had a son, huh?” Hal asked interested.

  “Yes, Señor Hal. But of him I know little—the grandson. It is as I saidOld Marcellus’ son who is interest—yes? Ten years ago he disappearedmysteriously. His wife died heartbroken a little later and left behindthe girl Felice, a fair flower in the jungle wilderness, and thegrandson who must now be twenty-five. Felice, like the good girl she is,stays with her grandfather who is now getting very old.”

  “And I suppose they’re as poor as the dickens, huh?” Hal queried.“They’re starving to death I bet, and yet I suppose they’re keeping upthe old tradition. Pride, and all that. They ought to know the war isforgotten. Peace and good will ought to be their motto and bring themback to the U. S.”

  “Too true, Señor Hal,” the captain agreed, “but they do not stay forthat, I do not think. They stay because of an uncertainty and that isthe sad part of the story. I did not tell you how the Señor Marcellus,Junior, died ten years ago.�
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  “Ah, I thought this wouldn’t end without Hal getting the pièce derésistance out of the story,” Denis Keen chuckled.

  “Well, I notice you’re listening intently yourself,” said Halgood-naturedly. “Go on, Captain.”

  “To be sure,” said the captain amiably. “It takes but a moment to tellyou that Señor Marcellus was looking for gold up the _Rio Pallida Mors_(_Pale Death_)—most people call it _Dead River_, Señors. One day hestarted out prepared for his long journey to his lode and he stopped amoment to tell his wife to promise him that, if some day he did not comeback, they would not rest until they found his body. He had what youcall a presentiment—no? But his wife she promised and the childrenpromised, also his father. So he went and as he feared he did notreturn.”

  “And they never found him?”

  “No, Señor Hal. Neither did they find where his lode had gone. To thisday they have found neither him nor the mine. And so they look alwaysfor his body. The Indians they say he has come back from death in theform of a jaguar and every moonlight night he shrieks along the banks ofthe river, crying for his children or his father to come and find hisbody in the rushing waters of _Pallida Mors_.”

  “A tragic story, Captain,” said Denis Keen. “They must be an unhappygroup up there, being reminded of their father’s sad ending every timethere’s a moon.”

  “Something spooky about him being reincarnated in jaguar form, huh?Gosh, they don’t believe that part of it, this Pemberton family, dothey, Captain?” Hal asked.