CHAPTER XIV.
A DUEL WITH DEATH
Rain came and went.
The first night's camp of the strangely assorted company was a wet one,for well on in the day the skies poured down the watery weight which hadbeen troubling them once morning. Yet even in such miserable weather thefour tribesmen of the Mayorunas declined to sleep in the same camp withthe whites. They accepted the food tendered them, but when it was eatenthey withdrew to some covert of their own to spend the night. Wherebythe whites knew that, though their guides now could no longer suspectthem of killing the lone hunter, they still were not accepted asfriends.
"Did ye say them guys had a trick of jabbin' men in their hammicks atnight, Renzo?" was Tim's significant question after the Indians haddeparted.
"Have no fear," Lourenco assured him. "They have promised to take ussafely to their chief."
"How much is the word of a cannibal worth?" asked Knowlton.
"Worth everything, so long as you do nothing to make them forget it,senhor. Being uncivilized, they are not liars."
The lieutenant eyed him sharply, half minded to regard the answer asinsolent. But there was no insolence in the Brazilian's straightforwardgaze, and McKay laughed approvingly.
"Well spoken!" was the captain's comment.
"Among those people there are but two great crimes," Lourenco added."They are, to speak falsely or to be a coward."
"Wherein a goodly portion of the so-called civilized world would fail tomeasure up to the standards of these cannibals," McKay said. "By theway, have you asked them about the Raposa?"
"No, Capitao. It is as well not to put into their heads the idea that weare hunting anyone here. I shall say nothing of that matter until wereach the chief who knows me."
"Good idea."
With that the talk ended and all sought their hammocks, dog tired fromthe day's travel. No watch was kept, for, as Pedro quaintly phrased it,"We now are in the hands of God and the cannibals." Nor was any watchneeded.
Daybreak brought sunlight. While the breakfast coffee was being boiledthe four wild men appeared silently and simultaneously, one bringing ared howling monkey and another a large green parrot as theircontributions to the morning meal. Neither bird nor animal showed anywound except a slightly discolored spot surrounding a skin puncture nolarger than if made by a woman's hatpin--the marks left by poisoneddarts from the ten-foot blowguns. When the meat was cooked they offeredportions to the whites, of whom Tim alone refused.
"I'd as quick eat a rat killed with Paris green," he growled. "Nopoisoned meat gits into my stummick if I know it."
"Bosh!" scoffed McKay. "It's perfectly wholesome--though it's tough as arubber boot."
"And I might tell you, senhores, that among these people it is an insultto refuse any food offered you," added Lourenco. "I advise you to forgetabout the poison hereafter and eat what is put before you, even if itstinks."
His advice was emphasized by the evident displeasure of the tribesmen,who, though saying nothing, looked rather grimly at the man who haddespised their provisions. But Lourenco then smoothed over the matter bytelling them that the red-haired man was sick at the stomach thatmorning--which, at that particular moment, was not far from the truth.
Soon the triglot column was once more on its way across the hillcountry, which hourly grew higher and rougher--a constant succession ofridges and ravines. Lourenco, pointing out the absence of water marks onthe trees of the uplands, said that now the land of the great annualfloods had been left behind; for even the sixty-foot rise of waters inthe rainy season could not reach to these hilltops. With the entry intothis terra firma the travelers had also found the sun again, the dankmist of yesterday having vanished. Nevertheless, the going was fully ashard as on the previous day, because of the density of the bush and ofthe labor of crossing the narrow but deep streams flowing at the bottomof nearly every clove. Few words were exchanged, every man needing hisbreath for the work of walking.
As before, the keen machetes of the Brazilians opened a direct routethrough all opposing undergrowth. When a brief halt was called at noonthe Mayorunas, who seemed to know exactly where they were despite thefact that they had never before followed this straight course, informedLourenco that much circuitous traveling had already been saved, and thatby tramping hard until sundown they might succeed in reaching the tribal_maloca_ that night. But McKay vetoed the idea of a forced march.
"This gait is fast enough and hard enough," he declared. "No sense inexhausting ourselves to save a few hours' time. Also, we don't want togo staggering into the Mayoruna village with our tongues hanging out andour knees wabbling. First impressions are lasting with such people, andthey might get an idea we were weaklings."
To which all except the savages, who did not understand the language ofthe white man, assented approvingly.
Yet it was the Mayorunas themselves who delayed arrival at their_maloca_--the Mayorunas and a monkey. When the sinking sun was still twohours high, and while the leader was forcing the pace as if determinedto reach home that night whether the rest liked it or not, the monkeyupset any such plan.
He was a big gray monkey, and he was high up in the branches of a tallmatamata tree, where he deemed himself safe from the many creatureslaboring along the ground below. Wherefore he chattered impudently downat them and, as the tall Indian guide halted, showed his teethderisively. The savage grunted. The man behind him also grunted andlifted his blowgun. But the leader growled at him and the blowgun sank.
With a swift sweep of the hand the guide drew from his quiver one ofthose long, poisoned arrows and fitted it to the bow cord, which he hadlaid on the ground. With two toes of each foot he held the cord firmlyon the soil. His right hand lightly grasped the arrow and aimed it up atthe insolent primate. His left drew the bow up, up, into an arc.
_Twang!_ the cord thrummed as his lifted toes released it. The arrowwhirred aloft. Then a snarl of chagrin from the marksman blended withthe grunts of his mates. The arrow had failed to reach the quarry.
It had missed, however, by a mere hand's breadth--missed only because itstruck the limb directly under the monkey, where it hung by the tip fromthe bark. Muttering something which may have been a Mayorunamalediction, the savage moved aside a step or two, drew another arrow,and set it to the cord with more care than before. But while he did thisthe monkey was not idle.
Chattering in rage, the animal leaned down, worked the arrow loose fromthe bark, and threw it aside. The deadly shaft turned in air, thenplunged aimlessly earthward. At that instant all below were watching theguide, who in turn was looking at his toes and placing the new arrow inposition. Unseen, the other missile hurtled down--and ripped across theback of the marksman's left hand.
For an instant the tall cannibal stood as if petrified, staring at hiscut hand and the shaft now sticking upright in the ground beside him.Then, in simple symbolism, he reversed the new arrow and stabbed it alsointo the dirt. Dropping his bow, he lay down on his back.
"Yuara will draw bow no more. Yuara goes to join the spirits of thedead," he said, calmly.
Mechanically Lourenco translated the words. McKay sprang forward.
"No!" he disputed. "Not without a try for life, anyhow! Merry, sling atourniquet! Quick!"
Knowlton jumped to the side of Yuara, tied a handkerchief above theelbow, twisted it tight. McKay whipped from a pocket a keen-bladedknife. In one swift ruthless slash he laid open the arm from elbow toknuckles.
"Keep that tourniquet tight!" he snapped. "If the blood once gets pastit he's gone. Tim, get out the salt bag! Lourenco, tell this fellow tobreathe deep and keep it up!"
While Tim burrowed into his pack for the salt, Lourenco spoke, as muchfor the benefit of the other tribesmen as for that of Yuara; for thethree Mayorunas stood in ominous silence, watching the outrush of bloodcaused by the knife of the white man.
"The white man of the black beard, who is very wise, will save Yuara todraw many a good bow if Yuara will do as he says. Let Yuara breathedeeply, that
the spirit of life remain in him to fight against the demonof death. Even now the poison rushes out of the arm of Yuara."
"Yuara cannot live," was Yuara's cool reply. "Where once the poison hasentered, there follows death."
"Is Yuara then a coward, that he will die without a fight? Then he is noMayoruna, for no Mayoruna is a coward. Let Yuara die if he will. Hiscomrades shall carry to their _maloca_ the tale that, although the whiteman would have saved him, he died like an old woman, because he had notthe will to live!"
Fire shot into the eyes of the prostrate man. He ground his teeth andstruggled to rise and throttle the insulting Brazilian.
"No, not that way," Lourenco went on at once. "Yuara can fight the deathdemon only by drawing into himself the air in which is the spirit oflife. The wise white man has stopped the poison at the place where thecloth is tied, and he knows the air spirits will help Yuara if Yuarawill breathe deep and long. If he will not, then the white man'smedicine cannot save him. Yuara's life or death is in his own hands."
In his heart Lourenco had faint hope that the injured man would live.But he knew the rest of the cannibal tribe must soon hear the tale ofthis incident from the three now present, and he was preparing anexcellent excuse for the failure of McKay to save him. Whether Yuaralived or not, the Mayorunas now would know that the whites had donetheir utmost for him, and that very fact might make a vast difference.
Yuara, though his eyes still flamed, sank back under McKay's restrainingweight and obeyed orders. After the first couple of breaths he settledinto his task and his chest rose and fell rhythmically.
"Here's yer salt, Cap. What'll I do with it?"
"You come here and hold this tourniquet. Don't let it slip! Merry, fillthis chap's mouth with salt. Lourenco, tell him to hold it as long aspossible, then swallow it. Now, Merry, fix up a good strong saltpoultice. The rest of you make camp. We've got a stiff fight on ourhands, and we can't go farther until we've either won or lost."
The Brazilians glanced at the sun shadows and remained where they were.According to their experience, Yuara should be dead within ten minutesat most. Time enough to make camp when they knew how this venture wouldresult. The Mayorunas also stood fast and watched for the shadow ofdeath to blanch the face of their stricken mate.
But the minutes dragged past and Yuara's eyes did not grow dim. Hisfirst resignation over and his fighting blood aroused, he was battlinggrimly against fate. At times his deep respirations were broken bysudden gasps, and spasmodic quivers shook his whole body. But hebreathed on, paying no heed to the burning pain of his ripped and saltedarm.
"By cripes! he's puttin' up a man's scrap!" blurted Tim. "Stay with it,old feller. Ye'll win out yet!"
And as more minutes passed and the wounded man still breathed, a murmurof wonderment passed among the cannibals and the men of Nunes. Yuarashould be dead, yet he was not even paralyzed. Such a thing had neverbefore been known in this bush.
Lourenco touched Pedro's arm.
"Find a spot where we can make camp," he said. "I must stay here tospeak to the wild men if words are needed."
Reluctantly Pedro went away. Soon he was back with news of a suitableplace. He found all bending closer over Yuara, whose breathing hadbecome stertorous and whose eyes seemed fixed.
"Going!" was the bushman's thought. But the others would not have it so.
"How 'bout a shot o' booze to jolt his heart, Cap?" suggested Tim, whosewhole soul was in the fight.
McKay nodded. Knowlton quickly produced brandy and poured a stiff dosedown Yuara's throat. It took hold at once, and light came back into theIndian's eyes.
"Got a good chance yet," McKay asserted. "Don't loosen that tourniquet.Let the arm mortify, if necessary, but hold that blood away from theheart at all costs. I'll chop his arm off at the shoulder before I'llgive in."
His hard-set face showed he meant it.
Lourenco spoke to the Mayorunas, urging that camp be made at once. Heand Pedro strode away, and all three of the Indians followed.
"Really think he'll pull through, Rod?" Knowlton asked, then. "If hedoes you're a miracle worker."
"It's an experiment," McKay confessed, watching Yuara with unswervingintentness. "Never saw this done, but it's worth a try--and I honestlybelieve it will work. I saved an Indian over in Guiana once by cuttingoff his arm as soon as he was hit, but I want to keep this fellow's armfor him if possible. Feed him some more salt."
Time passed unheeded. Sounds of labor not far off told that camp wasbeing built. Presently the absent five returned, two of the Mayorunascarrying a crude but strong litter constructed from saplings andgiant-fern leaves. McKay rose stiffly on cramped legs.
"All right. You can move him," he consented.
Carefully Yuara was lifted to the litter and transported to the newcamp. There the Americans found not only the open shed, or _tambo_,usually constructed by the Brazilians, but also a somewhat similarshelter erected by the Indians. In the latter stood two stout crotchedstakes, firmly braced--the handiwork of Pedro and Lourenco. And tothese, with tough bush rope, the Indians fastened the litter of Yuara,thus forming a rude but effective hammock.
While McKay and Knowlton continued their ministrations to the strickenman the rest of the camp work was completed, the Mayorunas makinghanging beds for themselves from withes, leaves, and bush cord, and theBrazilians slinging the hammocks of their own party and opening packs.
Night fell and the wounded man lived on. Supper was eaten, pipes smoked,the regular activities of the early hours of darkness gone through--andYuara lived on. His deep breathing had become automatic, and his eyesstared straight up in concentration on his battle with the death demon.
At length he was seized with violent nausea which convulsed him for atime. But when the spasms passed he lay back more easily, and a faintsmile flitted over his face as he looked at the white men.
"Been expecting that," said McKay. "Might loosen that ligature now--justa few seconds.... Tighten it! All right." Alter watching the sick man alittle longer he added: "Now I'm going to eat and smoke. Feel liketaking a drink, too, but guess I won't. The Indian will pull throughnow, I think."
When he had returned to the Indian hut with pipe aglow, Knowlton askedhim, "Now tell us how you doped out this cure."
"Combination of various things. Salt is a partial antidote to venom inthe blood, and I got it into him in three ways--by mouth absorption, bythe stomach, and by the salt poultice, which drew out some of the poisonfrom the forearm and helped neutralize what remained. Ripping his arm ofcourse let out a lot of bad blood. Ligature above the elbow stopped mostof the rest--though some sneaked past that point, I'm pretty sure.
"Big thing, though, was the deep breathing. Remember I told you aboutthe experiments that killed mules and an ox? Another experiment wasthis--opening the windpipe of a poisoned mule after the heart stopped,inserting a pair of bellows, and starting artificial respiration. Afterfour hours of this the mule came to life and stayed alive--though he wasa wreck for a year afterward.
"I just put all these together, made the Indian do his ownbreathing--and here he is. I'm going to sit up awhile longer and watchhim, but the critical period is over. You chaps can turn in."
But none turned in until midnight, when no doubt remained thatLourenco's prophecy would come true--that Yuara would live to draw bowagain. Then, when the slashed arm had been thoroughly cleansed andbound, Lourenco spoke once more to the savages.
"The medicine of the wise white man and the air spirits have saved Yuarafrom the death demon. Yuara has fought as a man of his tribe shouldfight, and so has lived when he would have died. To-morrow Yuara shallonce more see his people, the first man of the Mayorunas to come backfrom the death of poison. And he and his comrades shall tell of thewhite man's wisdom, without which he now would lie cold on the ground."
"So shall it be," Yuara himself faintly answered. "Yuara, son of Rana,second chief of the men of Suba, will not forget."
"_Por Deus!_" exclaimed Lourenco. "Comrades, this m
an is no commonhunter, but son of a subchief. Capitao, you have done good work to-day."
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