So we talked about different ideas that came to us, but none of them got us anywhere. At length I said:
“We are wasting time. You and I, Pedro, have never been at this place where Deodoro lived, and all we know about it is what he tells us. We might sit here and talk for a week, and then go there and have our great idea smashed by some little thing none of us had thought of. The one thing we are sure about is that first the girl must be gotten out of her cage. The best way to get that done is to go ahead and do it.”
Deodoro nodded seriously, as if I had said a very wise thing. Pedro laughed, but he agreed.
“That is the best plan of all,” he said. “Let us go with God and trust to luck.”
We arose and turned toward the door. But Deodoro halted us.
“Wait,” he said. “I am feeling much better, and I think I can eat something before we start. I have all the meat I saved for the feast—except the few pieces I lost at Bernardo’s house—and now I shall not give any of it to those who have not treated me well, but will keep it for myself and Bellie and my friends Pedro and Lourenço. I think we had better have some of it now.”
“You have spoken most wisely, friend,” Pedro answered with a grin. “My comrade and I have not been eating much for the last few days. We have been on a long trip and our supplies are nearly gone. So we shall not throw your meat to the dogs as Bernardo did. But where do you keep it?”
“Since you are my friends, I will show you,” he replied with a sly look.
Lifting a couple of the split palms that made his floor, he brought out meat.
“See, my floor is double,” he explained. “The big branches of this tree hold up my house, and between the branches I have made boxes, and then covered branches and all with my floor. It is a good way to hide things.”
“Deodoro, you are one of the cleverest fellows I ever met,” said Pedro. “Few men would have thought of such a thing.”
Deodoro’s face beamed. Probably it was the first time anybody had ever praised him; and somehow he seemed to grow bigger as he thought about it. Pedro gave me a slight wink, and I saw what he was trying to do—to make this shy, downcast fellow think well of himself. And indeed, senhores, that is a thing that has much power to help or harm a man; for if he does not feel himself to be the equal of other men, who else will believe him to be so? Seeing Pedro’s thought and realizing its value, I changed my own manner toward the young tapir-man and no longer treated him as a boy.
We went down the pole, built a little fire and ate. Pedro and I were hungry, and we did not spare the meat; but I do not believe that both of us together ate as much as Deodoro put away alone. When the food was gone he was still hungry, and he climbed the ladder and brought down more. This time he brought down his jug also. We found that it held more cachassa than we had thought, but we emptied it. Then, feeling quite merry, we got into our canoes and pushed out into the river.
* * * *
With our new comrade leading, we paddled downstream until he swerved to the left. Up another quiet creek we followed him. The stream widened into a long swampy lake which seemed to have no end, for it wound along among the low hills so that whenever we thought we had reached the end we found that there was more of it. At length, when we had about concluded that it was no lake but a flooded arm of the river ahead, Deodoro led us into another narrow stream. Down this we went, and soon we came out into another river.
“It is not far now,” said Deodoro in a low tone. “It is only a short paddle upstream.”
“Very good,” Pedro replied. “But why do you speak so quietly? You are not afraid if the whole world hears you.”
Again Deodoro seemed to swell.
“No!” he agreed, and his heavy voice boomed like a gun. “I do not fear any man!”
He began paddling again with a bold stroke.
As he said, it was not far to the town. We heard it before we saw it. Shouts and laughter came to us, and then some one began to beat a drum in Indian time. Deodoro suddenly stopped paddling.
“There is a celebration,” he said. “I wonder—it can not be—it is not possible that Bernardo has made the feast!”
“If there is a feast, so much the better,” I said. “Everyone will get drunk. Is it not so?”
He nodded.
“Then it will be easier for us to do what we come for,” I explained. “When all are drunk, who shall stop us?”
He made no answer. We saw that he was worried, thinking the noise might mean that his girl was given to the man Gastoa.
“Come, comrade,” said Pedro. “We are slopping here as if we were afraid.”
The hint was enough. Deodoro’s head came up, and he swung into his stroke as if he owned the river. Pedro let out a yell, and we joined in. Shouting and paddling hard, we surged up to the town like men sure of a welcome.
* * * *
Like all towns in that region, it was on a hill above the reach of any floods. In the dry time it probably was some distance from the stream, but now the high water made it easy for boatmen to land beside it. As we stepped out on shore the drum-beating stopped. Several men came to meet us, and some barking dogs rushed at us.
Pedro knocked the dogs aside with his rifle. I had no gun, for I had broken mine and lost it in that fight with the headhunters of which I have told you. But I had two good feet in heavy boots, and I used them. One of the dogs, an ugly brute, snarled as if about to spring at me, but I kicked him again so hard that he yelped and retreated. At this, one of the men scowled at me in evil fashion.
“Kick my dog again and you will get yourself into trouble,” he growled.
“I am used to trouble,” I retorted. “And I kick an ugly dog wherever I meet him—whether he stands on four legs or on two.”
He glared and took a step toward me. Then he halted as if not quite sure of himself. After glowering at me for a minute he shifted his gaze to Deodoro.
“You Deodoro!” he snarled. “Did I not tell you not to come back here?”
“You did, Gastoa,” answered the tapir-man. “But you see I am back. I think I shall stay, too.” His voice was strong and steady.
Three other men scowled when they heard this. I judged that they were the brothers of Gastoa, who had helped to beat Deodoro and drive him out. More caboclos had gathered around us now, and among them I noticed a short, piggish-looking man of middle age who seemed quite drunk. Pointing at Deodoro, this man yelled:
“Throw that one into the river! Throw the others in! Drown them all! What business have they here?”
Gastoa and his brothers growled again, but they did not quite dare to rush us. We stood shoulder to shoulder, and they could easily see that we did not intend to be driven away without a fight. Before they could decide just what to do Pedro spoke.
“Is your name Bernardo?” he asked.
The drunken man blinked at him.
“Yes, I am Bernardo.”
“I thought so,” said Pedro. “I had heard that in this town lived a man named Bernardo who was a know-nothing and a drunkard. I knew you must be the one, because nobody but a drunken fool would try to drown strangers who came to trade and make his town rich.”
Bernardo became furious. He screeched that Pedro lied. But the other men looked at us with a new expression in their faces. Then one of them roughly told Bernardo to be quiet; and when he kept on yelling two others shoved him away. By this time everyone in the place was there at the shore. They all stood staring, and I saw some whispering to one another.
“Is that the truth?” demanded Gastoa. “Have you come to trade?”
“You do not think we came to look at your handsome face, do you?” sneered Pedro. “Who is the head man here? I will do my business with him.”
The crowd opened, and out stepped a man who was rather old but looked strong and shrewd.
“I am chief,” he said. “I, Araujo.”
His sharp eyes went to our canoe, which now held only the few supplies that remained after our long trip.
/> “If you come to trade, where are your trade goods?” he asked.
“Greetings to you, compadre,” said Pedro, as if the head man were no better than the rest. “Surely you do not think we would bring our goods in that little canoe. It will take a big batelao to carry the things we have for you—that is, if we decide to trade with you. This is not a small matter of wax and salt fish.”
* * * *
His insolent manner made Araujo frown, but I could see that he and all the rest were impressed by it and by his big talk. I had no idea of what tale Pedro intended to tell, but I saw he had made a good beginning; so I tried to look like an important trader, instead of what I was—a bush-tramp with hardly enough food and cartridges to get home on. The thought came to me that Deodoro might show surprise and betray us. But a glance at him showed me he had more sense than that. His face was like wood, and he was looking straight ahead.
“What do you want for this batelao full of riches?” asked the head man.
“We will talk alone with you about that,” Pedro told him. “We do not do our business on the riverbank. And before we do any business at all we want food for ourselves and this guide of ours, Deodoro.”
Araujo looked as all over again, staring hard at Deodoro, who stared back at him. Then he nodded and turned away. We followed him, and I noticed that the crowd now was looking in friendly fashion at our Tapir companion and sourly at Gastoa. The reason was easy to see; they believed Deodoro had brought us there to make them rich, and that Gastoa had angered us and might have lost them their chance to trade. I had hard work to keep from grinning.
“You have come in time to eat at the feast,” said Araujo. “This is a feast-day here. A girl has come to womanhood.”
“What girl?” asked the Tapir.
“Not the one you are thinking of,” the old man answered. “It is the youngest daughter of Fontoura.”
“Oho! So you have a girl here, Deodoro!” teased Pedro, as if he had not heard of it. “You sly fellow, why did you not tell us?”
Deodoro looked queerly at him, but made no answer. The head man chuckled.
“There are several men between him and his girl,” he explained. “And the girl has not yet been made a woman. So I would not say that he has any.”
We had gotten away from the crowd by this time, and he stopped.
“Now you can tell me your business,” he said,
“Amanha—tomorrow,” Pedro answered, “I never do business on a feast-day; and since we have been lucky enough to come at a time of merry-making, we will join you in it. Tomorrow, when I have rested, we can talk of this matter.”
Araujo scowled again. So Pedro added—
“Today it is enough to ask you whether you can get sarsaparilla roots, and perhaps Peruvian bark, for us from the forest near here.”
The face of the chief brightened.
“Yes, yes! There is much in the hills above here.”
“Then our guide has not lied to us,” said Pedro, as if well pleased. “Perhaps you have heard of the big new company of Englishmen who now are working out of Tabatinga and preparing to buy these medical things for the markets in Europe?”
Araujo had not. Neither had I, and neither had Pedro. But the chief now thought he understood.
“And you are the scouts of this company,” he guessed. “You are very welcome. We can make much trade for you. What do you give for those roots?”
But Pedro shook his head.
“Amanha,” he said again.
So, seeing that he would talk no more of business that day, Araujo told us the town was ours.
The drum started up again, and others joined in. Men came to us with liquor and meat, and we ate and drank well—for we had paddled several miles since eating at Deodoro’s tree-hut, and our appetites again were strong. Everyone made us welcome—that is, all but Bernardo and Gastoa and his gang. They stayed by themselves, talking angrily and drinking much.
I was glad to see that they drank, for I felt that they were the ones whom we needed to watch most, and hoped that in the end they would make themselves senseless. If we waited until night, I thought, it should be quite easy to get the girl out of her prison and escape with her. But Deodoro spoiled that plan.
* * * *
Before long the caboclos formed for a dance around the drummers. It was not much of a dance. They only trotted around and around, yelling and laughing, and dropping out one by one for a drink now and then. Araujo, the chief, trotted with the rest, tooting solemnly on a little tin whistle he had gotten somewhere. Some of the men shouted to us to join in, and I saw several young women making eyes at Pedro; but we said we were tired and squatted by ourselves, smoking and watching. Then Pedro said to Deodoro:
“Now is a good time for you, comrade, to slip away and talk to your girl. She must feel very badly at hearing all this merriment, knowing that it is for another girl, while she remains cooped up. She ought to be ready to run away with you now. If she is, tell her that at the right time we will take her where she can be happy.”
The young fellow started to rise. Pedro grabbed him and pulled him down.
“Not like that!” he cautioned. “Do not get up and walk away in plain sight. Creep around behind us and then crawl behind this house at our backs. After that you can walk.”
The big fellow grunted and obeyed. Like the tapir he resembled, he was not very good at creeping. He made some noise as he went. But nobody seemed to notice his going. Between the liquor and the dancing, the caboclos now were getting quite drunk and thinking of nothing but their own fun. So our companion got away without being seen.
We sat for a while longer watching the circling crowd. Then Pedro said:
“They are a worthless lot, Lourenço. Even if we were the traders they think us to be I doubt if I should want to do business with them. They look lazy, mean, and treacherous. They have no welcome to a stranger unless they hope to make something from him, and their laughter now is only the kind born of drink and drums. I shall be glad when we are out of this place. This is the first time I ever took a hand in a woman-stealing.”
“That is the way I feel too,” I agreed. “I am not afraid of them, but I dislike them all. And unless Deodoro’s girl is better than the women I have seen here she is hardly worth our time and trouble.”
“He thinks she is,” he laughed. “And every man must be his own judge in such matters. But I wish he would come back. I want to get up and walk around—those drums make me restless. If we do that, though, the caboclos will notice that he is gone.”
It did seem that Deodoro had been gone for some time, and as the throbbing of the drums went on I too wished I could move around. A few minutes later I was moving around more than I had expected to.
A yell broke out. The dancers stopped. We hopped up. Then, before a house near the water, we saw men fighting and a girl running toward the stream.
“The fool!” snorted Pedro. “He has let her out too soon!”
* * * *
We ran toward the struggle. So did everyone else. One of the fighting men broke away and dashed after the girl. Another fell backward and lay still. But there were four of them left, and three of them were attacking Deodoro. They were Gastoa and two of his brothers. The man on the ground was the third brother.
As we reached them, Gastoa himself went down. The Tapir was fighting only with his hands, but those hands were terrible enough.
He got a clumsy swing into Gastoa’s face, and it cracked like flat wood hitting water. Gastoa fell like a dead man. After he was down I caught a glimpse of his face. It looked as if a real tapir had jumped on it—mashed flat.
Pedro and I knocked down the other two men and yelled to Deodoro to run. All three of us jumped for our canoes. We ran into the girl and the man who had seized her. She was screaming and trying to escape. The man was her father, and he was striking her brutally in the face and body.
Pedro, the quickest of us three, reached them first. He jolted Bernardo in the head with his
rifle-butt, and the drunkard fell sprawling. Without a pause Pedro snatched the girl off the ground and kept on running. But the crowd was almost on us, and as we slowed at the water’s edge they caught us.
“Go!” I grunted to Pedro. Then I yanked his gun from his fist, whirled and struck around me. Men fell, but others swarmed in. I heard grunts and blows beside me and knew somebody was helping me to fight, but I had no time to see who it was. I thought it must be Pedro. Later I was surprised to find that it was Deodoro.
Pedro had hastily pushed the girl into our canoe and then turned back. But Deodoro, thinking only of getting the girl away, shoved Pedro backward so that he tumbled into the canoe, and then he heaved the boat out into the river. In falling, Pedro hit his head hard against the bottom of the canoe, and the blow stunned him so that he lay there a few minutes while he and the girl drifted away downstream. Then the fighting Tapir wheeled back to help me hold off the furious crowd.
Between us we did some rough work. But we were outnumbered; and to tell truth, senhores, I never got such a beating in my life. I have fought hard before and since that time, and have had far more serious wounds than I received then; but those caboclos knew how to hit where it would hurt. If they had had their weapons they would have cut me to pieces. But none of them had stopped to pick up a knife, and now they could fight only with hands, feet, and teeth. But those were enough.
Somehow I did not think of shooting. I could not have shot well if I had tried, for they were too close. They wrenched at the gun while they beat me, and how I kept it I do not know. But I did keep it, and slugged around me with muzzle and butt. Finally, though, they knocked my legs out from under me. I fell hard, and they jumped all over me.
I kicked and squirmed and bit, but they had me. Then suddenly I felt a tremendous tug at one foot. I went sliding and bumping down the bank with two men hanging to me. Blows sounded and the men fell away. Somebody tumbled me head first into a canoe. The canoe slid outward.
A raging yell sounded behind me. Sitting up, I found myself afloat. With me was the Tapir. His face was battered and his big snout was gushing red, but he was as strong as ever. He had grabbed a paddle and was shoving the boat downstream with strokes so powerful that the dugout seemed to leap from the water. As I looked at him he grinned through split lips.
Adventure Tales, Volume 6 Page 15