THE MEDICINE MAN
Shocked to see their friends, Jack and Ken helped to lower Mr.
Livingston onto the pallet of straw.
“What happened?” Jack asked grimly.
“We were captured at the suspension bridge,” Willie explained. “The
Indians surrounded us, and we didn’t have a chance. Hap’s in bad shape.
He needs a doctor.”
“We’ve lost our quinine supply,” War added miserably. “Those natives
stripped us of everything except our clothes.”
Many hours, of which the Scouts kept painful account, slowly passed. Mr.
Livingston tossed fitfully, calling often for water.
Ken and Jack took turns sitting beside him, giving War and Willie
opportunity to sleep. Repeatedly, they tried to make the guard at the
hut door understand their urgent need for medicines, but he eyed them
blankly.
At dusk, a native woman again brought food. By signs, the Scouts tried
to convey the idea of Mr. Livingston’s desperate need. She gave no
indication she understood. But shortly after she had left, a medicine
man came to the hut. He wore an animal mask, and the Scouts recognized
him as the same one who had danced so professionally.
“Me Ino,” the man announced.
“You speak English?” Jack cried. “Our leader is down with fever and
we’ve got to get him out of here! Will you help us?”
“Me Ino,” the medicine man repeated.
“He didn’t understand a word of what you said,” Ken said despairingly.
“That ‘Me Ino,’ is the only phrase he knows.”
The medicine man however, had crossed the hut to gaze at the prostrate
Mr. Livingston. In that instant, Jack had the uncomfortable feeling that
despite the native’s apparent lack of comprehension, he understood
English perfectly.
Acting upon this conviction, he tried again to talk to Ino. But it was
useless. The medicine man shook his head and kept repeating the foolish
phrase.
Squatting beside Mr. Livingston, he laid a black handkerchief on the
floor of the hut.
“He’s going to try some of his magic stuff!” War muttered. “That’s all
we need to make this a jolly occasion!”
The cloth laid out, Ino sprinkled it with leaves, examining the manner
in which they fell. Then he seemed to lapse into a semitrance, muttering
cabalistic phrases.
The magic incantations finished, the medicine man prepared a hot brew of
herbs made from a white root which resembled a turnip.
As he thrust the brimming gourd to Mr. Livingston’s lips, Willie leaped
forward, intending to strike the cup from Ino’s hand.
“Don’t do that, Willie!” Ken ordered sharply.
“But it may be poisoned.”
“I don’t think so. Ino is trying to help us. Maybe his herbs will do Hap
some good.”
“It’s a cinch something has to be done,” added Jack. “The tea probably
won’t do any harm, and it may help.”
Mr. Livingston himself reached out, and with a trembling hand, took the
gourd. He sipped the hot liquid cautiously and made a wry face. Then he
slowly drained the entire gourd. A few minutes later, as the Scouts
anxiously watched, he dropped off into deep sleep.
“Hap’s been drugged,” Willie asserted. “He may never come out of it.”
“He seems to be sleeping quite naturally,” Ken observed. “Take it easy,
Willie. I have a hunch this old medicine boy knows his stuff.”
“I’d like to get a peep beneath that animal mask he wears,” Jack
muttered. “I have a notion to—”
A quick shake of the head from Ken made him change his mind about trying
to expose the native’s face to view. Sober thought convinced him that
any such action would be sheer folly.
The medicine man remained a few minutes longer in the hut, briefly
examining Pedro. He nodded approvingly at the manner in which Ken and
Jack had set the guide’s leg, and then vanished.
“You know, Ino isn’t as dumb as he pretends,” Jack declared when the
native had gone. “He’s been around white folks—you can tell that from
the way he acts and the manner in which he danced.”
“He means to be friendly,” Ken asserted. “If we play our cards right, he
may help us get out of here.”
“I don’t trust him,” Willie declared.
“I keep thinking he may be a white man,” Jack went on, paying no heed to
the other’s remark. “At any rate, he knows more English than that silly
phrase, ‘Me Ino.’”
“I thought so too,” nodded Ken. “Several times when Willie was talking,
I noticed that he was listening as if he understood. But if he knows
English, why didn’t he reveal himself?”
“Maybe he doesn’t trust us any more than we do him,” Jack returned. “We
didn’t tell him anything about why we’re here, or who we are. We didn’t
even let him know we’re Scouts.”
“I didn’t figure it would mean anything to him.”
“Probably not, Ken. But I can’t help wishing we’d tried to convince him
that we’re trying to find Burton Monahan, not to steal Inca gold.”
Dusk came on and still Mr. Livingston slept as one dead to the world.
Later, however, he aroused and seemed somewhat better. His temperature
had dropped and he no longer was wracked by sudden chills. Though he
could not eat, he insisted that he felt greatly improved.
“Guess I was wrong about Ino,” Willie admitted. “That vile looking brew
of his turned the trick.”
Food had been brought to the hut at regular intervals and its quality
improved. This, the Scouts also attributed to Ino’s influence. The
medicine man himself, did not reappear.
Throughout the night, the Explorers again took turns watching Mr.
Livingston and Pedro. For the most part, both slept, and required little
attention.
Another day passed, a monotonous repetition of the previous one. Mr.
Livingston improved steadily, suffering only a few minor relapses during
which his fever mounted.
“I’m well on the way to recovery, thanks to that herb tea or whatever it
was,” he told the Scouts. “How to get out of here is our next problem.
The natives aren’t unfriendly. If we bide our time, they may release
us.”
“Ino’s working for us,” Jack insisted. “Even though we haven’t seen him,
you can tell by the way we’re treated now, that we’re not distrusted as
we were.”
During the early part of the night, he took his turn watching Mr.
Livingston, and then tried to sleep after Ken had relieved him. Toward
morning, he was aroused, and discovered his friend bending over him.
“Get up, Jack! Our guard has gone!”
“What?” Jack came fully awake. “Are you sure?”
“Not a sign of him. The entire village seems deserted. The warriors have
gone off somewhere.”
Getting to his feet, Jack awakened Willie and War. Excitedly, they
studied the possibilities of their situation.
“This is our chance to escape,” Ken declared, “but it may be a trap.”
“Even if we get away, what of Mr. Livingston and Pedro?” Jack asked in
an undertone. “We can’t leave them behind, and they’re in no condition
to travel even under favorable condition.”
“It must be a trap,” Willie insisted. “These natives are stupid. But not
stupid enough to leave this hut unguarded unless they want us to walk
off.”
“They’ve been drinking chicha or whatever it is, pretty steadily since
we were dragged in here,” War pointed out. “Maybe they’ve all passed
out, including our guard.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Ken advised bluntly. “Some sort of celebration
is in full swing all right, but our guard had his wits about him a half
hour ago. There’s something mighty queer about this exodus.”
“At any rate, there’s no future in staying here,” Jack announced. “I’m
going to slip out and look around. The rest of you wait and see if I get
peppered with arrows!”
While the other Scouts watched anxiously, he moved some distance from
the hut. Cautiously, he surveyed the darkened village. No one was
visible. Though he had no way of accurately telling time, he judged that
it lacked about two hours of dawn.
A fire, in which a lamb had been roasted whole earlier in the night,
still smoldered. Otherwise, there was no sign of life or activity. Had
the natives suddenly decided to abandon their villages, and if so, why?
“This sure is queer,” Jack muttered. “I don’t get it.”
He made a quick tour of the village, seeing not a man, woman or child.
Some distance away, through the dense trees, he caught the flash of
lighted straw torches. There were a great many of them, and they were
moving away from the village.
“This is the best chance we’ll ever have to get out of here,” Jack told
himself. “But dare we take it?”
His common sense advised that Mr. Livingston and Pedro could never
endure the rigors of the trail in their present conditions. He had only
a vague idea as to their whereabouts, and no compass. A lack of supplies
made the situation even more hopeless.
“Maybe our hut door was left unguarded because the natives know we can’t
run away,” he speculated. “That must be it.”
Turning over various plans in his mind, Jack went quickly back to rejoin
his friends. He revealed the situation, and then made his proposal.
“I’ll hit for Cuya alone. If I can make it, I’ll send help. If I fail,
you’ll be no worse off than you are now.”
“No Jack.” The voice was Mr. Livingston’s. Unobserved by the Scouts, he
had arisen from his pallet of straw.
“You’re feeling better!” Jack cried.
“My fever has mostly gone,” the Scout leader answered. “I’m weak in my
legs, but otherwise quite strong. I can make it, if the decision is to
pull out of here. But we must all stick together.”
Jack’s gaze fell upon Pedro and he remained silent. He knew that Mr.
Livingston, although remarkably better was not as strong as he believed.
And it would be utterly impossible to take the guide with them.
Pedro himself solved the latter problem, by declaring that under no
circumstance would he risk trying to leave the hut.
“We may be able to forage a little food in the huts,” Jack said
dubiously. “And if we’re real lucky, we may come upon an Indian canoe.”
“Whatever we do, we’ll have to do it fast,” Ken urged. “Our chances to
get away lessen every minute.”
“Okay, let’s go,” proposed War. “Anything’s better than this hut.”
Thinking of Pedro, Jack still hesitated. “Go,” the guide advised. “Send
help. Go!”
“We’ll make it to Cuya somehow,” Jack assured him. “Before you know it,
we’ll be back here for you.”
Their minds now made up, the four Scouts quitted the hut. War and Willie
supported Mr. Livingston, while Jack and Ken went ahead to search for
supplies.
They were midway through the deserted village when an indistinct figure
glided toward them. The Scouts halted, and waited tensely.
Then they saw that it was Ino, the Medicine Man.
Strangely, he spoke no word, but motioned for them to follow him. At the
same time, he pressed into Jack’s hand two canteens of water, and a
supply of concentrated food.
“Canteens!” the crew leader exclaimed. “Not ours either! This
concentrated food though, is some that must have been taken from Hap,
War and Willie when they were captured.”
“Ino’s trying to help us!” Ken cried. “Maybe he was responsible for
everyone being away from the village. Our pal!”
Obedient to the medicine man’s gestures, the Scouts followed him through
the empty village. Walking fast, Ino conducted them along a rugged path.
They came to a spring where he permitted everyone to drink deeply and
fill the canteens.
Jack noticed another trail leading upward at a steep angle. He turned as
if to take it, only to have Ino reprimand him sharply. The medicine man
pointed to the other path which descended.
“Follow trail,” he ordered.
“Say, you speak pretty fair English,” Jack remarked. “Thanks for helping
us out of this mess. But before we go, how about telling us who you
really are?”
“Yeah, who are you?” Willie demanded.
“Me Ino.”
“He answers that way to everything,” War chuckled. “For once, it came
exactly right! He doesn’t understand much we say, but he’s our friend
just the same.”
Jack had his own opinion of Ino’s comprehension. Nevertheless, he kept
his thoughts to himself.
Grasping Ino’s rough hand, he pressed it in token of gratitude. He then
offered Mr. Livingston a supporting arm, and began the long trek.