THE BLACK TIGER
Under Pinto's direction the hollow trunk was lifted up so that each end
rested on a stump. Then a slow fire was kindled under its whole length.
Pinto tended this most carefully, so that the heat would spread evenly.
Gradually, under the blaze, the green wood spread out. This was the most
critical point in this forest boat-building, for if there were too much
heat at any one point, a crack might start through the log and all the
work of the week go for nothing. As the great log opened out, the Indian
moved constantly up and down its length, checking the blaze here and
there with wet moss where the sides were spreading out too fast. At
several different points he fitted in straddlers, with wedges made from
stonewood branches. By skilfully changing the pressure of these and
varying the heat at different points the hollowed log at last took on a
graceful curve, with tapered turned-up ends. Green strips of stonewood
were fitted in for gunwales, and seats and semicircular end-boards put
in place. Then the long dugout was allowed to cool off gradually all
through one night. As it contracted, it locked in place gunwales, seats
and thwarts. Another day was given to fashioning light paddles out of
palm-wood; and then at last, one week after their shipwreck, these
latter-day Argonauts were once more afloat upon Black River.
There followed long days, in each of which three seasons were perfectly
reproduced. The mornings had all the chill of early spring; by noon came
the blinding heat of midsummer; and the nights, of the same length as
the days, had the frosty tang of autumn. During the morning of each day
they paddled, lying by at noon-time in cool, shaded lagoons where they
slept or fished. At other times they would collect nuts and fruits on
the shore, under the direction of Professor Ditson, or take turns in
going with Pinto on short hunting-trips, during which all kinds of
strange game would fall before his deadly blow-gun.
It was Jud who went with him on the first of these hunts. As they came
to the bank of one of the many streams that ran into the Black River,
the old trapper caught sight of a strange animal on the bank which
looked like a great guinea-pig about the size of a sheep. Its wet hide
was all shining black in the sunlight, and even as Jud turned to ask the
Indian what it was, there sounded just behind him the fatal pop of the
blow-gun, a venomous little arrow buzzed through the air, and a second
later was sticking deep in the beast's blunt muzzle. Like an enormous
muskrat, the stranger scrambled to the edge of the stream, plunged in,
and disappeared in the dark water.
"That was a capybara," Pinto informed Jud.
"Well, you've lost him all right, whatever he was," returned the latter.
"Wait," was all that Pinto would say. A few minutes later, the limp,
dead body of the capybara, the largest of all aquatic rodents floated to
the surface. Jud was about to wade into the shallow water and secure it
when he was stopped by the Mundurucu.
"Never put your hand or foot into strange water," he said. "You may lose
'em."
Without explaining himself, he cut a long pole and carefully towed the
dead animal to shore. That night the whole party camped on a high, dry,
sandy bluff where Pinto and Hen dressed the capybara and roasted parts
of it on long green spits of ironwood.
Will sampled the dank, dark meat cautiously.
"Tastes like a woodchuck I once tried to eat," he remarked, after one
mouthful. "You can have my share." And he went back to palm-nuts.
From another trip, Pinto brought back a coaita, one of the
spider-monkeys which had so affected Will's appetite on the occasion of
their first meal at Professor Ditson's house. This one had a long, lank
body covered with coarse black hair, while its spectral little face was
set in a mass of white whiskers.
Will ate the rich, sweet meat shudderingly.
"It looks just like a little old man," he protested.
"But it tastes better," observed the hardened Jud, passing his bark
plate for another helping.
It was Jud and Will who accompanied Pinto on the third and most
eventful trip of all. The boat had been beached at the slope of a high
bank; and, while the others dozed or slept, Pinto and his two companions
started through the woods on their hunt for any game which might add
some kind of meat to their menu. A hundred yards from the bank the
jungle deepened and darkened. Everywhere the strangler-fig was killing
straight, slim palms and towering silk-cotton and paradise-nut trees. At
first, this assassin among the tree-folk runs up its victim's trunk like
a vine. As the years go by, it sends out shoots and stems around and
around the tree it has chosen. These join and grow together, forming a
vast hollow trunk, in the grip of which the other tree dies. Pools of
black water showed here and there at the foot of the strangled trees,
and something sinister seemed to hang over this stretch of jungle.
"Feels kind of creepy here," Jud confided to Will. "Looks just the kind
of a place for some of Hen's haunts," he went on.
Even as he spoke, there sounded among the distant trees ominous grunting
groans, and here and there among the shadows dark shapes could be seen
moving about. The fierce moaning grew louder, mingled with a clicking
noise like castanets.
"Peccaries!" muttered Jud. "I've hunted the little ones down in Mexico.
They were liable to bite a piece out of you as big as a tea-cup. I'm in
favor of lettin' these big fellows strictly alone."
"Quiet, quiet!" muttered the Indian, slipping behind a tree and
motioning his companions to do likewise. "They go by in a minute, and I
take off the last one with my blow-gun."
Instead of doing this, however, the great herd spread out through the
woods, grunting and groaning and clattering their sharp tusks. As they
came closer and closer, each of the peccaries seemed nearly as large as
the wild boar of European forests, while their lips and lower jaws were
pure white. The Mundurucu showed signs of alarm.
"Something has stirred them up," he muttered. "If they see us, they
charge. Better each one choose a tree."
Even as he spoke, the leading peccary, whose gleaming tusks thrust out
like keen knives from each side of his white jowl, glimpsed the little
party in the shadows. With a deep groan, he lowered his head and charged
at full speed, his tusks clattering as he came, while the white foam
showed like snow against the raised bristles of his back. The whole herd
followed--a nightmare of fierce heads, gleaming red eyes, and clicking,
dagger-like tusks. Against such a rush Jud's automatic was as useless as
Pinto's blow-gun or Will's throwing-stones. There was only one thing to
do, and, with the utmost promptness all three of the party did it. Jud
went up the vinelike trunk of a small strangler-fig hand over hand, nor
ever stopped until he was safe astride the branch of a stonewood tree,
twenty feet from the ground. Pinto, gripping the rough red bark of a cow
tree, walked up it Indian fashion until he was safely seated in a crotch
far above the ground. Will was not so fortunate. Near him was the smooth
bark of an assai-palm. Twice he tried to climb it, and twice slipped
back. Then, with every muscle tense, he dodged behind it and sprinted,
as he had never run before, across a little opening to where a vast
strangler-fig had swallowed a Brazil-nut tree in its octopus grip. The
rush of the charging herd was hard on his heels as he reached the tree,
and he had just time to swerve around its trunk and grip one of the
vinelike tentacles which had not yet become a part of the solid shell of
the strangler. Even as he swung himself from the ground, the bristling
head of one of the herd struck against his feet, and he kicked them
aloft just in time to avoid the quick double slash of the sharp tusks
that followed.
Up and up he went, while the whole shell-like structure of the fig
swayed and bent under his weight and dry dust from the dead nut tree
powdered down upon him in showers. Finally he reached a safe
stopping-place, where he could stand with both feet resting in a loop
which the snakelike fig had made in one of its twisting turns around its
victim.
For a few minutes the trio in the tree-tops sat and stared in silence at
one another and the weaving, champing herd of furious beasts below. It
was Jud who spoke first.
"It's your move, Captain Pinto," he remarked. "What do we do next?"
"Sit still until they go away," returned the Indian despondently.
"How many arrows have you left?" inquired Will from his tree.
"Ten."
"I've got sixteen shots in my locker," observed Jud, from his perch;
"but there must be nearly a hundred pigs in this herd; an' if these big
fellows are like the chaps I knew in Mexico, the more you kill, the more
those that are left will try to kill you."
"The only thing to do is to sit still," repeated the Mundurucu. "Perhaps
they go 'way before night."
"Perhaps they don't, too," grumbled Jud. "A pig's an obstinate critter
at his best, an' a peccary's a pig at his worst!"
As time went on, conversation among the besieged flagged and each one
settled down to endure the wait as best he might. Will amused himself by
watching the birds which passed him among the tree-tops and listening to
some of their strange and beautiful songs. At any time of the year and
in any part of the world, a bird-student can always find pleasure in his
hobby where unseeing, unhearing people find nothing of interest. To-day
the first bird that caught his eye looked something like a crow, save
that it had a crest of curved, hairy feathers, which at times, on its
perch in a neighboring tree, it would raise and spread out over its head
like a fringed parasol. From its breast swung a pad of feather-covered
flesh, and, as it perched, it would every now and then give a deep low
flute-note, raising its parasol each time in a most comical manner.
"What's that bird, Pinto?" Will inquired, after he had watched it
delightedly for a long time.
"He umbrella-bird," returned the other, indifferently; "no good to eat."
For the Mundurucu had a very simple system of ornithology--he divided
all birds into two groups, those that were good to eat and those that
were not.
The next bird which passed by aroused the interest even of Jud, who
cared even less for birds than did the Indian. Through the dim light of
the sinister forest, above the raging, swinish herd, flitted a bird of
almost unearthly beauty, a parrot over three feet in length, of a soft,
hyacinthine blue except around the eyes, where the bare skin showed
white. As Will watched it delightedly, he recognized the bird as the
hyacinthine macaw, the largest, most beautiful, and one of the rarest of
all the parrot family. Even as he looked, the great bird alighted on a
neighboring Brazil-nut tree and immediately showed itself to be as
efficient as it was beautiful. Seizing in its great black beak one of
the tough, thick nut-cases, called "monkey-pots" by the Indians, it
proceeded to twist off its top and open up a side, although a man finds
difficulty in doing this even with a hammer and chisel. Drawing out one
Brazil-nut after another, it crushed them, in spite of their hard, thick
shells, into a pulp, which it swallowed. Then it flew away, leaving Will
staring regretfully after it.
As noon approached, the vines and the tree-trunks seemed to hold and
radiate the heat like boiler-tubes. Gradually it rose and concentrated
until the forest seemed to throb and pulsate like a furnace. Then a
cicada began to sound. It began with a low, jarring note, something like
the creaking of our ordinary katydid. This increased slowly in loudness
and volume until at last it ended with an almost unendurable
siren-whistle note which seemed to shake the very leaves of the trees.
Again and again and again this performance was repeated, until Will,
deafened and stunned by the noise, dizzy with the heat, and cramped and
tired of standing on his narrow perch, thought with an almost
unutterable longing of the dark, cool river and the shaded boat where
the rest of the party were even now taking their noontide nap.
Suddenly, when it seemed to Will as if his tortured brain absolutely
could not stand one more repetition of this song, the talented cicada,
with one farewell screech that surpassed all previous efforts, lay off
for the day. For a few minutes there was almost complete silence in the
darkened forest. Many of the guardian herd had laid down, wallowing in
the soft mold and fallen leaves, while others, although they stared
redly up into the tree-tops, no longer moved around and around in a
circle of which the trapped hunters were the center. Suddenly, from the
depths of a near-by tree, a pure, sweet, contralto voice sounded, as if
some boy were singing to himself. For a moment it rose and fell, and
then followed a few plaintive notes almost like those of a tiny flute.
Then a slow melody began, full of mellow notes, only to be broken off
abruptly. After a pause, there came a few clicking notes like those made
by a music-box as it runs down, and the performance was over. Although
the song came from the dark, glossy leaves of the very next tree, stare
as he would, Will could gain no sight of the singer. Twice more the same
thing happened. Each time he listened with a feeling that this time the
tune would be finished and would be such as no mortal ears had heard
before; but each time the song would die away in futile clicking notes.
When at last the silence was again unbroken, Will turned toward the
Indian.
"What was it, Pinto?" he asked softly.
"That organ-bird."
"What does it look like?"
"Don't know. No one ever see it."
"How do you know it's a bird?"
"Professor Ditson say so," returned Pinto, conclusively.
"That settles it," broke in Jud, jealously, from his tree. "He never saw
it; nobody ever saw it; but the professor calls it an organ-bird. If he
said it was an angel, I suppose it _would_ be an angel."
"Yes," returned the Indian placidly.
The argument was suddenly ended for Will in a terrible manner. A sharp,
burning pain shot through his left shoulder, as if a red-hot coal had
been pressed there. As he turned, he saw, trickling down the tree-trunk,
long crimson streams, one of which had already reached him, and he
recognized, to his horror, a troop of the dreaded fire-ants. Even as he
looked, the bites of several others pierced his skin, and the pain ran
like a liquid poison through his veins as each blood-red ant rushed
forward and buried its envenomed jaws deep into his flesh. Brushing off
with frantic haste those torturers that had succeeded in reaching him,
the boy began to slip down the vine toward the ground, for it was no
more possible to resist this red torrent of poison and agony than it
would be to stand against a creeping fire or a stream of molten lava.
Old Jud heard the involuntary cry, which the sudden pain had wrung from
Will, and looked over, only to see the red columns of ants streaming
slowly, inevitably down the tree, driving Will before them to what
seemed certain death. The peccary herd, aroused by his movements, had
gathered around the tree in close-packed ranks, and frothing,
clattering, and moaning, waited for him, making a circle of gleaming
tusks.
"Go back!" called out Jud. "Go back! You can't possibly get through
'em."
"I can't!" called back Will. "I'd rather die fighting than be tortured
to death up here."
As he spoke he slid another yard toward the ground. Jud drew in his
breath in a gasp that was almost a groan, and, unslinging his ready
automatic, began to scramble down to the ground."
"What you do?" called out the Indian, aghast, from his tree.
"I'm a-goin' to stand by that kid," said the old trapper, grimly. "I'll
never go back to the boat alive without him."
"Stay where you are, Jud," shouted Will, desperately, as he gripped the
keen hatchet which he had borrowed from Joe when he started on this
ill-omened hunt.
"Come on, boy!" shouted the trapper, unheedingly, as he neared the
ground. "I'll meet you, an' you fight through them to my tree. The old
man's a-goin' to be right with you."
His words were punctuated by the deadly pop of Pinto's blow-gun.
Although the Indian could not attain to Jud's height of self-sacrifice,
yet he had made up his mind to do all that he could do to save the boy
with the weapon he had. Again and again and again, as fast as he could
level, load, and discharge his long blow-pipe, the fatal little arrows
sped through the gloom and buried themselves in the thick hides of the
peccaries. Already some of the inner ring were wavering and staggering
under the effects of the deadly urari poison. The sight of their
stricken comrades, however, only seemed to drive the herd into deeper
depths of dumb, unreasoning madness. They pressed closer and closer to
the tree, trampling their dead and dying comrades unheedingly underfoot,
and the chorus of moaning grunts and clicking tusks sounded loud and
louder.
The blood-red stream of fire-ants was half-way down the tree by this
time, and Will was within a scant ten feet of the ground. The ants were
very close as he lowered himself another yard, then a foot lower, and a
foot beyond that, until the tusks of the plunging, leaping peccaries
beneath him nearly touched his shoes. Bracing his feet against the rough
trunk, he drew the little ax from his belt, and prepared to spring as
far out toward Jud's tree as possible, although his heart sank and the
flesh of his legs and thighs seemed to curl and chill as he looked out
upon the gleaming ring of sharp, slashing tusks among which he must
leap. Once downed by the herd, and he would be ripped to pieces before
he could regain his feet.
Jud by this time was on the ground, and was just about to shoot, in an
attempt to open a passage through the packed herd, when unexpected help
came from above.
Out of the dark depths of a near-by silk-cotton tree sprang with silent
swiftness a great black figure which gleamed in the half-light like
watered silk.
"Look out! Look out! The black tiger!" shouted Pinto, despairingly,
from his tree, having shot his last arrow into the frothing circle. Even
as he spoke, the "tiger," as the Indians call the jaguar, landed full on
the back and shoulders of the hindmost of the desperate, raging circle.
As he landed, the great cat struck one blow with that terrible full
stroke of a jaguar, which has been known to break the neck of an ox, and
the peccary, with a shrill squeal of terror, went down before the death
which haunts every peccary herd. At the squeal, the wild swine swung
away from the tree with an instantaneous rush. A jaguar is to a peccary
herd what the gray wolf is to the musk-ox of the north and the very life
of each member of the herd depends upon facing their foe. Upon the
instant, every peccary left the trees and hurried toward their dying
comrade.
Unfortunately for the jaguar, the force of his spring, added to the
impetus of his stroke, carried him too far, and for a moment he whirled
over in a half-somersault and was entangled among the vines. Those lost
seconds were fatal, in spite of all his strength and swiftness. Even as
he recovered his feet in a lithe whirl and flirted over one shoulder the
body of the dead peccary as a man might toss a rabbit, the death-ring
formed around him. Two deep, the maddened swine circled him. With a
deep, coughing roar, the tiger dropped his prey and struck with his
armed paws lightning-like blows that ripped the life out wherever they
landed. By this time, however, the peccaries were beyond all fear of
death, and a score of them dashed in upon him. Jud had involuntarily
leveled his automatic at the great brute as it struck the ground, but
lowered it with a grim laugh.
"He's fightin' for our lives as well as his own," he called quietly to
Will, as the latter reached the ground and slipped unnoticed past the
heaving, tossing, fighting circle of peccaries. In another minute the
boy had gained the safety of Jud's tree and gripped the old man's hand
between his own.
"Let's stay here," said the old trapper, "an' see it out. We can climb
this tree if they come back, an' you'll never see a fight like this
again."
Even as he spoke, the circle bent in upon the great cat. With desperate
leaps, he tried to spring over its circumference; but each time it
widened out so that always in front and at his back and on both flanks
was a fence of sharp, slashing tusks. All around him lay dead peccaries
which had fallen before his incredibly rapid strokes; but now his dark,
gleaming skin was furrowed and slit with long bloody slashes where the
tusks of dead and dying boars had gone home. His strength ebbed with his
blood. Once more, with a deep, despairing roar, he struck with both
paws, killing a peccary at each blow. Then he staggered forward, and in
a minute was down!
Time and again his great jaws opened and closed, sinking fierce white
fangs deep through the skull or spine of some peccary, but at last only
a black heaving of the furious wild pigs could be seen. At times the
dark, desperate head of the dying tiger thrust its way out, only to fall
back, smothered and slashed. Amid a scene of brute rage and fury which
even Jud, old hunter as he was, had never imagined before, the little
party slipped shudderingly away and hastened back over the trail along
which they had come, nor ever stopped until they had reached the refuge
of the montaria. There they found the rest of the party peacefully
sleeping through the midday hours under a cool canopy of broad green
palm-leaves which Hen had thrown together. Professor Ditson was more
interested in their description of the black tiger than in any of the
other details of their adventure.
"It was the melanic type of the jaguar and very rare," he said
regretfully. "It was certainly unfortunate that you couldn't have
collected this one, for there is no specimen, living or dead, in any of
the zoölogical gardens or natural-history museums of the world."
"You see, Professor," explained Jud, "we were kind o' busy in keepin'
some seventy-five peccaries from collectin' us. What does 'melanic' mean
in American?"
"Any animal may develop either a black or a white type," Explained the
professor. "When black, it is called 'melanic'; when white, 'albino.'
You probably have seen black squirrels, muskrats, or skunks. They are
simply color-variations of the ordinary species. So this 'black tiger'
was only a jaguar which for some unknown reason happened to have a black
skin. These black examples," he continued, "are neither fiercer nor
larger than the ordinary kind, although generally considered so by
unscientific observers."
"What about some of those peccaries?" remarked Joe, practically. "Can't
we bring in one or two that Pinto killed for fresh meat?"
"No, sir," returned Jud, emphatically, "I wouldn't go back into that
black bit of woods for all the fresh peccary pork in South America."
It was Hen Pine who noted that Will had taken no part in the discussion,
and that he was flushed and feverish and suffering intensely from the
intolerable pain of the fire-ant bites.
"Honey, you come along with ol' Hen," he said soothingly, "an' he'll fix
you up so that you won't feel that fire-poison hurtin' any more."
Followed by Will, he led the way along the river-bank until they came to
a small, round-topped tree with intensely green leaves. With his
machete, Hen cut off several of the smaller branches. From the severed
ends a thick, brilliant red sap oozed.
"It's the dragon's-blood tree," he explained "an' its juice makes the
best balm in the world for burns or stings."
As he spoke he rubbed the thick, gummy liquid gently on the swollen and
inflamed welts which the venomous bites of the fire-ants had raised on
Will's shoulders and back. Almost instantly the throbbing, rankling pain
stopped, and there came such a feeling of grateful coolness that Will
told Hen it was almost worth the pain of the bite to feel the relief of
the cure.
On the way back, Hen discovered another tree which brought the rest of
the party nearly as much pleasure as the dragon's-blood had given to
Will. It had long, glossy leaves, and a straight smooth trunk as large
around as a man's body, though it was only about twenty feet high. It
was loaded down with what looked like huge plums nearly the size of
muskmelons. Hen told Will that it was the wild papaw tree. The fruit was
delicious. When they brought back samples to the rest of the party,
there was a stampede to the place and the boat was soon loaded with the
luscious fruit.
As they explored the bank farther, Jud noticed that Hen was constantly
chewing the dark green leaves of the wild cinnamon, which grew
abundantly and had a spicy, pleasant smell like the well-known bark of
that name. Without saying anything to Hen, the old man picked several
and sampled them. Unfortunately for him, it takes prolonged practice to
be able to chew wild cinnamon with any degree of comfort. As the
fragrant fiery juice touched Jud's tongue and gums he gasped, the tears
ran from his eyes as if he had swallowed red pepper, and he spat out the
burning leaves emphatically.
"You must have a leather-lined mouth," he remarked to the grinning
negro.
A little later, Hen added insult to the injury of the old trapper. They
had come to a small tree loaded down with little round, rosy, fruit.
"That what you need, Mars' Jud," Hen assured him.
Thinking that it was perhaps a smaller edition of the papaw tree, Jud
trustingly sank his teeth into one of the little spheres, only to find
it bitter as gall.
"What do you mean by tellin' me I need anything that tastes like that,"
he howled.
"I didn't say for you to _eat_ it," laughed the black giant. "I say you
needed it. That tree the soap-tree," and Hen pointed to Jud's grimy
hands suggestively.
"I guess we all need it," interrupted Will, tactfully, before Jud could
express his indignation further.
Picking handfuls of the little fruit, each one of the party dipped his
hands into a pool near the river bank. The waxy surface of the rosy
balls dissolved in a froth of lather which left their hands as clean and
white as the best of soap could have done.
As the day waned and the coolness of the late afternoon stole through
the heat, the montaria was again loosed from the bank. All that night,
under the light of another glorious full moon, they traveled fast and
far. At last, just as the sun rose, there sounded a distant boom. It
became louder and louder until the air quivered and the dark surface of
the river showed here and there flecks and blobs of foam. Then, as they
swept around a bend in the black stream, there appeared before them a
sight of unearthly beauty not seen of white men for twice two hundred
years.