THE WILD PATAGONIANS
“Captain Fenlick, I want to know what this outrage means?” began the
young owner of the Arrow.
“Do you? All right, then. It means that I am now master of the Arrow
and that you are my prisoners.”
“Do you know that you may be hanged for your actions?”
“Bah! If that is what you want to talk about I’ll leave you at once.”
“What do you intend to do with us?”
“That depends upon how you behave. If you cut up too bad we’ll make
every mother’s son of you walk the plank.”
“And otherwise----”
“We’ll put you ashore soon and give you a chance for your lives.”
“Ashore! Where?” put in Bob.
“Somewhere at Tierra del Fuego.”
“Among the wild Patagonians!” ejaculated Captain Gordon. “They would
kill us at once!”
“You will have to fight your way back to civilization,” said Captain
Fenlick, with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Are you going on in search of the treasure ship?” asked Barry.
“To be sure.”
“You are carrying matters with a high hand.”
“I am going to get square with you.”
“Your plan may fail.”
“If I fail to find the treasure ship I’ll still own the Arrow.”
“How did you escape from prison?”
“That is my business.”
“Will you let us come on deck? The air is very bad down here.”
“Can’t help it. I won’t trust you on deck.”
“Then give us another can of fresh water,” put in Bob.
“No more water until to-morrow.”
“You’re a brute!”
“Shut up, boy, unless you want to be shot down where you stand.”
With these words Captain Fenlick leaped up, replaced the hatch and
stalked off, leaving them once more in darkness.
“We are in a pickle, truly,” was Barry’s comment.
“Captain Fenlick’s heart is like flint,” said Bob. “I wish I had him
down here. I’d soon wring his neck for him.”
Four days passed, and during that time the steam yacht made rapid
progress southward.
The prisoners received a scanty supply of food and drink, brought to
them by the negro, who had now sobered up and taken his place as cook
on board.
On the fifth day two of the sailors from the forecastle were lowered
into the hold.
They were still weak from their wounds, but on the way to recovery.
They said that Logger had joined the pirates and that another tar named
Fargon was dead, and his body had been thrown overboard.
Then a dreary week went by.
Bob and Barry knew not what to do with themselves.
They tried by every means in their power to escape from the hold, and
the others did their best to aid them.
Yet it was all useless, and they remained prisoners as before.
At last the Arrow approached the wild-looking coast of Patagonia and
ran into a little bay surrounded by tall tropical trees and bushes.
Captain Fenlick went ashore to find the bay practically deserted.
“This will do for our purpose,” he said to Caven. “We’ll put them
ashore here, and no one will ever be the wiser.”
The hatch was opened, and a rope ladder was lowered.
“Come up, one at a time,” said Captain Fenlick. “And mind, no
treachery, if you value your lives.”
One after another the prisoners came up.
They were covered by pistols in the hands of the pirates, and each had
to submit to having his hands again bound behind him.
Then the prisoners were taken ashore, two at a time, and compelled to
line up on the beach.
When the last of the prisoners were ashore, Captain Fenlick stood up in
the stern of the rowboat and waved them a mocking adieu.
“Good luck to you!” he cried. “You’re a long way from home, but I
reckon walking is good.”
“Won’t you let us have at least one pistol or a gun?” asked Barry.
“No.”
“Let us have a few matches,” put in Bob.
“I’ll let you have nothing,” growled Captain Fenlick.
The prisoners said no more, and soon the rowboat was on its return to
the Arrow.
A few minutes later the steam yacht pulled up anchor, the screw began
to turn, and in a quarter of an hour the craft was out of sight behind
a headland to the southward.
“Stranded!” muttered Bob.
“Marooned!” muttered Captain Gordon. “Boys, we are in a bad fix.”
“Untie me,” said Barry. “This cord is cutting the wrists off of me.”
He was quickly released, as were all of the others. Then they could not
help but stare at one another, helplessly.
Their condition was certainly one not to be envied. Here they were, on
an unknown coast, miles and miles from civilization, with no food, no
firearms, and not even a match with which to build a fire.
“First of all we had better arm ourselves,” said Barry, after they had
talked over the situation for some time. “Who knows but what in the
forest behind us there may be wild animals ready to chew us up.”
“Mine cracious, ton’t say dot!” cried Stults, with a shiver. “I ton’t
vont to see no ellefunts or tigers.”
“Or serpents!” put in one of the sailors. “Gosh, but that forest don’t
look very inviting, does it?”
It certainly did not. The trees were tall, the tropical vines thick,
and underneath the ground was black and boggy.
“Well, we can’t remain here and starve,” said Bob, after each had
provided himself with a stick or a club. “Let us move on to somewhere.
Perhaps we’ll strike some friendly natives.”
“And perhaps we’ll strike some that are not friendly,” put in Barry.
Yet he was as willing to move as anybody, and soon the party was on the
march.
They turned southward, for to the north and west the ground was so
boggy they felt sure it must lead to a regular swamp. They tramped on
for perhaps a mile when Captain Gordon, who was in the lead, called a
sudden halt.
“A noise ahead,” he announced. “I don’t know what it is.”
They waited and heard the noise quite plainly.
Then of a sudden an arrow whizzed through the air, followed by a squeal
of pain from a wild hog.
“Somebody is out hunting!” cried Barry, and at that moment a native
came into view, a tall Patagonian, dressed in skins and carrying a bow
eight feet long.
The native saw them almost at the same time that they discovered him,
and he stopped short for a full minute to gaze at them as if they were
ghosts.
Then, as Captain Gordon advanced toward the Patagonian, the fellow
turned and fled, yelling at the top of his voice as he did so.
“He’s scared,” said Bob, with a short laugh. “Reckon he has never seen
a white man before.”
“He killed the hog,” said one of the sailors, as the dead animal was
brought into view. “Now, Stults, if you only had a fire and a kettle
you could give us a good dinner.”
“Let us follow the native and take the hog along,” said Barry. “He may
prove a friend, if once he gets to know us.”
The hog was turned over on his back, and four of the party took hold of
the legs, and thus they moved on again, in the direction the native had
taken.
But though they tramped for several hours they saw nothing of the
Patagonian.
Reaching a little clearing on something of a hill they came to a halt,
too exhausted to go another step.
They slacked their thirst at a near-by pool of water, but there was
nothing at hand to eat but the hog meat, and no one cared to devour
that raw.
“I’m going to try an experiment,” said Barry, and gathered some
cotton-like pods which were growing near. These he picked apart and
dried thoroughly, and then laid the mass on the edge of a sharp rock.
After this he took off his well-worn shoe and began to scrape the nails
of the heel over the rock. The sparks flew right and left, and by
blowing he soon caught a tiny flame.
“Hurrah!” shouted Bob, and gathered some dry brushwood. Soon they had a
roaring fire, and then all set to work literally to tear the hog meat
apart for cooking.
It was slow work, but they were too starved to give up, and at last
they had a large chunk of the hog meat roasted, and all fell to and ate
their fill.
“Never ate anything sweeter in my life,” said Captain Gordon, and the
others agreed with him.
It was now growing dark, and they resolved to camp on the spot over
night.
They drew lots as to who should remain on guard, and the duty fell to
Bob and one of the sailors, each to watch four hours on a stretch.
Bob’s four hours passed without anything unusual happening. He was very
sleepy, and he was glad enough to turn in when relieved.
It was just growing light when the sailor who was on guard awoke the
camp with a wild shout.
“The Indians are on us!”
One after another leaped to his feet and gazed about him. The guard was
right. Around the camp was a circle of wild Patagonians, each native
armed with a bow and arrow, and many of the arrows were pointed at the
Americans!