A FAMILIAR VOICE
“What is it, Joaquim?” asked the old man.
Joaquim’s tongue loosed in rapid-fire Portuguese for fully two minutes.
Felice sat tense, her hands clenching the tablecloth and her face
noticeably pale. And the old man, though apparently quite calm, had two
patches of color that came and went at intervals in his bony cheeks.
When the Indian had finished Old Marcellus stood up, talked crisply in
Portuguese, then dismissed the servant. That done, he turned to Hal.
“Just some visitors, young man,” he said courteously. “You will excuse
me?”
“Of course,” Hal said smiling. “I’ve been taking up your time too long
anyhow.”
“No doubt you feel fatigued still?” Felice asked in a strained manner.
Hal was not a little surprised but he managed to conceal it.
“I can always sleep, Miss Felice,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s why
I’ve grown up to be such a big boy.”
She giggled, but grew instantly serious as he said goodnight. Old
Marcellus bowed gravely and showed almost too palpably that he would
feel immensely relieved when his guest was gone to his hut.
Hal felt the situation as one of his temperament feels
everything—_intensely_. He knew that there was some deep, underlying
motive for the strange behavior of his host and hostess. Too, he knew
that the sudden visitors whom Joaquim announced must have given them
cause for deep concern.
“But then that’s their business,” Hal told himself as he strolled toward
the hut. “Why should it have anything to do with me? It’s been said that
every family keeps a skeleton or two hidden in the closet. Maybe this is
the night that the Pembertons are letting theirs out for a walk.”
Hal had quite forgotten the incident by the time he got into his hammock
and under the net so solicitously provided by Joaquim. He was sleepier
than he realized and after smoking another of Old Marcellus’ Brazilian
cigarettes, he closed his eyes willingly.
He thought over all that had happened during the day, particularly his
meeting with Felice. He liked saying her name aloud. There was something
soft and soothing in the sound. He thought of her frailness and thin,
pinched cheeks and immediately he wanted to do something for her that
would make her look bright and healthy, not sad and weary-looking as he
visualized her then.
He had a mind picture of her laughing along some unfrequented trail in
Ramapo, whose picturesque hills took on its winter cloak when the Amazon
was at its highest temperature. She would look pretty, he decided, when
the wind blew hardest and the snow flew thickest. There wasn’t the
slightest doubt about it—Felice belonged in Ramapo and he determined to
tell her so.
Suddenly his thoughts switched to the immediate present. His uncle would
soon hear that he was safe, and so would his mother. At last! His next
move was to start back for _Manaos_. But as he had been gone this long
he could defer it a few days, as long as no one was worrying about him.
The Pembertons interested him too much to leave right off. He chuckled.
The Pembertons? Why fool himself! It was Felice who interested him and
he knew that it was especially so because of the glamour of mystery
surrounding her life in the wilderness.
In any event, he was inspired to do something manly and adventurous for
this frail wilderness flower. And to sleep he went, with this generous
and noble desire making peaceful his deep slumber.
That it was deep, Joaquim witnessed when he crept stealthily under the
doorway of the hut of their honored guest. Soundlessly he stole up to
Hal’s hammock and listened intently for fully five minutes to his soft,
even breathing. Then, with a satisfied air, the Indian stole out again.
Hal, however, being temperamental, was often disturbed by another’s mere
presence. It was so in this case, for he was awake and sitting up in his
hammock before Joaquim’s stealthy figure had cleared the doorway. And
though he was still dazed, he knew that the Indian’s presence was a sign
that Old Marcellus and his granddaughter were up to something.
Hal got into his clothes in a minute and crept cautiously toward the
door. He stood and listened there before he emerged and even then put
out his head and looked about carefully.
There was no sound except the low murmur of voices from Pemberton’s hut.
He could not distinguish them at all and proceeded to move further out
into the clearing when he suddenly saw Joaquim’s squat figure move out
of the shadows and down toward the river.
Hal moved noiselessly up to the Pemberton hut and drew close into its
protecting shadows. Old Marcellus was talking in even tones, calm and
distinct.
“Yes,” he was saying, “this used to be a _Pallida_ settlement. Why do
you ask, Señor?”
“Curiosity, Señor Pemberton,” said a soft, purring voice. “And your son,
his canoe, his camp was found here—no?”
“Yes. But surely you heard the story many times.”
“Not so thoroughly as I heard it lately, Señor. And the _Pallidas_ they
did not come back to claim their settlement?”
“No,” answered Old Marcellus. “It’s their custom not to reclaim a
settlement once they’re driven off by a white man. They have a
reputation for superstition you know.”
“But your son, he drove them off, eh?”
“Yes; he believed there was a lode somewhere here worth a fortune. But
poor man, he gave his life for that illusion. My grandson and I have
hunted the length and breadth of this clearing in vain.”
“Ah, but that is the way of life, eh, Señor? Now we must be going.”
“But did you come only to ask me about my poor lost son? Have you no
_message_?” Old Marcellus asked anxiously.
“None, Señor. Perhaps when next I come. _Adios!_”
Hal waited to hear no more and scooted back to the shadow of his
doorway. Soon he saw the dark figures of men emerging from Pemberton’s
hut and he heard the soft whisper of voices. Old Marcellus he
distinguished by his white, silvery hair, but the rest he could not make
out. Besides, Joaquim’s squat body came wobbling up from the river and
escorted the two short visitors back to the bank.
Hal was puzzled, yet he could not help feeling that there was something
familiar looking about the pair. Certainly, somewhere he had heard the
speaker’s voice inside the hut. That soft, slow purring....