THE PATHLESS TRAIL
by
ARTHUR O. FRIEL
New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers
Made in the United States of America
THE PATHLESS TRAIL
Copyright, 1922, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
TO
THE MEMORY OF
MY FATHER
GEORGE WILLIAM FRIEL
CONTENTS
I. SONS OF THE NORTH
II. AT SUNDOWN
III. THE VOICE OF THE WILDS
IV. THE GERMAN
V. INTO THE BUSH
VI. IN THE NIGHT WATCH
VII. COLD STEEL
VII. THE DOUBLE-CROSS
IX. FIDDLERS THREE
X. BY THE LIGHT OF STORM
XI. OUT OF THE AIR
XII. THE ARROW
XIII. THE WAY OF THE JUNGLE
XIV. A DUEL WITH DEATH
XV. THE CANNIBALS
XVI. BLACKBEARD
XVII. FEVER
XIX. FRUIT OF THE TRAP
XIX. THE RED BONES
XX. THE RAPOSA
XXI. SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT
XXII. THE SIREN OF WAR
XXIII. STRATEGY
XXIV. THE BATTLE OF THE TRIBES
XXV. THE PASSING OF SCHWANDORF
XXVI. PARTNERS
THE PATHLESS TRAIL
CHAPTER I.
SONS OF THE NORTH
Three men stood ankle deep in mud on the shore of a jungle river,
silently watching a ribbon of smoke drift and dissolve above the somber
mass of trees to the northwest.
Three men of widely different types they were, yet all cradled in the
same far-off northern land. The tallest, lean bodied but broad
shouldered, black of hair and gray of eye, held himself in soldierly
fashion and gazed unmoved. His two mates--one stocky, red faced and red
headed; the other slender, bronzed and blond--betrayed their thoughts in
their blue eyes. The red man squinted quizzically at the smoke feather
as if it mattered little to him where he was. The blond watched it with
the wistfulness of one who sees the last sign of his own world fade out.
Behind them, at a respectful distance, a number of swarthy individuals
of both sexes in nondescript garments smoked and stared at the trio with
the interest always accorded strangers by the dwellers of the Out
Places. They eyed the uncompromising back of the tall one, the easy
lounge of the red one, the thoughtful attitude of the light one. The
copper-faced men peered at the rifles hanging in the right hands of the
newcomers, their knee boots, khaki clothing, and wide hats. The women
let their eyes rove over the boxes and bundles reposing in the mud
beside the three.
"_Ingles?_" hazarded a woman, speaking through the stem of the black
pipe clutched in her filed teeth.
"_Notre-Americano_," asserted a man, nodding toward the broad hats.
"Englishmen would wear the round helmets of pith."
"_Mercadores?_ Traders?" suggested the woman, hopefully running an eye
again over the bundles.
"_Exploradores_," the man corrected. "Explorers of the bush. Have you no
eyes? Do you not see the guns and high boots?"
The woman subsided. The others continued what seemed to be their only
occupation--smoking.
The smoke streamer in the north vanished. As if moved by the same
impulse, the three strangers turned their heads and looked
south-westward, upriver. The red-haired man spoke.
"So we've lit at last, as the feller said when him and his airyplane
landed in a sewer. Faith, I dunno but he was better off than us, at
that--he wasn't two thousand miles from nowheres like we are. The
steamer's gone, and us three pore li'l' boys are left a long ways from
home."
Then, assuming the tone of a showman, he went on:
"Before ye, girls, ye see the well known Ja-va-ree River, which I never
seen before and comes from gosh-knows-where and ends in the Ammyzon.
Over there on t'other side the water is Peru. Yer feet are in the mud of
Brazil. This other river to yer left is the Tickywahoo--"
"Tecuahy," the blond man corrected, grinning.
"Yeah. And behind ye is the last town in the world and the place that
God forgot. What d'ye call this here, now, city?"
"Remate de Males. Which means 'Culmination of Evils.'"
"Yeah. It looks it. Wonder if it's anything like Hell's Kitchen, up in
li'l' old N'Yawk."
They turned and looked dubiously at the town--a row of perhaps seventy
iron-walled and palm-roofed houses set on high palm-trunk poles, each
with its ladder dropping from the doorway to the one muddy street. Then
spoke the tall man.
"Before you see it again, Tim, you'll think it's quite a town. Above
here is nothing but a few rubber estates, seven hundred miles of unknown
river, and empty jungle."
"Empty, huh? Then they kidded us on the boat. From what they said it's
fair crawlin' with snakes and jaggers and lizards and bloody vampires
and spiders as big as yer fist. And the water is full o' man-eatin' fish
and the bush full o' man-eatin' Injuns. If that's what ye call empty,
Cap, don't take me no place where it's crowded."
A slight smile twitched the set lips of the tall "cap."
"They're all here, Tim, though maybe not so thick as you expect. Lots of
other things too. Who's this?"
Through the knot of pipe-puffing idlers came a portly coppery man in
uniform.
"Well, I'll be--Say, he's the same chap who came onto the boat in a
police uniform. Now he's in army rig," the light-haired member of the
trio exclaimed. "O Lordy! I've got it! He's the police force and the
army! The whole blooming works! Ha!"
Tim snickered and stepped forward.
"Hullo, buddy!" he greeted. "What's on yer mind?"
"_Boa dia_, senhor," responded the official, affably. With the words he
deftly slipped an arm around Tim's waist and lifted the other hand
toward his shoulder. But that hand stopped short, then flew wildly out
into the air.
Tim gave a grunt and a heave. The official went skidding and slithering
six feet through the mud, clutching at nothing and contorting himself in
a frantic effort to keep from sprawling in the muck. By a margin thin as
an eyelash he succeeded in preserving his balance and stood where he
stopped, amazement and anger in his face.
"Lay off that stuff!" growled Tim, head forward and jaw out. "If ye want
trouble come and git it like a man, not sneak up with a grin and then
clinch. Don't reach for no knife, now, or I'll drill ye--"
"Tim!" barked the black-haired one. "Ten-_shun_!"
Automatically Tim's head snapped erect and his shoulders went back. He
relaxed again almost at once. But in the meantime the tall man had
stepped forward and faced the raging representative of the government of
Brazil.
"Pardon, comrade," he said with an engaging smile. "My friend is a
stranger to Brazil and not acquainted with your manner of welcome. In
our own country men never put the arm around one another except in
combat. He has been a soldier. You are a soldier. So you can understand
that a fighting man may be a little abrupt when he does not understand."
The smile, the apology, and most of all the subtle flattery of being
treated as an equal by a man whose manner betokened the North American
army officer, mollified the aggrieved official at once. The hot gleam
died out of his eyes. Punctiliously he saluted. The salute was as
punctiliously returned.
"It is forgotten, Capitao. As the capitao says, we soldiers are
sometimes overquick. I come to give you welcome to Remate de Males. My
services are at your disposal."
"We thank you. Why do you call me capitao?"
"My eyes know a capitao when they see him."
"But this is not a military expedition, my friend. Nor are any of us
soldiers now--though we all have been."
"Once a capitao, always a capitao," the Brazilian insisted. Then he
hinted: "If the capitao and his friends wish to call upon the
superintendente they will find him in the intendencia, the blue building
beyond the hotel. It will soon be closed for the day."
The tall American's keen gray eyes roved down the street to the
weather-beaten house whose peeling walls once might have been blue. He
nodded shortly.
"Better go down there," he said. "Come on, Merry. Tim, stick here and
keep an eye on the stuff. And don't start another war while we're gone."
"Right, Cap." Tim deftly swung his rifle to his right shoulder. "I'll
walk me post in a military manner, keepin' always on the alert and
observin' everything that takes place within sight or hearin', accordin'
to Gin'ral Order Number Two. There won't be no war unless somebody
starts somethin'. Hey, there, buddy, would ye smoke a God's-country
cigarette if I give ye one?"
"_Si_," grinned the soldier-policeman, all animosity gone. And as the
other two men tramped away through the mud they also grinned, looking
back at the North and the South American pacing side by side in
sentry-go, blowing smoke and conversing like brothers in arms.
"Tim likes to remember his 'general orders,' but he's forgotten Number
Five," laughed the blond man.
"Five? 'To talk to no one except in line of duty.' Don't need it here,
Merry."
"Nope. The _entente cordiale_ is the thing. Here's hoping nobody makes
Tim remember his 'Gin'ral Order Number Thirteen' while we're gone, Rod."
He of the black hair smiled again as his mate, mimicking Tim's gruff
voice, quoted:
"'Gin'ral Order Number Thirteen: In case o' doubt, bust the other guy
quick.'"