THE CANNIBALS
Through the long, dim shadows of early morning the little column passed
on the last leg of its journey to the _maloca_ of Suba, chief of this
outlying tribe of the Mayorunas. At its head marched Yuara, his left arm
incased in bandages, his face drawn and pallid, his stride stiff and
springless, but still carrying his weapons and stoically setting the
pace as befitted the son of a subchief. He had had no sleep; he had lain
in the gates of death; his arm ached cruelly; yet a warm glow shone in
his hollow eyes as he reflected on the fact that in all the unwritten
history of his people he was the first man to survive the inexorable
power of the wurali. As long as he lived this fact would lift him above
the level of all his fellows. Even the chief could not boast of such a
superhuman feat.
The undergrowth this morning was not so thick as it had been, and the
machetes of Lourenço and Pedro stayed in their sheaths. The ground, too,
was more level and the footing more firm. After some three hours of
walking the Americans found that they had come into a faint path.
Somewhat to the bewilderment of the white men, who expected the Indians
to increase their speed now that the way home lay under their feet, the
leading pair slowed their gait. Moreover, they scanned the trail with
intent care and watched the trees along the way. At length, with a
warning grunt, Yuara stepped out of the path and began a detour. His
comrade and the Brazilians followed. The Americans stopped.
"What's the idea?" demanded McKay, looking along the innocent-appearing
path.
"Probably a man trap, Capitao," answered Pedro. "Follow us."
"Let's see the trap first."
Lourenço called to Yuara, who stopped and grunted two words.
"_Si_, it is a trap. A pit, Yuara says."
Yuara spoke again, and Lourenço added: "He says we must not touch it. It
is there just before you, covered so cunningly that it looks exactly
like the rest of the ground. The cover is a framework of sticks balanced
on a pole, and the instant a man steps on it it gives way. He falls into
a nine-foot hole whose sides are dug inward, so that they overhang above
him. There the cannibals find him and kill him. I fell into one of those
holes when I first came into this Mayoruna country, so I know just how
they are made."
"So? How did you get out?"
"There were two of us, and I stood on the other man's shoulders while he
lifted me high enough to jump out. Then I tied bush rope to a tree and
he climbed up the rope. Come. Yuara waits."
After a short circuit around the danger point the party returned to the
path, and as they went on Lourenço explained further concerning the pit:
"Every approach to the _malocas_ has this kind of trap hidden in it, and
others also. The Indians recognize the places by some secret signal
known only to themselves--a certain kind of stick or vine or something
of the kind, placed where it can be seen by those who understand. The
traps are made to stop any enemies who try to sneak up on the _malocas_
and catch these people unawares. Another kind of trap is a spring bow or
a blowgun shot by a vine stretched across the path. Still another is a
piece of ground studded with poisoned araya bones which pierce the bare
feet of anyone walking on them. It is well for us that we now have
friendly guides."
"Quite so," McKay agreed, dryly.
Some distance farther on the leader again left the path, and this time
all filed after him without comment. Pedro pointed significantly at a
thin, tight-drawn bush cord stretched across the path at the height of a
man's ankle--the trigger which would discharge hidden death at anything
touching it. At another point, perhaps a hundred feet farther along, a
third and last detour was made, and this time the nature of the trap was
not revealed by anything on the ground. No questions were asked.
With the passing of these three menaces Yuara resumed his former pace
and abandoned his circumspection. Before long came sounds of communal
life--the barking of a dog and shouts of children. Then suddenly the
forest thinned, and after a few more strides the marchers found
themselves in a clearing.
Before them rose a big round house, about forty feet high and a hundred
feet in diameter, its sides composed of palm logs, and its roof a thick
thatch of palm leaves, whence smoke oozed lazily through an opening at
the peak. A single low door, not more than four feet high, opened toward
a creek a few rods away at the right. Near this doorway a couple of
naked children, boy and girl, were playing with the dog, while beyond
them a number of women, also nude, were busy at some kind of work.
As Yuara and his fellow-tribesmen entered the open space the boy shouted
a greeting and started running toward them. Then, seeing the white men
filing from the bush behind the warriors, the youngster stood as if
shocked motionless. After one long stare he screamed and bolted for the
shelter of the _maloca_. Other screams echoed his as the women also saw
the bearded outlanders. They, too, dived through the doorway.
Out from behind the house leaped three warriors, two of whom already had
fitted arrows to their bows, while the third--a powerful
fellow--clutched a four-foot war club. Weapons raised, faces contracted
into fighting masks, they stared speechless at the spectacle of the
subchief's son calmly leading gun-bearing whites among them.
Knowlton, though his attention was riveted on the astonished warriors,
caught the quiet snick of Tim's safe-lock being turned off.
"None of that, Tim!" he warned. "Put that safety on again. And don't
hold your gun as if you intended to use it."
"Aw, I was jest tryin' her to make sure she was all right."
"Put it on!" snapped the lieutenant. Another tiny click told him the
order was obeyed.
Out from the doorway darted another warrior, stooping low to avoid
hitting his head. Others followed instantly, all armed and ready for
action. The opening was still vomiting tribesmen when Yuara and the rest
reached it. But none made a hostile move when it was seen that the son
of the subchief was in command and that the strangers seemed friendly.
Yuara spoke, briefly but authoritatively, and the weapons sank. Then,
with a word to his three companions, he ducked through the doorway. The
other three remained where they were.
"We shall have to wait now, comrades, until Yuara tells his father and
the chief about us," Lourenço said. "So let us take off our packs and
rest."
He set the example by laying his rifle on the ground, unslinging his
pack, squatting beside it, and coolly rolling a cigarette. Apparently he
was paying no attention whatever to the savages, who watched his every
move. But McKay, glancing at him as he followed suit, saw that, for all
his seeming unconcern, the Brazilian bush rover was keenly watchful and
that his gun lay within reach of his hand.
From within the tribal house sounded the monotonous voice of Yuara.
After listening a moment Lourenço quietly addressed the nearest warrior.
A slightly surprised looked passed over the cannibal's face. He replied,
and a slow conversation ensued.
Meanwhile the others looked over the array of savage fighting men.
Except for difference of stature, build, and expression, they were as
like as brothers. All were light skinned--hardly darker than the
river-tanned whites themselves; all had straight-set eyes, with no hint
of the slant often found among the Indians of the Amazon headwaters; and
the cheek bones of all were fairly low. Their average stature was a
little under six feet, and most of them had an athletic symmetry of
physique. Their feet, McKay noticed, were small and shapely.
All wore tall feather headdresses of parrot and mutum plumes. All had
the scarlet and black rings around the eyes, the streaks from temple to
chin, the wavy design on their bodies. And each wore in the cartilage of
his nose a pair of small feathers slanting outward. At another time and
under other circumstances the white men might have smiled at those nose
feathers, which resembled odd mustaches; but as they studied the austere
faces around them they found no occasion for merriment. Nor was the
tension lessened by the sight of the weapons grasped in the strong hands
of the warriors.
Great bows and arrows, such as the hunters had borne, were supplemented
here by the long clubs of heavy wood and by ugly spears. The clubs
terminated in balls studded with jaguar teeth. The spears were triple
pronged, each prong ending in a saw-toothed araya bone and each bone
darkened by the fatal wurali. Frightful weapons they were--the one
designed to smash skulls and tear out brains, the other to stab and
poison at the same thrust.
Lourenço stopped talking, and the others observed that now the wild men
stood more easily, their holds on their weapons loosened.
"I have shown them, Capitao, that I can speak their tongue, and told
them we go to visit the chief Monitaya as friend," he explained. "They
tell me Monitaya has grown great since last I saw him. Another tribe
which lost its chief and subchiefs by a swift sickness has joined his
own, and he now rules two big _malocas_ together. He is a powerful
fighter, and if he is friendly to us we have a good chance of success.
Ah! here is Yuara."
The son of the subchief came through the doorway as he spoke, followed
by an older man whose facial resemblance and ornaments indicated that he
was the subchief himself. His headgear was more elaborate than that of
his men, and around his shoulders and down his chest hung a brilliant
feather dress, while a wide belt of green, blue, and black plumes
encircled his hips. Yuara himself had inserted feathers in his nose and
donned a headband of tall parrot plumes a trifle more ornate than those
worn by the ordinary fighters, and somehow the simple addition seemed to
transform him into a bigger, fiercer man. Also, his eyes now held a
smoldering light which had not been there before.
The older man, Rana, the subchief, glanced swiftly along the line of new
faces. Then his gaze returned to McKay. His mouth set and his
countenance turned hard. He spoke curtly to Yuara, who replied with one
word. After another long, unpleasant look at McKay, who stared coldly
back at him, Rana grunted a few words and re-entered the house.
Lourenço, nonplussed by the frigidity of the subchief where he had
expected gratitude or at least hospitality, glanced questioningly at
Yuara. But the young man stood mute, looking straight ahead.
"The subchief says we shall enter and see the chief. We must leave our
guns outside."
"Don't like that," muttered McKay. "That subchief looks ugly."
"But we must obey or provoke a fight, Capitao. Besides, our rifles would
be useless inside, as they would be instantly seized if we lifted them.
So let us make the best of it. But I think you can carry your pistols
with you; they are covered by the holsters, and I do not believe these
people know what they are. And since Rana spoke only of guns, we will
keep our machetes. Come."
"Wait a second."
McKay dived a hand into his haversack and brought forth a heavy hunting
knife with a gaudy red-and-white bone handle, sheathed and attached to a
leather belt.
"Brought this along as a present for some Indian who might do us a good
turn," he explained. "Been thinking of giving it to Yuara, but now I'll
pass it to the chief. Might make a difference. All right, let's go."
With confident tread, but with some misgiving, the five advanced,
leaving guns and packs on the ground. One by one they bent low and got
through the doorway. Yuara, with a word to a clubman and a motion to the
equipment, followed the whites, trailed in turn by his three companions
of the forest. The clubman, after a curious inspection of the packs,
stood on guard among them, his bludgeon grasped loosely but
suggestively, ready to prevent any undue inquisitiveness by the rest.
But soon he found himself alone, for the other tribesmen transferred
their attention and themselves to the interior of the _maloca_.
Within the house the soldiers of fortune halted a moment, adjusting
their vision to the sudden diminution of light. Except for the sunshine
pouring in at the smoke hole above and at the tiny door behind, the only
light in the big room came from small cooking fires scattered about the
place, and for the moment details were withheld from the newcomers'
sight. Then they found themselves in what seemed a labyrinth of poles
and hammocks.
Through this confusion Yuara passed with familiar step, and in his wake
the travelers went to a central fire around which was a comparatively
clear space. Beyond, in a big hammock dyed with the symbolic scarlet and
black and tasseled with many squirrel tails, sat a fat, small-eyed,
heavy-jawed man whose elaborate feather dress and authoritative air
proclaimed him chief. Beside him stood Rana and another subchief, lean
and somber-faced. Behind this bulwark of tribal might huddled the women
and children, staring wide-eyed. As the visitors stopped and returned
the chief's unwinking regard the warriors packed themselves at their
backs, blocking all chance of exit.
When the shuffle of feet had died and no sound was audible, Yuara began
to talk. In his deliberate way he told the complete narrative of his
journey, which previously he had sketched only in outline. His three
companions corroborated his tale from time to time by nods, and when the
discovery of the slain hunter's bones was described one of those three
stepped forward and laid the dead man's weapons on the ground before the
chief. As Yuara went on he touched his bandaged arm and pointed to McKay
and Knowlton. And as he concluded he motioned toward Lourenço.
Ignorant of the Indian language, but guessing the nature of his talk
from his motions, the Americans stood patiently awaiting the next move.
For a time all three of the chiefs remained silent; but all of them
studied McKay, standing bolt upright with arms folded and the
belt-wrapped knife partly concealed in the hollow of one elbow. Though
it was evident that Yuara had given the captain full credit for saving
his life, the faces of the head men showed no sign of friendliness. In
fact, their expressions were distinctly ominous.
At length the chief turned his eyes to Lourenço. The veteran bushman
promptly stepped forward and said his say. At the end he turned, took
from McKay the knife, unrolled the belt, and dangled the weapon before
the eyes of the rulers. They stared at it in obvious ignorance of its
character. Not until the Brazilian drew the blade from its sheath and
the glint of steel struck their vision did they show recognition. Then
Chief Suba grunted, his little eyes lit up, and he reached for it.
For a few minutes he sat gloating over the gift, admiring the bone
handle, hefting the weight of the long blade, while the subchiefs gazed
in envy. When he looked up his face was beaming. But then the sour-faced
subchief at his left hand muttered something, and Suba's visage
darkened. His eyes rested again on McKay, went to the bandaged arm of
Yuara, dropped to his knife--the first steel knife ever owned by him or
any man of the Suba tribe--and rose again to the black-bearded captain.
Abruptly then he spoke out.
Lourenço stared in blank astonishment. After a puzzled moment he shook
his head as if unable to believe he had heard aright. Suba, scowling,
repeated what he had said. Lourenço shook his head again, this time in
vehement denial, and began to talk. But Suba, rising with surprising
agility for a man of his weight, stopped him imperiously and spoke with
finality. Slowly the Brazilian nodded and turned to his captain.
"I do not understand this, Capitao. But these are the words of the
chief:
"'The white man with the black beard tries a trick, but it does not
deceive the free men of the forest. The thing which he thinks to be
hidden in his own heart is known to Suba and his chiefs. It is known
also to the chief Monitaya, and to his chiefs, and to his men also. The
white man is bold. And now his own boldness shall be his death.
"'Since the white man has said he goes to visit the chief Monitaya, and
since by some demon's power the white man has saved the life of Yuara,
who is a man of Suba, the men of Suba will allow him to go in peace from
this place. But Suba will see that he and his companions go to Monitaya,
who will know how to deal with his visitors. The men of Suba will take
the strangers at once to the canoes and carry them to Monitaya.
"'If the white man of the black beard and the black mind thought the men
of the jungle blind to the foulness he would do here, he is a fool. It
is useless for him or his men to lie and say they know not what Suba
means. Let him look into his own heart and he will know well.
"'Suba has spoken.'
"Something is wrong, Capitao, but I do not know what it is. It will do
no good to argue. Let us go at once."
Suba snarled commands to the warriors. They trooped toward the door.
Without another word or glance at the three chiefs Lourenço stalked
after the Indians, and his comrades followed with stiff dignity.
Outside, the savages picked up the rifles and packs and carried them to
the creek, where small canoes lay. The five strangers were allowed to
crowd themselves together in a four-man canoe, but their guns and packs
were distributed among four other dugouts, into which armed paddlers
entered. Other Indians brought provisions to the outgoing craft. In a
very short time the leading canoe started off downstream, followed by
the boat of the white men, behind which the other craft pressed close
and vigilant.
They swung in among the trees, and the _maloca_ of Suba was blotted out.