FEVER
In the _maloca_ of Monitaya a feast was in the making.
Fires glowed all about the great room. Hunters came in, bearing birds or
beasts which were placed before the tribal ruler for inspection and
approval. Fishermen armed with tridents or crude harpoons arrived with
sizable trophies of their skill. And at length two young bowmen advanced
proudly with a freshly killed wild hog. After glancing at this the chief
added to his usual nod a few words of praise which made the huntsmen
grin with all their pointed teeth.
Lourenço, squatting comfortably on a jaguar skin beside the lavishly
decorated hammock of Monitaya, carried on a lazy-toned monologue which
probably dealt with his various experiences since his last meeting with
these people and which appeared to interest and amuse the chief. The
others, lolling back in mingled fatigue and relief from tension, studied
the interior of the place and watched the activities around them.
As in the _maloca_ of Suba, the small forest of poles and hammocks
seemed a higgledy-piggledy maze wherein was neither beginning nor end.
Yet, as the newcomers took time to observe it, they presently found that
the confusion was only apparent and that there existed an efficient and
orderly arrangement. The hammocks, seemingly slung from any available
pair of poles in utter disregard of one another, really were arranged in
triangles. On the ground under the hanging beds lay woven grass mats and
hides of the sloth and the jaguar; and in the space inclosed by each
trio of hammocks burned a small fire. The hammocks were the beds of men,
the mats and furs the couches of women and children, and each fire was
the focal point of the family residing in that triangle.
Above the hammocks, from transverse poles, were suspended the weapons of
the men: the great bows, the long blowguns, the fighting spears whose
deadly points now were sheathed in thick scabbards of grass, the
unpoisoned fish spears and harpoons. From these poles also hung the
quivers of arrows and darts and the small rubber-covered pouches wherein
a little fresh poison was carried by warrior or hunter. Thus both the
ground and the air were utilized, and by the compactness of the
arrangement an entire family with its worldly goods, was enabled to live
in a comparatively small space. Looking around the wide room and
remembering the big half circle of Indians who had stood outside, the
two ex-officers estimated that in this tribal house and its twin dwelt
seven hundred people.
Tim and Pedro, less interested in the Mayoruna domestic economy than in
the Mayorunas themselves, were scanning the figures moving about in the
reddish haze of smoke. Most of them were women, all nude and naïvely
unconscious of any need of clothing. Like the men of the tribe, they
bore the red and black rings and streaks on face and body; but, unlike
the males, each wore a facial ornament in the shape of an oval piece of
wood thrust through the lower lip. From time to time those near by
glanced up from their work and gave the new men unmistakably friendly
looks--particularly several young but well-grown girls who obviously
were still unmated. In fact, these last smiled openly at the lithe,
handsome Pedro, and red Tim was by no means overlooked.
"I got me orders," said Tim, _sotto voce_, "and I'm danged if I crack a
smile back at them girls. But I sure feel like grinnin'. Watch yourself,
old-timer; they're tryin' to flirt with ye."
Pedro, mindful of watchful eyes, turned his gaze to Tim's face before
allowing himself to smile. Then he laughed.
"Do not fear," he said. "My heart is still my own."
"Same here. Specially when I remember these females would grin jest the
same if them club swingers had spattered our brains all over the front
yard awhile back. But I wisht sombody'd give the girls a nightie or
somethin' to wear. I been around some and I seen quite a lot, but I
ain't used to bein' vamped by a bunch of undressed kids with goo-goo
eyes the size of a plate o' fish balls. I'm only a bashful country kid
from N'Yawk."
"Live and learn," chuckled Pedro. "And clothes really have nothing to do
with modesty."
"True for ye. Clothes is mostly a disguise, anyhow, specially with
women, and an awful expense, besides. These guys are lucky, I'll say;
they 'ain't got to buy their wives no fur coats or silk stockin's or
nothin'. All the same, I got all I can do to hold me face straight when
I see these li'l owl-eyes givin' us the glad look. I'd oughter stayed
back in Remate de Males, where a feller can wink at a woman without
gittin' all his pardners massacreed."
"Perhaps it would not be fatal, now that we are guests of the chief. But
it is best to take no chances."
"Safety first. That's us. Grin at one of 'em and another might git sore
because she missed out, and first thing ye know ye've started somethin'
without meanin' to. Let's look at somethin' harmless--one o' them
poisoned spears, f'r instance."
At that moment Monitaya and Lourenço both arose, the chief to inspect in
person the progress of the arrangements for the feast, the bushman to
return to his companions with additional news.
"Monitaya tells me," he said, "that his people have lost girls in other
ways than by the murderous attacks of the gunmen. A number of young
women who have gone into the bush near their _malocas_ to get urucu and
genipapa, which they use to make the red and black body dyes, have
disappeared. So have several who went to the creeks for their daily
baths. Warriors who tried to trail them have found the footprints of a
few men, but always lost them at water. The girls had been taken away in
canoes. Even this tribe of Monitaya, which never has been attacked by
night raiders because it is too strong, has not been safe from these
stealthy woman stealings by daylight. Three girls have been taken from
here within the past two moons, and others have disappeared from other
_malocas_."
"Hm! And Schwandorf hasn't been here recently," said Knowlton.
"No. It must be that he has agents who work when he is not here, or else
this is done without his knowledge. I have told Monitaya what I know of
Schwandorf, and he agrees that the women are taken as slaves. I have
also told him that when we return down the river we shall see that
Schwandorf troubles the Mayorunas no more."
"Excellent," McKay approved. "Have you asked him about the Raposa?"
"Not yet. It does not pay to hurry business with these people. After the
feast is out of the way I will talk further with him."
No more was said for a time. The five lounged at ease, sniffing the
savory odors arising from the reddish clay pots and pans in which fruit,
fish, or fowl was frying in tapir lard, or meat was stewing. At length a
number of tall, shapely women, apparently the handsomest of their sex in
the tribe, laid a number of small mats in a semicircle on the ground
before the chief, and placed thereon a steaming array of edibles. Furs
were placed outside the line of mats. From somewhere appeared all four
of the subchiefs, accompanied by Yuara. Thereupon Monitaya, with a
smiling nod to his guests, squatted within the arc. Forthwith the
visitors advanced in a body, disposed themselves comfortably on the
furs, and assailed the viands with a vigor that brought a delighted grin
to the face of their barbaric host.
Fried bananas, tender fish, broiled parrot which was not so tender, a
thick stew of somewhat odorous meat seasoned with tart-tasting herbs,
roast wild hog, and other things at whose identity the whites could not
even guess, all were chewed and washed down with generous draughts of a
rather sour liquid resembling beer. Remembering Lourenço's previous
warning, each man took care not to slight any portion of the meal or to
show distaste with anything, whether it pleased the palate or not.
Throughout the feast the tall women hovered near, bringing fresh
supplies whenever a dearth of any edible appeared to threaten. And when
at last the feasters were full to repletion Monitaya himself designated
what he considered titbits to tempt them further.
"Gosh! if I eat any more I'll bust, and I'm danged if I'll bust jest to
satisfy this guy," asserted Tim. Wherewith he put one hand under his jaw
and patted his stomach with the other, signifying that he was filled to
the throat. Pedro lifted his elbows, dropped his jaw, and made motions
as if gasping for air. The chieftain grinned widely. The grin became a
chuckling when Tim, after a vain attempt to rise, lay back at full
length on his rug and begged some one to make a cigarette.
"Guess I'll have to follow Tim's example," confessed Knowlton. And he
too stretched out. Pedro and Lourenço also sprawled back. McKay, after
glancing around, compromised with his dignity by leaning on one elbow.
The subchiefs and Yuara, with slight smiles, relaxed in various
postures. Monitaya alone arose--not without some difficulty--and got
into his hammock, where he beamed down at them.
"Suppose this is a compliment to the chief," smiled McKay. "He thinks he
has eaten us helpless."
"Speakin' for li'l old Tim Ryan, that ain't no joke, neither. Lookit all
the girls givin' us the laff. Who are them tall ones that's been rushin'
the grub? Waitresses or somethin'?"
"Those are the chief's wives," Lourenço explained.
"Huh? Gosh! he's one brave guy, that feller! Two--four--six--eight--nine
of 'em! Swell lookers, too. I s'pose he has his pick o' the whole crowd
here."
"He does not have to pick them Senhor Tim. They pick him. He and the
subchiefs are the only ones who can take more than one wife. When a girl
wishes to become the wife of the great chief or of a subchief, she works
for months making feather dresses and necklaces and hammocks, and when
these are done she gives them all to him. If he likes her well enough he
accepts the gifts and allows her to be a wife to him."
"Yeah? And she's flattered to death, I s'pose. Wisht they'd start
somethin' like that up home, or, anyways, fix it so's a feller could get
an even break. Way it is now, a feller blows in every dollar he's got,
and then when he's fixin' to git the ring the girl leaves him flat for
some other guy that 'ain't spent his dough yet. Yo-ho-hum! I'm goin' to
take a snooze right there on the table. Wake me up, somebody, when the
next mess call blows."
And with no further ado he shut his eyes and drowsed.
His companions lolled for some time, smoking and watching the family
life of the ordinary members of the tribe, nodding now and then to some
friendly-looking young fellow, but ignoring the mischievous glances of
the girls. Monitaya himself lay back in his hammock and dozed. His
wives, stepping nonchalantly among the strangers, cleared away the
remnants of the feast by the simple process of eating them. Then they
carried off the clay vessels.
For another hour all hands rested. Then Monitaya sat up, stretched his
big arms, looked casually around the house to see that all was well, and
smiled down at his guests. Lourenço, rising to a squat, began a new
conversation. After a while he turned to McKay.
"The Red Bones and the Mayorunas are neither friendly nor hostile toward
each other, and there is little communication between them," he
reported. "From those _malocas_ to the town of the Red Bones is a
journey of five long days, so the men of Monitaya hardly ever go there.
"The Raposa whom we seek is known to the men of Monitaya, but he never
has come here to the tribal houses. Hunters from this place have met him
at times roving the wild forests, and some of the younger men fear him
as the bad spirit of the jungle. The Mayorunas believe in two spirits or
demons, one good and one bad, and the bad one is said to roam the
wilderness, seeking lone wanderers, whom he kills and eats; the people
sometimes hear this demon howling at night in the dark of the moon. So
the young men have thought the Raposa might be this demon and have
avoided him--it would do no good to try to kill a demon, and it would
only make their own deaths more sure and horrible.
"But the older men do not believe this. They say the wild man is of the
Red Bone people, and that the reason why his bones are marked in red on
his living body is that he is neither alive nor dead. If he were dead
his body would be thrown into the water and left there until his bones
were stripped by those cannibal fish, the piranhas, and then the bones
would be dyed red and hung up in his hut, as is the custom among those
people. If he were alive like other men he would not have those marks on
his body, but would wear only the tribal face paint. The bone paint on
him is a sign to all the _Ossos Vermelhos_ that he is alive, but dead,
and is not to be treated like other men."
"Crazy!" exclaimed Knowlton.
"Yes. I think that is it. His body lives, but his mind is dead. Death in
life."
"Has he been seen lately?"
The Brazilian repeated the question in the Indian tongue. The chief
looked toward a certain hammock some distance off, called a name, raised
an imperative hand. A slender savage came forward. To him the chief
spoke, then to Lourenço, who, as usual, relayed his information.
"This young hunter saw him six days ago while following a wild-hog trail
far out in the bush toward the Red Bone region. He came on the fresh
track of a man who was following the same hogs, and later he caught up
with that man. It was the red-boned wild man, and the wild man was very
lame, having a hurt foot. They stood and looked at each other, and then
the wild man walked away, watching him closely and ready to shoot with
his bow. After he disappeared in the forest this hunter heard a long,
shrill laugh and words that sounded like 'Podavi.'"
"Podavi--Poor Davy!" ejaculated Knowlton. "That's he, sure enough! Then
he's near his own town now--he won't go far with a bad foot. We'd better
move as soon as we can. Ask about an escort."
Once more the bushman conversed with Monitaya. The ruler's smile
disappeared. For some time he sat gazing out over the heads of all,
evidently weighing matters in his mind. When he responded, however, it
was without hesitation.
"There is neither friendliness nor enmity between the two peoples, as
has been said," Lourenço stated. "Our business among the Red Bones is
our own affair, not that of Monitaya, and Monitaya will make no requests
for us. But in order that we may go safely and return without harm he
will send with us twenty of his best men. These men will have orders to
protect us at all times, unless fighting is caused by our making a
needless attack on the Red Bones. In that case the Mayorunas will do
nothing to help us. They will only defend themselves."
"Fair enough!" nodded McKay. "Tell him we'll start no fight. If any
trouble comes it will be from the other fellows. We'll leave here
to-morrow morning."
Lourenço translated the promise into Mayoruna. But the chief seemed not
to hear. His eyes had narrowed and were fixed on the face of Tim, who
still lay on his back and was giving no attention to what went on.
Following his look, the bushman gazed critically at the red-haired man.
Tim's florid face had paled. His mouth was drawn and his eyes stared
straight up, wide and glassy. Slowly he rolled his head from side to
side.
"Gee! Cap," he whispered, hoarsely, "I et too much. My head aches so I'm
fair blind, and I'm burnin' up. Gimme some water."
With a swift, simultaneous movement McKay and Knowlton put their hands
on his forehead. Lourenço and Pedro leaned closer and peered into his
face. All four glanced at one another. Pedro nodded. His lips silently
formed one dread word:
"Fever!"