THE RED BONES
Four days the expedition tramped steadily onward through the rugged
labyrinthine hills. Four nights its members slept in utter exhaustion.
Neither by day nor by night was any sign of the Raposa seen, nor of any
other human being.
So tired from the constant struggle did the Americans become that their
jaded brains began to picture the mysterious wild man as a mere
legendary creature, which they never would find even though they
searched the inscrutable forests until the end of time. Yet when, on the
fifth day, Tucu informed them that they now were nearing the principal
settlement of the Red Bones, the announcement cheered them as if they
were about to enter a civilized city and there meet David Rand safe and
sane.
Not that any chance of striking his trail had been neglected in the
meantime. It was thoroughly understood that if he were met anywhere he
was to be made prisoner, and that thereafter the back trail should be
taken. Lourenço had impressed on Tucu the fact that the whole journey
had for its object the finding of the wild man, and that he must not be
killed if found. Since the Indians were not in the habit of hunting so
assiduously anyone but a bitterly hated foe, it is quite possible that
they misunderstood the spirit of the quest and believed the "dead-alive"
prowler would, if captured, undergo some extremely unpleasant treatment
at the hands of the white men. But so long as it was made clear that the
Raposa must be caught alive, if caught at all, Lourenço did not trouble
about what the Mayorunas might surmise.
Now, as the end of the long, pathless trail approached, arose a question
of which McKay had previously thought but had not spoken--how he was to
converse with the Red Bone chief. Lourenço asked Tucu whether the Red
Bones spoke the Mayoruna tongue. Tucu replied that they did not. He
added, however, that the languages were not so dissimilar as to prevent
some sort of understanding being reached between members of the two
tribes. The veteran bushman nodded carelessly.
"When the tongue fails, Capitao, the hands still can talk," he said. "It
takes more time and work, that is all. Ah, here is a path!"
It was so. For the first time since leaving the Monitaya region a path
lay under their feet. And for the first time Tucu and his fellow
Mayorunas, glancing along that faint track, showed hesitation.
"Why the delay?" snapped McKay.
"They suspect traps. I will go ahead and feel out the way. I have done
it before on other paths."
After a few words to Tucu, Lourenço cut a long, slim pole. With this in
hand he preceded the column, walking slowly, pausing sometimes,
continually prodding the path, studying it with unswerving gaze as he
progressed. The thin but rigid feeler, strong enough to tip the cover of
any pit or to spring any concealed bow or blowgun, was at least ten feet
long, and between the scout and the head of the line Tucu preserved
another ten-foot interval. Progress was necessarily slow, but it was
sure.
In this fashion they advanced perhaps half a mile. Not once did they
have to leave the path, but Lourenço's caution did not diminish. Rather,
it increased as they neared the Red Bone town. At length another path
joined the one on which they were traveling. Here Lourenço paused for
minutes, inspecting with extreme care the ground and the bush.
Suddenly he cocked his head as if listening. Then, with a backward
motion of the hand to enjoin silence, he faced down the branch path and
stood calmly waiting.
To those behind came a light rustle of leaves and a scuffle of moving
feet; a sudden cessation; then Lourenço's voice speaking to some one
concealed behind the intervening undergrowth. His tone was slow, quiet,
easy--the tone which, even if the words were not understood, would
soothe suspicious and abruptly alarmed minds. After another short
silence he resumed talking, pointing carelessly to the place behind him
where stood the silent file of Mayorunas. A guttural voice replied. A
head peered cautiously from the edge of the bush, stared fixedly at
Tucu, and withdrew. The voice sounded again. Immediately three Indians
stepped into view, poised for action. Another interval of staring, and
they relaxed.
"Come forward, comrades," said Lourenço. They came, halting again at the
junction of the trails. Tucu spoke to one of the newcomers, who scowled
as if only partly understanding, but grunted some sort of answer. Those
behind the Mayoruna leader craned their necks and scanned the Red Bone
men, who continued to eye with evident misgiving the tall-bonneted
cannibals and the broad-hatted pair of whites.
Man for man, these Red Bones were in every way inferior to the
emissaries of Monitaya. Their bodies were more gaunt, their skins more
coppery, their foreheads lower, and their expressions much less
intelligent. Furthermore, they wore not even the bark-cloth clouts which
formed the sole body covering of the Mayorunas--they were totally naked.
The one point of similarity between the two tribes was that the faces of
the Red Bone men were streaked with red dye. But the facial design was
much different: two short transverse stripes on the forehead, and three
lines on each cheek, running from the eyes, the end of the nose, and the
corners of the mouth, straight back to the ears. Studying those visages,
Knowlton and McKay recalled Schwandorf's statement that these people not
only ate human flesh, but tortured prisoners of war. It was easy to
believe that he had told truth.
McKay, standing behind Pedro, shifted his position a bit. At once the
eyes of the three Red Bones widened and riveted on his face. Heretofore
they had seen only his hat and eyes, the rest being hidden from them by
Pedro's neck and an intervening palm tip. Now that they saw his
black-bearded jaw, they started slightly and peered intently at him.
"I think, Capitao, you would do well to shave," Pedro suggested, with a
smile.
"'Fraid so," the captain granted. "Black beards evidently are _de trop_
in the jungle social set at present."
But then one of the Red Bone men came forward, still squinting narrowly,
and his expression was not hostile. In fact, it was more friendly than
it had yet been. After a closer scrutiny, however, his face turned
blank. Slowly he stepped back and muttered something to his companions.
At this Pedro's eyes narrowed speculatively. But his expression did not
change, and he said nothing.
A lengthy conference took place between Lourenço and Tucu on the one
hand and the three Red Bone tribesmen on the other; a difficult talk in
which words and sign language both were used and frequently repeated.
Eventually an understanding was reached. The three stepped back, picked
up some small game which they had dropped on beholding Lourenço,
returned, and led the way along the path. Lourenço cast aside his poke
stick and resumed his usual place in the column. The whole line moved
ahead at a much smarter gait than before.
"Note--this path is not mined," thought Knowlton.
This proved true. Moreover, the way now was more broad and firm, so that
travel on it was much easier. After twenty minutes of rapid tramping it
debouched abruptly into a cleared space. Here all halted.
Before them lay a town of small, low huts, crowded closely together in
two parallel rows which curved together at one end. The other end lay
open, giving access to a sizable creek whereon floated canoes. At the
water's edge, along the crude street studded with charred stumps, and
among the damp-looking huts moved naked figures of men and women
occupied with various sluggish activities. Some of the men already had
spied the invading party and were standing at gaze.
"Comrades, we have reached the end of our trail," said Lourenço, running
a cool eye over the place. "Now all we have to do is to find your Raposa
and get him and ourselves away alive."
"That's all," Knowlton echoed, unsmiling. "The reception committee is
forming now." And with the words he unbuttoned his holster.
A shrill yell had run along the double line of houses, and out into the
stumpy street now swarmed men armed with hastily seized weapons. Hands
pointed, confused exclamations sounded, and a compact detachment of
warriors came jogging toward the newcomers. The three guides drew away
from the Mayorunas. The latter promptly fitted arrows to their bows,
inserted darts in their blowguns, lifted spears or clubs, and with eyes
glittering awaited whatever might befall.
A couple of rods away the Red Bones halted, bows ready. A hatchet-faced
savage who seemed to be in command rasped something at the three
hunters, who quickened their pace toward him. Tucu strode out four paces
beyond his own men and stopped. Then both parties waited while the
hunters reported what they knew to the hatchet-face.
"What did you tell them, Lourenço?" asked McKay.
"That we came on a friendly visit to the chief, for whom we had
important words."
"Nothing of the Raposa?"
"No. They wasted much time arguing that we must tell them all our
business and let them inform the chief, while we were to stay back on
the path until permitted to enter the town. We told them our talk was
for the chief alone, and that we should come here whether they liked it
or not. So, having no choice, they led us in."
McKay made no comment. None was necessary. Furthermore, his steady eyes
had caught a simultaneous head movement of the Red Bones--a peering
movement, as if all were seeking some one man among the new arrivals.
Pedro observed this. He spoke softly to Lourenço.
"Lourenço, tell Tucu to say to the Red Bones that we come led by a
black-bearded white man; that this blackboard comes from the far-off
country where all men wear black beards; that the blackbeard will speak
with the chief only."
The Americans looked queerly at the young Brazilian, as did Lourenço
himself. But without question Lourenço obeyed. Calling to Tucu, he gave
the message. Tucu moved his head slightly, but gave no other sign of
having heard.
"Now, Capitao, step forward a little and show yourself more clearly,"
prompted Pedro.
With another puzzled glance McKay did so. He saw that the brown eyes of
the younger man held a dancing gleam, but he could not read the thought
behind those eyes. Yet he noticed that as soon as he stepped out the Red
Bones all focused their gaze on him. More than that, the spokesman of
the three hunters pointed at him and said something to the
sharp-featured leader.
Now that leader came forward alone. Six feet from Tucu he halted again
and talked in a growling tone. The Mayoruna leader, cool and dignified,
made answer. After a somewhat protracted exchange Tucu turned his head
and motioned to Lourenço, who went forward, listened, replied shortly,
and came back. Meanwhile the first detachment of Red Bones had been
strongly reinforced by others who had come up singly or in small
parties. Now the expedition was outnumbered at least four to one by
hard-faced, brute-mouthed, naked men ready, if not eager, for trouble.
"The Red Bone says we shall see the chief," Lourenço stated. "At first
he said only you, Capitao, should go to him. Then he insisted that we
all lay down our arms. Tucu has told him we lay down our arms for no man
or men; that we come in peace--otherwise there would be many more of us;
that we leave in peace unless the Red Bones themselves bring on a fight.
In that case, though we are few, there lies behind us the power of
Monitaya, and behind Monitaya the power of the Mayoruna chiefs, all
strong enough to wipe the Red Bone nation off the face of the ground."
"Strong stuff, that," said Knowlton.
"Strong, yes. But no stronger than is needed to impress these people.
Tucu intends to prevent trouble if he can; and often the best way to
prevent trouble is to make the other man realize what may happen to him
if he starts it. Also he has his orders from Monitaya to stay with us at
all times, and he will follow that order even if you, Capitao, try to
change it. Now we go together to the chief."
He nodded to Tucu, who grunted to the Red Bone leader. The hatchet-face
in turn shouted something to the men behind. Slowly they drew apart into
two groups.
"You are the leader, Capitao," suggested Lourenço. Promptly McKay
marched forward, head up, eyes front, face bleak. The rest followed,
Tucu falling in behind McKay when the captain passed him. Preceded by
the Red Bone spokesman, the line advanced between the two bodies of
copper-skins and swung along the evil-smelling avenue to its upper end.
There, in the very center of the loop joining the two rows of huts, was
a house twice as big as any other. From its doorway the inhabitant of
that house could watch the whole life of the Red Bone town. Obviously it
was the home of the chief. At its door a pair of warriors stood guard,
but of the ruler himself there was no sign.
Ten paces from it the thin-featured leader stopped and motioned to McKay
to halt. As the captain and the line behind him did so he stalked
onward, passed through the doorway, and faded from sight in the dimness
beyond. With one accord the members of the visiting party looked around
them.
The street behind now was filled with the mass of Red Bone warriors who
had trooped after the column. All exit in that direction was blockaded.
But the ex-officers noted that between the houses were spaces each wide
enough to hold a couple of men, and in an undertone McKay gave defensive
instructions to Lourenço.
"If fighting starts, have the Mayorunas take cover along these houses on
each side. We who have guns will use the chief's house. We can sweep the
whole street from there. You two fellows capture the chief alive if
possible. He'll be more useful as a hostage than as a corpse."
Pedro beamed approval of this swiftly formed plan. Lourenço muttered to
Tucu, who in turn passed the word down the line. Then all stood waiting.
Presently the Red Bone man came out. He shouted a name. From the doorway
near at hand, where he had been standing and peering at the small but
formidable body of newcomers, an old man now stepped forth and advanced,
limping a little, to the hatchet-face. The latter talked briefly to him,
then to Tucu. The Mayoruna leader pointed to Lourenço. The old man spoke
to the Brazilian, who answered at once. Thereupon the wizened old fellow
entered the chief's house.
"That old man speaks the Mayoruna tongue quite well, Capitao," said
Lourenço. "He says you and I shall enter and talk through his mouth with
the chief. All others remain outside, and we must leave our rifles
here."
"All right. Glad we can leave Tucu out here to control these fellows.
Here, Merry." He passed his rifle to Knowlton. Pedro took Lourenço's
gun. With packs still on their backs the chosen men proceeded to the
doorway and entered the house where waited the ruler of the Red Bone
tribe.
Behind them the line settled into easier postures of waiting. The Red
Bones, though so compactly ranged as to cut off any chance of escape,
held their distance, obviously neither inclined to fraternize nor ready
to precipitate conflict by crowding. Thus, while keeping their ears open
for any sound of a concerted movement from behind, the visitors could
use their eyes to inspect the huts nearest them.
In some of these, women stood near the doorways, staring with unwinking
absorption at the light-skinned, athletic men outside who were so much
better to look upon than their own mates. The Mayorunas returned the
stares with the brief glances of men accustomed to noticing everything
but totally uninterested--as well they might be, for these poorly
shaped, heavy-mouthed, mud-skinned females were not to be compared with
their own women. Knowlton and Pedro, too, looked them over, but with the
same expression as if inspecting a family of lizards. Then they glanced
into other huts now empty of life, and in a couple of these they saw
rigid red-hued objects hanging from the roofs.
"The red bones of the dead, senhor," Pedro muttered, and his blond
companion, peering again at the sinister decorations, nodded without
reply.
Voices came to them from the chief's house, talking with droning
deliberation. Evidently no cause for friction had yet arisen. They let
their eyes rove on beyond the guarded doorway, to pause at a house a
short distance away at the right. There stood a clubman, who leaned idly
on his weapon, but showed no intention of moving from his place. The
door of that house was closed. Not only closed, but barred on the
outside.
"Hm! Looks like a jail," said Knowlton. Pedro smiled, but an intent look
came into his face and he studied the closed house.
Suddenly both started. At one corner of the house, unseen by the
clubman, a head had cautiously slipped forth. For only an instant it
hung there before dodging back out of sight. But both the watching men
had seen that the face, though half masked by long dark hair and a thick
beard, was much lighter than that of any Red Bone savage. And in the
hair above one ear was a white streak.