“All right, then. Hang on now. We came to South America to get scientific
data, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, that’s all gone by the board now,” went on the young man. “We’re
going to explore the Caverns of the Ataruipe.”
The “Caverns of the Ataruipe” meant precisely nothing to me.
“Listen to me,” he explained. “The Ataruipe are a lost race of people.
Hardy picked up the dope during the time he hung around Rio; he says the
archives of the Brazilian government are full of old maps purporting
to give the location of treasure; some of these maps were made in the
fifteenth century and actually purport to show where the ElDorado may be
found.
“It is said that in earlier days expedition after expedition was fitted
out and despatched to find the ‘Gilded King,’ a chap whose people had
such quantities of gold that they built their houses of the solid metal.
But the best story of all is that of the Caverns of the Ataruipe, a race
that lived more than a thousand years ago, and came from Asia; they were
wonderful goldsmiths, possessing untold quantities of gems and all the
precious metals. The legend is that the Ataruipe used to come in large
numbers down the rivers to the coast to trade, scattering among the
natives quantities of gold pieces of exquisite design such as had never
before been seen; but that after a certain date no one ever saw them
again; nor has anyone ever been able to locate the particular part of the
country where they resided.”
As the young man ran on a light began to dawn in my mind.
“And _de_ Silva?” I interjected.
“Sure! You’ve struck it!” was Anderson’s swift response. “Hardy says
the officials long have felt that the Ataruipe came from hereabouts,
and Hardy claims the Spaniard, representing some of them, suspects our
expedition of searching for the treasure.”
“Were the cuneiform inscriptions on the stone column examined?”
“Certainly,” said Anderson. “Hardy got all that. I never saw him so
interested before. He swears we have struck it rich.”
Suddenly I realized that my throat was burning with thirst.
“How about some water?” I asked.
In a moment a brimming cup of the precious fluid was at my lips. I drank
greedily and, I fear, with little thought as to the source of supply.
While we were yet discussing the altered aspect of our situation a voice
hailed us, and we turned to discover Hardy just emerging from the hole
that gaped where the triangular stone column had stood. Following him
came Van Dusee and the rest of the party.
When all were safely out Hardy touched a match to the long fuse he had
laid from a mine placed under the obstruction in the tunnel, which had
prevented further progress. There came a dull _boom_, a whirl of air, and
then all was still.
“Now, sir,” announced Hardy. “In the morning we shall see what we shall
see.”
There was little sleep for any of us that night, and before dawn we were
ready for the descent. My crippled arm made the way arduous for me, but
it would have been doubly hard had not young Anderson lavished on me so
splendidly his surplus strength. Eagerly our party trailed along that
tunnel, led by Hardy and Van Dusee.
The dynamite had done its work well, as the passageway, which ever
continued to descend, was entirely cleared. After journeying, as near as
we could judge, about three-quarters of a mile, we came to a turn which
appeared to be carrying us slowly upward and almost back in the direction
from which we came.
I noted that our candles were burning brightly and that the air
remained surprisingly fresh. There was little conversation. Once Hardy
spoke abruptly to the halfbreed Gomez, who pressed forward a trifle
precipitately.
The way grew suddenly light and I had about decided that the other end of
the mysterious tunnel would terminate at the surface, when there came a
cry from ahead.
“At last!” shouted Van Dusee.
We hurried forward, breathless with interest, and found ourselves
confronted by a high but very narrow stile, consisting of six steps of
some twenty-four inches each, and glaring down, with jaws wide-open
and huge paws outstretched immediately over the apex, was a towering
sculptured monster with brilliant green eyes.
The sight of that crouching beast, obviously placed there as a guard,
was one to appall the stoutest heart. In turn, we passed under the
stupendous overhanging paws, all save Gomez, making way with a display of
confidence that we were far from feeling.
In a moment our blinking eyes beheld that for which we came: a gigantic
cavern, nearly light as day. I think the wonder of that moment, as I
became accustomed to the peculiar radiance of the light and my eyes took
in the many evidences of an extinct, yet highly cultivated, life, will
never leave me.
Row on row of seats in the form of a huge amphitheater lay in cathedral
silence before our fascinated gaze. At the sides there extended
beautifully-cut galleries, hewn out of the solid crystal rock and giving
mute testimony of a civilization at least as ancient as that of the
Greeks. Here and there the fresco-work was interrupted to give place to
heroic-sized figures in pure white marble as marvelously sculptured as
anything that ever left the mallet of Praxiteles. There were scores of
them!
High above, I was interested to note that the ceiling was of the same
rock-formation that had crystal clearness, which accounted for the
plentitude of light, as I was certain we were not more than a hundred
feet below the surface.
Slowly we began a circuit of that wonder-home of a lost people. To the
right lay a vaulted passage, and we came presently to that. It was darker
here, and young Anderson and I, detaching ourselves from the rest of the
party, made our way along it. We came soon to a circular series of highly
ornamented chambers. Anderson was slightly in advance of me, and as he
peered into the central and larger one of these I heard him draw in his
breath sharply.
“Look at that!” he exclaimed, awe-struck.
My eyes followed his into the beautifully tapestried room, and there,
seated in a high-backed, canopied, thronelike chair, extravagantly
adorned with glistening jewels, was the figure of a man!
He was apparently in the full vigor of existence. The cast of his face
was Mongolian. _And he was smiling!_
It was too lifelike! We drew back.
Then the certainty that he could not be living forced itself home; and
we entered that sacrosanct interior. Scores of highly-colored tapestries
were suspended from the walls, the exposed portions of which showed mural
decorations finer than any I had ever seen before and which, in tint and
conception, were essentially Oriental.
Closer view of the man who smiled at us showed a skin texture which even
the most wonderful embalming could not conceal as that of death.
Our sense of having profaned the regal place presently wore off, and
Anderson, as much, I fancied, from a nervous reaction as anything, moved
nearer to the figure and lightly tapped it with the bamboo stick he
carried.
“How are you, old top?” he asked.
An instant later the man, chair and canopy absolutely dissolved before
our eyes and lay on the raised dais in a small pile of dust through which
the numerous diamonds and opals gleamed at us like evil spirits.
“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered.
_III._
The extent of the underground system seemed endless, as long, high-arched
corridors opened up in vistas before our astonished gaze.
From another point I could hear the excitable Van Dusee, enraptured over
some new-found curio or work of art. Making careful note of our course,
Anderson and I pressed on, coming shortly to a rough, unfinished cavern
that glowed with sunlight as if exposed to the open sky. There came a
shout in my ear. It was from Anderson.
“See!” he exclaimed.
And well might he cry out, for in the center of the chamber lay piles
of delicately contrived golden goblets, mixed with hideous-jawed
dragons, flying-birds, pedestals of intricate pattern—all in gold! But
most astounding of all were the replicas of human figures in gleaming
yellow metal, some of them quite of life-size, others in miniature, that
tilted here and there among the shining mass—all of the most exquisite
workmanship, though many pieces were dented and broken; apparently the
mass had been allowed to accumulate by the addition, from time to time,
of defective pieces.
However, one piece, the reproduction of a slender female figure just
budding into womanhood, about eighteen inches in height, lay quite near
us, as if unwittingly it had been dropped. Young Anderson picked it
up. The figure was heavy but quite perfect. In silent amaze we studied
that exhibit of a handicraft that surely would have brought a shout of
appreciation from Benvenuto Cellini, the great Italian goldsmith.
I was about to stroll over to the pile of gold, when I heard the sound
of someone running. Then a man burst into the chamber. His entrance was
unseemly, and I turned to chide him.
With difficulty I recognized the half-breed Gomez. His eyes were
dilated, his features transformed, as, mouthing unintelligible noises,
he ran toward that heap of yellow gold.
If his appearance was terrifying, the shriek that now left his lips came
as a thing yet more awful. For before our gaze, while he was still a good
thirty feet from the gold, there was a spurt of smoke from the running
man, and he stumbled, curled up in a blaze of fire, and actually _burned
to death_!
In my weakened condition my senses reeled at the sight and I caught at
Anderson for support. Hardy and Van Dusee were soon with us, and again
our worthy leader demonstrated his quick perception and resourcefulness.
“Don’t move!” he commanded. “The place is full of death points!”
A glimmering of his reasoning came to me, and I raised my eyes to what
constituted the ceiling of that extraordinary cavern. The answer flashed
to me that the artificers of the Ataruipe must have fashioned portions of
that wondrously clear crystal formation overhead into gigantic burning
glasses which, in that land of eternal sunshine, daily projected down
into the cavern focal points of condensed sun’s rays that were terrific
in their heat units.
But Hardy was demonstrating, and we watched him. With a long bamboo the
ingenious chap _felt_ out the deadly heat points, each of which in turn
discovered itself by sending a spurt of flame from the end of the pole.
Altogether, there were nearly fifteen of the deadly contrivances in that
cavern, none of which, with the exception of the most powerful one that
had killed Gomez, _being visible to the human eye_!
The reason for this was that the focal point invariably centered about
five feet ten inches from the basaltic floor—the precise point where the
head of the ordinary man would be while walking.
But if the discoveries made by Anderson and me were remarkable, those
of the rest of the party were equally so. Zangaree had stumbled into
a chamber evidently reserved for the woman of that lost people. Here,
mounted gems of unrivaled quality and size abounded, most of them proving
that the Ataruipe as jewelers were equally at home in precious stones and
gold.
The apparel of the men in our party was filled to overflowing with the
scintillant fragments; Zangaree, in pure Afric joy, tossed a handful
into the air and in the unusual light of the cavern they sparkled like
fireworks as they fell. From the walls, lustrous opals flashed at us
their iridescent rays; there were gems underfoot, cleverly laid in
fantastic mosaics such as the mind of modern man never had conceived.
It was all too overwhelming, and we were a sobered party indeed when
again we assembled for the very necessary purpose of outlining our future
plans. Of course, each one of us was rich, rich beyond the dreams of
avarice, and it seemed the end, or beginning of everything.
I think that for the time being there was not a single one of us,
lounging there in the pit of that ghostly amphitheater, who gave a
thought to the long hard way we had come, or to the thousands of miles of
jungle and river that lay between us and the consummation of our desires.
Night came on apace, and soon we found ourselves enveloped in a darkness
that was only saved from completeness by the trifling fire Hardy had
built. Van Dusee presently sprawled down at my side, and pulled at his
pipe, talked calmly, as I had never heard him talk before. For once the
entomologist was gone. The thing, our experience, had swept him off his
feet; his pet subject was forgotten; he had gained new orientation.
“Such artists!” he breathed prayerfully. “Those sculptured women! That
exquisite miniature of Bobby’s! And all for what? To what end? Of what
avail? Ah! The futility of it!”
And again he murmured, half to himself:
“To think that a thousand, yea, two thousand years ago, these wonderful
people lived, breathed and had their being in this very place! What were
their thoughts, their pleasures—and what, in Heaven’s name, became of the
last of them?”
I told him of our experience with the figure which at Anderson’s touch
had disintegrated so swiftly that the incident seemed like black magic.
And for the first time it occurred to me that, aside from the man I had
just described, none of us had seen a single skeleton or other evidence
of the human occupants.
Van Dusee laughed shortly when I put my query.
“We found their burying place, all right,” he said.
“Where?” I asked.
“Thousands of them,” his voice went on, and in the darkness it seemed
that I _must_ be dreaming; “rows on rows of them up in those interminable
galleries, each body—or what was left of it—in a handsomely woven basket,
with gold trimming. Hardy and I passed along touching an occasional one
for the striking effect of seeing it crumble into nothingness—as your
king did. Ah, the pity of it that poor Ericson did not live to see this!”
Van Dusee’s voice droned on, and I fell asleep. I suppose I must have
lain there for several hours, getting only such rest as is granted to a
man with a recently-broken arm, when I awoke with a start. It was just
dawn.
Hardy was on his knees, his rifle poised, and his keen eyes fixed on the
spot where the massive green-eyed dragon kept guard over the stile. He
signed to me not to disturb the others who still slept.
In a moment I detected some moving object as it came down our side of
that guardian monster. It was a man! I glanced swiftly at those of our
group. They were all accounted for. This meant either that our trail had
been discovered from above, or that there were surviving Ataruipe—which
last was incredible.
Even as my mind grappled with the problem, another figure followed
stealthily. Then Hardy’s gun spoke. The noise of the explosion seemed out
of all proportion. The first man ran a little, then suddenly bent over as
if hurt in the side. He was sliding to the ground when his follower ran
to his assistance.
Hardy and I by this time were nearing the two strangers. The second man
was struggling furiously to get his companion up the steep stairway
beneath the dragon. Just as we came up, he succeeded with a final heave
in landing the wounded man on the top step of the stile. Hardy raised his
gun. I shouted:
“Don’t shoot!”
Then a dreadful thing happened. The apex-stone of the stair seemed
suddenly to sink beneath the combined weight of the two men. An instant
later, with the swiftness of thought, the gigantic paws of that stone
monster descended. They struck and crushed to death the two puny men who
lay beneath; one of the bodies disappeared over the other side.
And as Hardy and I stared at this additional example of diabolical
ingenuity, the apex-stone reappeared and the paws, as if alive, slowly
began to elevate themselves to their original position, by some odd quirk
of fate, surely not contemplated by the builder, carrying with them the
body of the slain man that had remained.
_IV._
No more was necessary to advise us that _de_ Silva had stumbled onto our
blundering trail.
The dead man, caught in that ghastly embrace, was a white whom Hardy
readily recognized as an associate of the evil Spaniard in Rio de
Janiero.
Though we had been but twenty-four hours in the caverns of the Ataruipe,
we had observed no other sign of egress than the one that led to the
water hole. Nor, in fact, was there any reason to assume that the
original occupants found it necessary to go abroad very frequently. And
while it was likely there were other exits, yet in the vast system of
that underground world, with but a limited supply of food, it would be
folly for us to attempt to locate them.
So it was that all of us felt we should at once attempt to make our
escape the way we had entered, even allowing for the probable attack
planned by _de_ Silva.
First, therefore, we gave attention to that not unimportant matter as to
how much treasure we should take with us. It went without saying that
we planned a return with better transportation facilities, but that was
in the future and much beclouded by the uncertain course of the divers
persons in our band, once we were separated. Curious, indeed, was the
effect on the individual members of our party of this struggle between
cupidity and the instinct to survive the long journey home.
Like drunken men, the half breed Castro and the Indians wandered around,
hopelessly mulling over the golden treasure there in such quantities for
them to take, and which, oddly enough, seemed to attract the Indians so
much more than the gems.
Anderson and I stowed our pockets with diamonds and rubies and opals,
but the youth also clung to the miniature he had acquired on the first
day. The artist in Van Dusee, so long latent in this man of science, now
blazed forth with the fierce light of a falling star. Above all else,
he yearned for the party to carry to New York one of the surpassingly
beautiful heroic-sized female figures. For an hour he seriously
expostulated with Hardy, but received, I fear, slight sympathy from any
of us, as one of the statues alone must have weighed many hundreds of
pounds.
Our lack of interest in his project left Van Dusee in a pet, and he vowed
finally that he would not remove a single article from the caverns.
Hardy, always in character, asserted that he intended to have both eyes
of the dragon guarding the apex of the stile, and in fact, actually did
ascend to the top step from which, by a daring feat of climbing, he swung
himself to the lower jaw and coolly proceeded to chisel the magnificent
emerald-eyes from their ancient sockets. All this within five feet of the
ghastly trophy as yet in the paws of the stone animal!
About four o’clock in the afternoon we met for the last time in front of
the gigantic stone brute, his empty eye-sockets seeming to give him an
expression of increased ferocity as they bore down on us.
Van Dusee, in a condition bordering on nervous breakdown, was begging
for just a little more time that he might get with his camera some final
views of the godlike stone images. So far as I know, the entomologist
actually had made good his word, for when we left the caverns of the
Ataruipe he did not have with him a single gem or bit of precious metal;
merely the camera with its recorded impressions.
Presently Hardy took the lead over the fearsome stile. It had been
discovered that there was no danger from the massive paws so long as the
top stone did not receive more than what was equal to the weight of a
normal man. This Hardy had tested. Surely that contrivance was an example
of remarkable hydraulics!
With Zangaree, he cautiously moved along the five-foot golden statue that
it had been decided to take to the surface; and, by dint of much easing
and shifting of the heavy object, the two men succeeded in getting it
safely past the trap-stone.
As sick man of the expedition—and what expeditions do not have their sick
man?—I brought up the rear with Anderson. Busied with my own thoughts, I
failed to note that one of the Indians had dropped out.
Keeping my eyes on Anderson’s back, just a step below me, I slid my scant
hundred and fifty-odd pounds (and thanked God for my light weight!) on to
the apex-stone, which was about four feet square and too broad to avoid
entirely. As I worked my way along, for I was sitting, I was horrified to
note a sinking sensation—the block of stone was descending!
Then the air was filled with two shrieks: mine, as I flung myself from
that place of death, and the cry of a man _behind_ me.
The terrific paws, cutting the air like rapiers, literally beheaded the
Indian, who had stolen back in his greed for more gold, and then, in
following me too closely, had entrusted his weight to the trap with mine.
The gruesome tragedy depressed all of us, and I am certain we were
relieved when the immediate turn in the tunnel shut off from our view
the stone monster, then in the very act of elevating his two dreadful
paws and leering at us, I could swear, with living malignancy for the
desecration of his features.
We had not proceeded far along the passageway when it became evident that
our enemies were waiting for us.
The first indication was the different character of the air. It seemed
closer, and not to have any movement. The thought at once leapt into our
minds that very likely the entrance by the water-hole had been blocked.
As time passed and we worked our way up the rather steep incline, there
could be no doubt about the situation. The thought was a terrifying one,
and we pressed on, eager to know the worst.
When finally we stood at the end of the tunnel there was not a ray
of light from above. Wedged midway of the stair, reposed two of the
cuneiform stones that had first attracted my attention. Apparently
quantities of sand had been shoveled into the hole, for much of the fine
stuff had trickled on down the steps almost to our feet.
Use of dynamite in that narrow way was, of course, out of the question;
imprisoned in the tunnel, we could not possibly live through the blast.
Hardy, therefore, set to work promptly to dislodge the stone. This was
dangerous for the reason that it was literally suspended over him as he
labored and if suddenly released it meant an avalanche that would be
certain to destroy him who stood beneath.
The problem was cleverly solved by Hardy, who ascertained the location
of the “key” strain. He proceeded by inserting immediately above this
spot one foot of the golden statue we had lugged with us. Surely it was
sacrilege to use that triumph of the goldsmith’s art as a crowbar!
But the statue nevertheless was effective as an instrument, as Hardy
attached a rope around the bust which projected to within ten feet of the
tunnel; and from this point of comparative safety the men put their full
weight on the rope. There followed a moment of intense strain, the golden
figure, of none too stiff an alloy, appeared to bend—and then it came, a
perfect welter of flying sand and debris that left us gasping.
In a few minutes this cleared, and we could see Hardy grinning at us
through the blessed daylight that poured down that stairway once more.
“Who’ll be the first to greet _de_ Silva?” he demanded.
I recall heretofore setting forth a number of reasons why we decided to
attempt our escape via the water hole tunnel. It is my belief, on more
mature reflection, that with all my care I have failed to state the most
important one: that of the sheer desire of the majority of our party—a
desire that had been fed by the continued hounding _de_ Silva had given
us—to meet him and fight it out.
At any rate, the manner in which Hardy answered his own question by
leaping up the stairway, afforded every evidence of how _he_ felt about
it.
We followed closely. But nothing in the line ahead of me seemed to occur,
and to our astonishment, on gaining the surface, there was no one to meet
us. Soon we found the explanation, for not far distant lay the bodies of
a white man and an Indian. They were locked together in death, while a
rod farther on was the body of another Indian. He had been shot in the
back. Scattered about in the sand, evidently where the running man had
dropped them when hit, were numbers of brilliant gems. _They were gems of
the Ataruipe!_
In frank wonder, we gazed upon that indisputable proof that at least some
of the members of the _de_ Silva party, unbeknown to us, had got past the
fatal stile and explored a portion of the caverns. But where was _de_
Silva? And what had become of the rest of his crowd?
Our interest in this matter soon gave way to that far more important
problem as to the direction in which we were to move. In the apparel of
the dead Spaniard Zangaree discovered a compass, and while this seemed
almost heaven-sent, yet it did not tell us the way we had come.
A final effort was made to dislodge from the debris the beautiful statue
which we had used as a lever, but it was solidly buried and we soon gave
over the attempt. Then, with little further discussion, we shoved off,
following the trail of the many feet that led to the east from where we
had found the gems in the sand.
We had not gone far when it became evident that those ahead of us were
struggling with the transportation of heavy objects, which it was thought
might prove to be golden statues. The correctness of this surmise was
later borne out in a dreadful manner, for about four o’clock in the
afternoon we came upon one of the beautiful objects. It lay in the sand
and only a few yards away were three more dead men. Again two of them
were Indians and the third a white, the features of all three being
horribly slashed with the knives that had been used in the fighting.
Night overtook us still on the trail of the _de_ Silva party, which now,
judging from the foot-marks, consisted of about six men. We slept well,
and at dawn pressed on.
The unexpected happened—and it came as a glorious surprise—for by ten
in the morning we sighted signs of vegetation, and an hour later were
nearing the exact point of our departure into the desert the week before.
This quick return drove home forcibly that near-tragedy of our four days’
wandering in a desert which, after all, was comparatively small in extent.
Once enabled to shield ourselves beneath the trees from the sun’s
powerful rays, Hardy appeared willing to permit us to loaf a bit, and
so it was that we whites had an opportunity to take stock of ourselves.
Poor Van Dusee was thin to the point of emaciation, and I verily believe
the man was wasting away as much from disappointment as from hardship.
Anderson, brilliant-eyed and lean, was the same enthusiast, while the
imperturbable Hardy seemed not to have altered a whit: he was the
identical, brick-red, level-eyed, well-fleshed individual that we had
first encountered in a cafe in Rio de Janiero in January. As for myself,
I must have looked bad, as my arm had given me constant pain.
By this time we felt that _de_ Silva deemed our party to have been buried
alive in the Caverns of the Ataruipe, for he had not taken the slightest
pains to conceal his trail. Thus it was that the tables, in fact, had
turned. _We were now pursuing de Silva!_
No one of us voiced that thought, but that it was in the minds of each
there could be no doubt. Personally, I know that I did not care to
analyse my own attitude toward the cowardly Spaniard. I did not dare to!
But what remained unnecessary to phrase in words was that if _de_ Silva
did escape with his booty to Rio de Janiero, no one of our party would
have any opportunity to visit again the wonderland of the Ataruipe. And
this, especially to Hardy (for entirely mundane reasons) and to Van Dusee
(for the purely esthetic) was unthinkable.
We pushed on, encountering fresh signs of the expedition ahead of us
which evidently, owing to the heavy treasure its members carried, was
making slower progress than we were. Very shortly we came through our
hard-won channel in the bamboos, and from then on we kept sharp lookout
for _de_ Silva.
On our third morning in that interminable brushwood tract, while Anderson
was building a breakfast fire for which Zangaree and the Indians were
collecting dry wood, Van Dusee, who had strolled on a bit, called back to
us quietly:
“In that bush over there to the right,” he said, “is a white man. He is
spying on us.”
It was only a moment before Anderson and Hardy, guns in hand, were on
their way. I shouted a warning and followed more slowly. Suddenly Hardy
lowered his rifle, and when I came up both he and young Anderson were
silently regarding a bit of thick brushwood.
And well might they stare, for there, leering out at us, through the
foliage, was the face of _de_ Silva. It was livid and ghastly, and a
number of vicious-looking red ants were moving jerkily around the face.
Closer inspection was not needed to verify _de_ Silva’s decease; but as
the manner of it also concerned us we did.
Immediately back of the brush in which had been thrust this shocking
exhibit there was evidence of a furious struggle. The Spaniard’s body
also had been knifed, as were the others, and this within comparatively
recent hours, as the fresh appearance of the wounds testified.
There was no sign of his companions, and somehow the conviction took
form in our minds that _de_ Silva—a man who at one time, we learned
afterwards, had been a professor of mathematics—very likely the last
surviving white man in his party, had been set upon by the others and
murdered.
But we had little time or spirit to expend in comparison for this
villain, who, after all, had received his just deserts, and soon we were
again on our way. The Indians ahead of us may or may not have suspected
our presence; at any rate, they were now making as good speed as we were,
in spite of the fact that they still clung to the heavy golden statue.
We reached the vast primeval wood, without apparently gaining on them.
Our burning desire was to get to the river at least as soon as the
Indians so that that little matter of the possession of our canoes might
be definitely settled, for without the assistance of our light craft we
were, in the face of the rapidly approaching rainy season, doomed to
certain death amid the maze of that alluring yet deadly tropical fairy
land.
We had spent one day in pushing on through the big woods, when a most
untoward event overtook us. That was the sudden and complete breakdown
of poor Van Dusee. Day by day, I had observed his failing strength and
I knew that it was on his nerve alone he had kept up with the rest of
us. Poor chap! He lay now at full length amid the vaulted silences of
those stupendous trees, babbling first of his beloved _hemiptera_ and
again of the profound art in the sculpturing of the Ataruipe. It was not
permissible to carry him, for the man was actually dying before our eyes.
The pitiful sight was too much even for the hardened Hardy, whose eyes
once actually filled with tears as he regarded the form of the plucky,
devoted, defeated, over-idealistic man of science. At noon that day Van
Dusee closed his eyes for the last time, and we buried him as reverently,
but as quickly, as possible. No time was there now for sentiment. The
delay of six hours might ultimately prove to be our death warrant.
All that unending night we drove on until at times it seemed that I
myself must follow Van Dusee. However, dawn came at last, and with it
the definite knowledge that Hardy had led us correctly, for there in the
distance lay the fringe of verdure defining the course of the river that
meant for us home and safety.
In that moment we needed no spur, and very soon we came abreast of the
hiding place of our canoes. Zangaree, bounding ahead, disappeared into
the thicket. His black face reappeared almost immediately.
No necessity for him to speak. His expression told.
_Both canoes were gone!_
_V._
In my hypersensitive condition a pall of black despair settled over me.
Here we were, rich beyond belief in precious gems and holding the key
of knowledge of fabulous, undreamed-of wealth—and yet about to die like
defenseless stricken animals! The irony of it!
But it was not so with Hardy and Anderson. With great energy, they
searched the locality for traces of the miscreants (whom it had been
hoped we had passed in the night), and, finding traces of them still
fresh, set off in the manner of hounds in chase.
The two men had not far to go, for in less than an hour they reported
back to us, procured more ammunition and led the way. So it came about
that, nearing them silently, we had our first view of the men who had
killed _de_ Silva. There were four of them, all Indians, hunched together
in a circle on the bank of the river. One of them was talking. To one
side, tilting rakishly against a tree, stood a three-quarter size statue
of exquisite proportions done in solid gold.
There it was, prime art of the Ataruipe, pulled, hauled, carried and
dragged thither by an infinity of patience and endurance on the part
of those aborigines, who now gave no heed to the play of the sunlight
on that marvelous work of the goldsmiths; instead they were entirely
engrossed in their own affairs. Our canoes were not visible, but we
believed they were launched in the water, which at this point was placid
and deep.
Hardy had just left us to get close to the river, when something, or
someone of us, moved with too little caution, for the next instant the
Indians were up, and, catching their treasure, ran down the bank of the
stream. In full cry, we followed.
It has been said that the pen is mightier than the sword, and the
sentiment is as pretty as it is ancient; but of one thing I am certain
and that is, even in this enlightened age, the sword, allegorical and
actual, is a much swifter instrument than the pen.
Much happened in the next thirty seconds. Our two canoes rode the water
near at hand. Into one of them two of the Indians, with the help of
a third, cast the gold statue, the first two following it with their
bodies. In a moment they reached midstream. But the canoe began to sink.
Several shots split the air. I saw the two remaining Indians, now seated
in our other canoe, were shooting at Hardy and young Anderson. Their fire
was promptly returned. It proved deadly. Both Indians were hit, and the
canoe began to drift.
Meanwhile, the Indians in the sinking canoe were fighting to shift the
heavy weight of the statue, which must have punctured the bottom. They
up-ended the figure precariously near the bow. The canoe listed suddenly,
going nearly under water, and in that same instant there was a flash and
into the murky stream shot the figure of gold. But none of us had eyes
for that, because our ears were being filled with a succession of horrid
cries.
They came from the swimming Indians, who perished miserably. The river
was alive with crocodiles.
Hardy always has maintained that even had we not recovered our own canoes
as we finally did that day, in time we could have located those of
_de_ Silva’s. But I have questioned it. That the Spaniard secreted his
canoes, without permitting the Indians to know their whereabouts, I was
satisfied; and this, it seemed to me, was confirmed by the fact that the
Indians had made so surely for our canoes, the location of which they
must have found when de Silva retraced his course to the point where
Ericson had been killed. All of which meant to me that the other canoes
were well-hidden, indeed.
Of the long journey back to Itacoatiara, where we were to catch the
steamer, there is little to tell. Hardy attempted a rough valuation of
the gems and odd bits of gold that our expedition carried. On the most
conservative basis, it ran into the hundreds of thousands of dollars, and
there was really no telling what the wealthy collectors of unique stones
would be willing to pay for some of our gems, which were of a size and
clarity beyond description.
Plans were discussed for a return to the Caverns of the Ataruipe next
year, and at Itacoatiara our two loyal Indians left us after having been
bound to secrecy by oaths as formidable and impressive as the ingenuity
of Hardy could make them.
That the doughty Hardy himself considered this method of questionable
efficacy was evidenced by the droll expression of his eyes during the
mummery. He, in fact, was placing entire reliance on the inability of
the dull-minded fellows to find their way back even if they tried,
coupled with the knowledge that the faithful Zangaree, who was to leave
us but a short distance farther along, would be able to account for the
Indians until our plans for return were perfected. Castro, the remaining
half-breed, took the steamer with us for the long ride down the Amazon
River to Rio de Janiero, and presented a much more difficult problem.
There had never been a time when Hardy completely trusted the half-breed,
though it was true he had not once during the entire experience by word
or deed shown any sign of treachery.
At the Brazilian capital Anderson and I went to a hotel, leaving our
companion to look after the half-breed. Hardy’s plan was frankly to go to
the officials and attempt an arrangement whereby the three of us, under
proper guaranties, might be authorized to lead an expedition in behalf of
“The United States of Brazil” to the Caverns of the Ataruipe.
On the second day, and while no word yet had come from Hardy, our rooms
in the hotel were rifled in our absence and almost one-third of the gems
stolen. Anderson had deposited with the hotel proprietor for safe-keeping
his golden replica and a goodly share of our gems; the rest we had
secreted about our rooms or carried on our persons.
We were totally unable to decide whether or not the thief had been
inspired by a knowledge of our treasures. It was true we had been
regarded curiously by many of the loungers about the hotel lobby and in
the streets, but no mention had been made of our experience.
We were debating the advisability of reporting to the police, but were
rather hoping Hardy would come to us before we took this step. The
following day, a Tuesday, we were surprised to receive a visit from a
pompous-looking official. In hitchy English he informed us that as a
special favor he had come to advise _los Americanos_ that they were about
to be charged with the murder of one _de_ Silva, and that officers with
warrants were soon to be on hand.
Then the gentleman grinned with surprising amiability, and added:
“Ze next steamair for New York, she leave in three hour.”
He still stood, hat in hand, saying nothing further.