THE CLEVERNESS OF THE CAPTAIN.
In the meantime Captain Sprowl had obtained the loan of their
handkerchiefs from Mr. Chadwick and Dick Donovan. He knotted his own
ample bandana to the others and then saturated them with liquid from
the professor’s bottle. This done, he lowered the dripping, reeking
string of handkerchiefs to Jack.
“Tie this around the trunk of the tree,” he said. “When the ants hit
it, it’ll keep ‘em back. It was like this that they used to put wool
round trees to keep the caterpillars off, back home.”
“Do you think it will work?” asked Jack anxiously, for the situation
was becoming critical. It seemed almost unthinkable that they could be
in actual peril of their lives from creatures not much bigger than
a good-sized bluebottle fly. And yet a jaguar would have been a less
dangerous foe than these myriads of tiny creatures, with ten times a
jaguar’s ferocity in their minute make-ups.
“Well, boy, if it don’t work, it’s all up with us,” declared the
captain solemnly.
Aided by the professor, who at once saw the utility of the contrivance,
Jack managed to tie the bandage of handkerchiefs around the tree-trunk.
“When it gets dry, douse it with some more of this stuff,” said the
captain, handing down the bottle of chemicals.
With an eagerness that may be imagined Jack and the professor watched
the first ants that swarmed up the barricade of handkerchiefs. They
dropped like files of soldiers storming a fortress wall that bristles
with machine guns. Thousands and thousands of them fell from the tree
as they encountered the poison-soaked bandage; but still the swelling
ranks behind pushed the vanguard on.
From time to time Jack moistened the bandage afresh, and after what
appeared to be an eternity of waiting the ants began to slacken in
their attack. By slow degrees they retreated till only the masses on
the ground were left.
“Scatter some of the stuff among ‘em!” called Captain Sprowl.
Jack spattered the rest of the contents of the bottle over the still
swarming myriads on the ground. Wherever it fell an immense patch of
dead ants instantly appeared. But at last it was exhausted. Luckily
the ants appeared to be reforming for another march, and yet it was a
long time before it was deemed safe to descend. When they did so, a
strange sight met their eyes. They had been imprisoned in the tree for
not much more than two hours. Yet in that space of time the ants had
literally cleaned the bones of the dead snake and wrought havoc with
the carcasses of the pigs.
“Lucky thing you had that bottle along, professor,” remarked Captain
Sprowl, soberly. He added nothing more. He did not need to. They could
all supply the alternative for themselves.
A hasty return was made to the _Wondership_ where they found everything
as they had left it. A hurried meal was then eaten, and within half an
hour they were once more on the wing.
All the afternoon they maintained steady flight toward the westward,
and that evening beheld a magnificent sunset. Great masses of gold,
purple and scarlet cloud were piled up like dream palaces in the west.
Beneath this _Fata Morgana_ of surpassing brilliancy, lay a line of
deeper purple, like the crest of an advancing billow.
“See that?” asked Mr. Chadwick, pointing out this darker line.
They all nodded.
“Well, take good notice of it, for that is our first sight of the
Andes,” responded Jack’s father.
The words held a thrill. Somewhere in the foothills of that vast and
historic range, if the professor’s theories were not all at fault,
roamed a beast that had somehow survived the march of the ages.
Over toward that sunset, too, had they but known it, strange, wild
adventures awaited them. But no idea of what the future held was in the
minds of Jack and Tom as they tramped off in search of wood for the
evening fire, after the machine had been brought to earth in a stretch
of rocky ground, bordered by a river on one side. On the other fell the
sombre shades of the melancholy forests.
The boys made for the edge of the river where patches of small trees
grew. Here they were more likely to find the firewood for which they
were searching than amongst the towering forest giants.
The stream was a melancholy, slow-flowing, muddy water course. On
the opposite bank grew mighty trees with a tangle of jungle about
their roots, and with long pendant creepers trailing down into the
chocolate-colored river. In the evening air a dank, unwholesome smell
pervaded the atmosphere. Some gray herons flapped heavily up from the
muddy banks as they approached, and an alligator slipped off a log and
glided into the water.
What was their surprise, then, in this desolate spot, which they
had good reason to suppose they were the first to invade since the
beginning of time, when on the bank they perceived a large canoe. It
was a clumsily-built dug-out of unusual size, and as the boys got
closer to it they soon saw that it was long since it had been used. One
side was rotted away and green slimy ooze, gendered by the rank mud,
had overgrown it from stem to stern.
Inside it was a big earthen jar, which might at one time have contained
water or food, more probably the latter. A broken paddle was near it
and another object which the boys did not investigate just then. For
something else had attracted their attention.
This latter was the sight of several bones, undoubtedly human, that lay
by the side of the mouldering canoe. Evidently the bones were all that
remained of the navigators of the ill-fated craft; but whether they had
met their death at the hands of a human enemy, or had fallen prey to a
jaguar or alligator the boys were, of course, unable to decide.
“Ugh! This place gives me the shudders,” exclaimed Jack, turning away.
“Let’s get busy over that wood and go back.”
“Right you are; but let’s have a look at what else there is in the
canoe first,” rejoined Tom.
“That’s so. We might as well look. After all, it may afford us a clew
to the fate of the poor devils whose bones lie yonder,” replied Jack.
The bottom of the canoe was inch deep in slimy ooze, and out of the
stuff the boys excavated a skin bag containing some hard objects and an
odd little figure of a squatting man, with a hideously deformed face,
fixed in a perpetual laugh. This little idol, for such unquestionably
the thing was, was about as ingenious a bit of hideousness as could
be imagined. It was not more than a foot high, and was wrought out of
greenish stone. It was carved in a squatting position with the legs
tucked under a fat body, tailor-fashion.
But it was the face, tiny as it was, that sent a chill through the
boys’ veins. There was something diabolical in that frozen laugh. It
was as if the miniature god was mocking all mankind with a grin of
bitter irony.
“Nice little thing to have about the house on the long winter
evenings,” chuckled Tom. “Cheer a fellow up when he felt blue, wouldn’t
it—not?”
“I suppose the folks it belonged to held it in enough veneration,”
rejoined Jack, holding the hideous little figure up in the dying light.
“Anyhow, the fact that it was in the canoe shows that those chaps must
have been killed by an animal or a ‘gator. If natives had finished them
off, they wouldn’t have left this thing in the canoe.”
“Unless they were scared of it,” commented Tom; “it’s enough to give
anyone the shudders.”
“It’s not ornamental certainly; but it’ll make a bully souvenir of the
trip. What’s in the bag, I wonder?”
“Don’t know, I’ve put it in my pocket. We’ll take a look at it when
we get back to camp. Right now our job is to get busy with the axes.
They’ll think we’ve run into more trouble if we don’t hurry up.”
Acting on Tom’s suggestion, they were soon making chips fly, and in a
short time had wood enough for a cooking fire. The night was too warm
for there to be any necessity of a bigger blaze; especially as they
meant to resume their journey immediately after the evening meal.
There was so much to be discussed at supper that the boys did not have
an opportunity to bring up the subject of their finds till afterward.
Then they told of their discoveries, and Jack proudly exhibited his
idol. The professor pronounced it to be of ancient workmanship, perhaps
the handiwork of some vanished race. Some hieroglyphics were inscribed
on its base, but what they stood for the professor, although a man
learned in such matters, was unable to decipher. He declared that the
characters did not even approximate any known form of hieroglyphics.
“Well, anyhow, he’ll make a fine mascot,” declared Jack; “we’ll call
him Billikin and hang him in the front of the flying auto for good
luck.”
This was hailed as a good idea, and amidst much laughter Mr. Billikin
was secured to one of the forward stanchions of the _Wondership_.
“But say, how about that bag of yours?” demanded Jack of Tom as soon
as the mascot had been triced up.
“Let’s have a look at it right now,” said Tom, pulling it from his
pocket.
The pouch was made of some sort of skin. Mildew had all but obscured
some markings on it that had apparently once stood out in brilliant
colors. It was fringed and evidently had been wrought with much care.
Tom shook it and the contents rattled.
“Give you three guesses,” he cried.
“Bullets,” came from Dick.
“Reckon that’s right,” grunted the captain; “some of those chaps may
have had an old muzzle loader.”
“Sounds like rocks,” was Jack’s guess, “roll them out, Tom.”
Standing close to the firelight, Tom opened the bag and shook its
contents into his open palm. Six octagonal objects rolled out.
The next instant there was a simultaneous gasp from every member of the
party.
“Diamonds!” shouted Captain Sprowl, the first to recover his breath.
“Yes, and such diamonds as are rarely seen,” cried Mr. Chadwick. “Why,
Tom, lad, you’ve found a fortune!”
“Supposin’ they’re fakes like those colored gems we got in Yucatan?”
said the practical Tom, holding up one of the stones so that the
firelight was reflected from it in a myriad prismatic tints. Its
brilliance was fairly dazzling.
“If they’re fakes,” declared the captain solemnly, “I’ll tell you what
I’ll do.”
“Well?” said Jack.
“I’ll eat ‘em without sass, by ginger!” exploded the mariner. “Boys, if
them ain’t ‘gems of purest ray serene,’ as the poet says, you may call
me a double, doll-goshed, Sauerkrauter!”
“Rather than call you any such names,” laughed Mr. Chadwick, “we’ll
assume that they are veritable diamonds. Tom, congratulations; you’re a
millionaire.”
“You mean _we’re_ millionaires—or at any rate thousandaires,” retorted
Tom. “You don’t suppose I’m going to hog them all, do you?”
“Vell, for my pardt, if I can findt idt a Megatherium, I vouldn’t
exchange him for a bucketful of diamonts,” declared the professor.
“Well, at any rate, the stones will do us no good till we can return to
civilization,” said Mr. Chadwick, decisively. “They’re of not so much
good here as a tin of corned beef. And so, gentlemen, if you are ready
we may as well be pressing on.”
“Suits me,” declared the captain, “but I’d suggest that one of us takes
care of them gems. Mr. Chadwick, you take ‘em. If that boy keeps ‘em,
he’ll be giving ‘em to an anaconda or something before we get through.”
“I guess you can take better care of them than I can at that, uncle,”
said Tom, willingly handing over the bag to Mr. Chadwick, “although I
don’t think there’s any chance of my getting mixed up with any more big
snakes. I’ll keep too bright a lookout in future for that to happen.”
Mr. Chadwick placed the gems in a pocketed belt that he wore under his
other garments and which he used for the safekeeping of his money and
other valuables.
As the flying auto shot up from the ground and continued on its
westerly course, there arose above the steady drone of the engine an
odd, screaming sort of sound. At first the boys thought it proceeded
from some defective bit of machinery or some part of the motor that was
out of order. It was Dick’s sharp ears that traced the sound to its
true source.
“It’s the wind rushing into old Billikin’s mouth,” he exclaimed.
“Hoo-oo-oo-oo-oo!” responded the idol, the purpose of whose open jaws
now became apparent. Possibly the priests of the ancient idol used to
swing him through the air, thus producing the queer sound that held a
note of menace in its dreary wail. As the ship rushed on faster through
the night the voice of the idol became louder and more strident.
“Whoo-oo-oo-oo-oo?” it seemed to demand.
“Who, you grinning old Billikin?” cried Tom, gleefully. “Why, _us_, you
howling monstrosity. You’re going to bring us luck, do you hear?”
The only reply to his outburst was the melancholy, banshee-like wail of
the queer image.
“I dunno know about luck,” muttered the captain to himself; “all I
know is that that blamed thing gives me the shivers.”