THE LION’S MOUTH.
The travelers took turns at brief snatches of sleep during the night.
The course was due west and there was nothing to be done but to keep
the flying craft on its track. Above them the soft tropic stars shone
brilliantly. Beneath the flying car was immeasurable blackness. The
altitude set by Jack when Tom relieved him at the wheel at midnight
was twenty-five hundred feet. This height was maintained throughout
the hours of darkness, Tom gauging his height by the barograph, which
was, like the other instruments, illumined by a shaded electric light.
The side lights or the blindingly bright electric searchlight were not
used, as it was not deemed advisable to attract any attention to the
flying craft needlessly, and for all they knew they might be flying
into the country of hostile tribes.
At last the dawn began to flush redly behind Tom’s back. In less
than half an hour it was broad day. What a sight met their eyes! For
sublimity and beauty it was the most powerfully impressive any of
them had ever beheld. Possibly the height from which they surveyed it
lent it additional charm; but even the stolid captain was moved to
exclamations of admiration.
Before them were wooded slopes covered with verdure of the most
brilliant green. Amidst this verdant carpet were patches of cleared
land on which grew what resembled corn. In other cleared patches other
crops were flourishing. Directly under their keel was the mighty
forest, stretching, as they knew, without interruption to the coast,
two thousand miles away.
Beyond the wooded slopes the ground rose abruptly upward, piling
skyward in ever increasing majesty and ruggedness to where, sharply
outlined against the flawless blue sky, were the sharp peaks of
the mighty Andes. The foothills beyond the fruitful slopes already
mentioned were, curiously enough, almost bare of vegetation, save for
here and there an isolated clump of trees.
Their slopes were cut up and criss-crossed by gullies of unknown depth,
and bore the scars of what appeared to be volcanic action. From a small
peak not far off, and glaringly conspicuous by its height amidst the
other slowly rising foothills, smoke was curling upward in a yellowish
column.
But it was the country below them that occupied their immediate
attention. From the cultivated patches it was evident that they were
flying above a region inhabited by a thrifty race of Indians. The point
was, were the inhabitants friendly, or were they like many tribes of
the upper basin of the Amazon, possessed of an unalterable hatred of
the white man? Much hinged on the answer to these questions.
As they flew along, the question of descending was discussed at length,
and they finally, on motion of Captain Sprowl, reached the conclusion
that they would descend. But the gas was not to be exhausted from the
bag, and in case of attack they were to be ready for instant flight. To
attempt to oppose the Indians in their own territory would be folly of
the worst sort. It was, therefore, agreed that in case they encountered
hostility they were to make discretion the better part of valor and
seek safety in the upper air.
They had hardly concluded their consultation before, below them, they
saw a large village. It was arranged in the form of a circle, the huts,
mostly thatched with palm leaves, with walls of the same material,
converging to a common centre. It was, in fact, much as if the huts
had been the spokes of a wheel, the hub of which was formed by a more
pretentious structure, built, apparently, of blocks of rough stone,
probably quarried in the volcanic-looking foothills.
From the village, roads and paths could be seen through the forest in
every direction, leading to the fields. As the ship flew, droning like
a giant beetle, above the village, its inhabitants were thrown into
much the same flurry as possesses a chicken yard when the shadow of a
hawk floats across it.
Men, women and children could be seen running from the huts and
standing with upturned faces gazing at the monstrous creature of the
skies. They could see that most of the men carried spears and bows, and
through the glasses they also made out that many of them were armed
with bamboo blow-pipes peculiar to the Amazonian tribes.
“Well, what do you think of the prospects?” asked Mr. Chadwick, turning
to the skipper, who had been using the binoculars.
“I reckon it’ll be all right to go down,” rejoined the captain slowly,
“but have Tom and Dick get the rifles ready first. Have them out of
sight but handy and ready for instant use. We may have a tussle; but
if we want to get any reliable information about them elephant sloths
we’ve got to get it from Injuns. Otherwise, we might hunt about here
for twenty years without getting any closer to the critter.”
Jack swung the flying craft in big, lazy circles, while Tom and Dick
slipped magazines into the automatics and placed fresh ones ready to
use in case there was any necessity. The weapons were then laid out
of sight, as they had no wish to antagonize the Indians by a show of
force. When all these preparations were concluded Captain Sprowl, who,
by common consent, was leader of the adventurers at this stage of their
travels, gave the word to descend.
There was a patch of cleared ground outside the village and Jack
aimed the great flying auto toward this. By this time the crowd had
increased till the village was swarming with humanity. Suddenly, as
they shot downward, they saw an odd procession emerge from the central
building. Several men in scarlet robes appeared, escorting a tall man
dressed entirely in white.
“That’s the king, or chief, or whatever they call him, I reckon,”
remarked Captain Sprowl. “If we can make a hit with his nibs, we’re all
right.”
“Wonder what those red fellows that look like bottles of chili-sauce,
are?” asked Dick, the inquisitive.
“Priests, I guess, or suthin of that nature,” was the reply of the
captain, “and say, young fellow, you don’t want to get disrespectful
among these folks. They might resent it and their resentment takes the
form of a spear in the ribs.”
The flying auto came to the ground as easily as usual; but Jack
experienced some difficulty in clearing a path for his landing. Far
from running from the machine, which must have been the strangest they
had ever seen, the natives appeared to be more curious than alarmed.
They crowded about it and several narrowly escaped being run over.
“I don’t much like the look of this,” muttered the captain to Mr.
Chadwick. “They don’t scare worth a cent, and that’s a bad sign. Look
at ‘em size us up, too. Don’t a soul of you leave the machine whatever
happens, till I give the word,” he added.
“Hullo! Here comes his nibs,” said the irreverent Dick, as the crowd
gave way respectfully and the tall man in white, with his scarlet-robed
retainers, advanced.
As he drew nearer, they saw that although he appeared to be tall, the
white-robed man was only altitudinous by comparison with his subjects,
as they guessed them to be. These latter were much like the Indians
they had encountered the day before, only a trifle more intelligent
looking. They had the same small stature, copper-colored skins,
straight black hair and sloe eyes. Several of the younger ones bore a
striking resemblance to dark-colored Japanese.
The red-robed men, surrounding the chief, wore circles of feathers like
coronets around their heads, and several of the villagers sported the
same decoration. As only those so decorated were armed with spears, or
bows or blow-pipes, the travelers assumed that they formed the warrior
or hunter class. In this they were correct.
“Anybody speak English?—United States?” asked the captain, as the
white-robed chieftain approached. He was anxious to remove any
impression that they were Spaniards or Portuguese, two races that the
Indians hate with an undying resentment for their past cruelties. The
captain bowed low to the ruler as he spoke and the others followed his
example.
“Spanish, then? Anybody speak Spanish?” asked the captain in that
language.
One of the red-robed men stepped forward. He was a fine-looking man
with an expression almost of intellect which the others, even the
chief, notably lacked.
“I speak Spanish,” he replied in that language, which they learned
later he spoke with a most barbaric accent, “but you are not Spaniards?”
“No, we come from the north, from America,” rejoined the captain, with
a sweep of his hand toward that point of the compass.
The red-robed man turned to the chief and spoke rapidly in a not
unmusical tongue. The white-robed man nodded comprehendingly and then
the inquisitor turned to the captain again. Of course the conversation
was not understood by the boys but the captain gave them the details
afterward.
“You come in that flying canoe?” was the next question.
The captain deemed it wise to reply in the affirmative. He added that
having heard wonderful things of the country they had come to pay it a
friendly visit.
He said nothing just then of the real object of their journey, thinking
it more prudent to leave this till later on.
This reply being translated to the chief, that dignitary himself
appeared to suggest a question. It was one that was to the point, too.
“What do you want in this country?” asked Red-robe.
The captain dared not hesitate, and under the circumstances concluded
that the truth was the best thing to tell.
“To hunt, to study your customs and to take back to our people the
friendship of this great tribe,” he replied with a touch of diplomacy.
The red-robed man appeared satisfied. He turned to his chief and spoke
rapidly. The chief also appeared gratified, and the captain began to
think that all was to go as smoothly as they could have desired. But
suddenly their hopes were dashed, and that in an entirely unexpected
way.
While the red-robed interpreter was talking to the chief and the
villagers stood gaping around the flying craft, a murmur ran through
the assemblage of red-robed men. One of them, a powerfully built fellow
with a villainous squint, was pointing out something to the others
which appeared to cause them the greatest excitement.
Suddenly the one who squinted bounded over toward the chief and tugged
violently at his sleeve. He spoke rapidly, excitedly pointing at the
air craft. The chief frowned and a murmur that had an unmistakable
intonation of anger buzzed among the central group.
“What’s up?” asked Jack anxiously. “They’re mad about something,
aren’t they?”
“Wait a bit, here comes our friend,” was the reply. “Hold your horses,
now.”
The interpreter stepped straight up to the captain and spoke swiftly
in his imperfect Spanish, while the others pressed closely about the
machine. It was clear that a crisis of some sort was pending. But what,
they could not imagine.
“Chekla, our king, wants to know, why, if you come from the far
northland, you carry on your ship the god of the Iribis that was
stolen from us ten years ago?” demanded the interpreter in tones that
unmistakably called for a satisfactory explanation.
The captain explained that they had found the idol and that they were
glad to be the means of restoring it to the tribe. It was partly for
that purpose, he added tactfully, that they had made their long journey
through the air.
Chekla impatiently desired to have the captain’s explanation translated
to him at once. When this had been done, his brow clouded and he shot
out some angry words. The red-robed man turned to the captain.
“Chekla says that the white men are liars and sons of liars,” he said
in a clear, ringing tone.
At the same instant the red-robed man with the hideous squint uttered
a loud yell. It appeared to be a signal of some kind, for almost
simultaneously the air was filled with flying spears and darts.