THE ROAD TO LAS PALMAS
That lonesome walk through the towering forest was an experience David
would never forget.
How tall the tree-trunks were and how thick and straight. It must have
taken centuries to grow to that size. On some, the lowest branches did
not start until fifty feet or more above the ground; they reached toward
and intermingled with their neighbors, forming a sturdy framework for
the canopy of leaves that shut out the sunlight except in scattered
spots where a bright shaft penetrated the thick mat and cast a dazzling,
wavering blotch on the sombre forest floor.
The steady drip of water came from overhead, and the ground underfoot
was soft and spongy from the drenching of the previous night, so that
there was not a sound as David walked rapidly up the narrow trail.
Suddenly it came upon David that the silence was not only under his
feet; it was all about him. While he had expected to find the jungle
teeming with life, there was not a sign of life. Instead of the chorus
of screams, roars and howls that should have greeted his ears there was
only the breathless silence of a vast solitude, so intense that the
beating of his own heart seemed to pound in his ears like the blows of a
sledgehammer.
The wilderness was full of life--it must be--but where was it? David
felt that inquisitive, eager, even menacing eyes were gazing at him from
places of concealment in the dense vegetation; but he could not see
their owners. This thought added to the uncanny feeling that was slowly
taking possession of him.
What if he should be charged by a jaguar? Or suppose a herd of ferocious
peccaries should surround him? The trees were too thick to be climbed.
There was no means of escape open to him.
A twig snapped in back of him. He wheeled instantly, but saw nothing.
Standing motionless, he waited a few minutes. Not a leaf stirred, but a
faint, shuffling sound reached his ears, like the footfalls of some
heavy creature stealing away. Without awaiting further developments he
opened his pack and took out his revolver; he strapped the holster to
his waist. That gave him a feeling of security and he continued the
tramp through the gloomy forest.
As time passed the pack on his back seemed to grow heavier and the
perspiration ran down his face in rivulets. Also, the parcel was a
serious impediment in crossing the numerous little streams spanned by a
single log and that, frequently, of small size.
Walking across the slippery foothold with the deep, murky water below
was precarious in itself; the pack rendered it doubly so. He walked
across the larger trunks and hitched over those of more slender
proportions.
David had just negotiated one of the latter and had stopped to readjust
the weight of his burden. A faint rustle made him turn suddenly and
look down the trail. There, not a dozen paces from the stream he had
just left, stood an Indian, a long bow in one hand, an arrow in the
other. The brown skin of the savage, marked with stripes of black paint,
blended well with the sombre tree-trunks and dark foliage.
For a moment neither stirred but each gazed at the other, David in
surprise and consternation, the Indian with an air of resentment at
having been discovered. Then the latter advanced a step menacingly and
raised the bow to the level of his shoulders. David’s hand flew to the
holster on his belt and a shot, aimed high, rang out clear and sharp in
the silent forest. The Indian gave a wild yell, sprang to one side and
dashed away. The thud of his feet and the swishing of the branches were
ample proof that he had no intention of stopping in the near vicinity.
“I guess that fixed him for the present,” thought David; “but I’ll have
to hurry; he might come back with others and then it would not be so
easy to scare away the whole pack.”
A hundred yards up the trail he stopped, slipped the pack off his back,
and hid it in a mass of ferns growing between the buttressed roots of a
great tree. After that he could walk more rapidly.
When another hour had passed he noticed that the forest was becoming
more open in character. The trees were further apart and the sunlight
found its way to the ground in numerous splashes and pools of bright
light. About the same time he heard the call of a bird--the first sign
of animal life on all that long, solitary tramp. It was fortunate that
he saw the author of the sound, for it was a shrill, quavering note that
was unearthly and weird in the extreme.
The bird was of the shape and size of a guinea hen, but of a rich brown
color. It ran out into the trail just ahead of him and stood looking at
the man with bright, black eyes until he was nearly upon it, when it
flew away with a loud whirr of wings. It was a poor flyer, however, for
although it hurtled through the air at great speed, its course was
erratic; it darted one way, then another, until it dashed against a
tree-trunk and fell to the ground, where it lay fluttering. David
started toward it, but before he had covered half the distance
separating him from the now quiet creature a lithe form sprang out of
the cover on one side of the path, picked up the bird in its mouth and
darted out of view again.
The marauder was of the cat family and spotted like a leopard, though
not so large. Its sudden appearance gave David a start, for it proved
that there was life in the silent forest in spite of the hush that
prevailed. Unseen eyes and keen ears were about him; it required only
the proper combination of circumstances to bring the creatures from
their hiding-places. This thought was far from comforting and the lone
wanderer redoubled his vigilance in an effort to forestall a surprise
attack on himself.
At last the forest gave way to a scrubby growth, and this was soon
replaced by open country; that is, it seemed open in comparison to the
jungle through which David had just passed.
There were low bushes in scattered groups; between them lay grassy areas
of considerable extent. Clumps of trees stood like dark islands in the
sea of lighter green; and here and there was the glint of water--lagoons
fringed by reedy marshes.
The picture was that of a perfect wilderness, but it was an enticing
one. It bore the stamp of primeval nature and seemed pregnant with the
promise of rich rewards for the one who cared to go in quest of them.
“The ranch cannot be much farther,” David thought. “It would have to be
out in the open, of course.” And he scanned the country in all
directions for some signs of the buildings or their occupants.
But the wilderness stretched on unendingly on all sides, with only the
narrow thread of a trail to give evidence of the fact that the country
was not unknown to man.
There were other foot-paths, too, but they had been made by
animals--deer, peccaries and tapirs, and occasionally there was the
deep, broad imprint of a jaguar’s foot, or the smaller, uncertain track
of an ocelot.
Birds of many kinds dotted the sky and were spread out over the
landscape. Parrots and great macaws sped by overhead; herons and egrets
covered the trees as with a snowy mantle; and rafts of ducks floated on
the quiet water, while smaller birds dabbled among the grass and reeds
lining the lagoons. Of the latter, one kind in particular attracted
David’s attention. They had long legs and long necks and could have been
mistaken for snipe but for the fact that they seemed to run and skip
over the surface of the water with the ease of covering firm ground.
But when David drew nearer he saw that the birds had wide-spreading toes
which enabled them to use the mats of small, floating plants as a
footing. They were reluctant to fly, but when they did they fluttered
like grasshoppers, exposing a greenish patch of color in each wing, and
uttered queer, cackling, scolding notes.
Some of the smaller ponds or sloughs had begun to dry. The water that
remained was muddy and teemed with fish that had been left stranded far
inland by the flood of the last rainy season. The imprisoned creatures
were struggling frantically in the slimy liquid, dashing back and forth
in futile efforts to find an outlet into some larger and friendlier
basin. In their frenzy they attacked one another and numbers threw
themselves out upon the land, where they gasped their last. Apparently
this state of affairs had been going on for some time, for the ground
was littered with heaps of the remains in the form of white bones that
had been crushed by opossums and other nocturnal prowlers.
The depressing sight and the stench made David avoid these places by
wide detours whenever possible.
It seemed as if the trail ran on interminably, winding between the
lagoons and forest islands, traversing the highest, dryest places of the
open country, but always leading on and on. If the ranch were in the
neighborhood, there should be some indications of it. But so far neither
horses nor cattle, smoke nor houses could be seen.
David was beginning to wonder if he might not have taken some branch of
the original trail that was simply taking him deeper and deeper into the
wilderness. He stopped for a moment to consider what best had be done.
As he scanned the country his eyes caught sight of moving objects in the
distance and a first glimpse convinced him that they were horsemen. He
could have shouted for joy, for now it was but a matter of minutes until
they should see him and then they would soon take him to the ranch. It
never occurred to him that the riders might not want to see him or that
they would refuse to help him if they could not avoid him, and that,
too, in spite of the things he had been told he was to expect from the
owner of Las Palmas. Just beyond, the ground was more open; he decided
to go there and wave his hat to attract the attention of the men.
As he started through the thick grass a warning bellow from directly in
front stopped him in his tracks; he looked in the direction from which
the sound had come, but could see nothing. A moment later a second
bellow, more like a roar, reached his ears and at the same time he
caught sight of a long, waving object like the head and neck of a great
snake. Before he had time for action of any kind a huge, grayish body
leaped out of the grass and charged. It was a rhea or South America
ostrich. Onward it came with lowered head, hissing as it sped over the
ground, the short wings drooping and feathers ruffled in a terrifying
manner. It was upon David in a few seconds. The attack had been so
sudden that he had not had time to grasp his revolver; as the great bird
lunged at him he stepped aside and caught the outstretched neck in his
hands. That action, unexpected as it was new to the bird, bewildered it
and it stopped. However, the surprise of the reception lasted but a
moment.
David clung desperately to the creature’s neck. Back and forth they
struggled, the bird striking with its huge feet, beating with its wings
and bellowing in its frantic efforts to break the man’s hold.
The outcome of the struggle depended upon endurance. Sooner or later one
of the two must give out, and for a time it was impossible to guess
which would be that one. The bird was first to show signs of succumbing
to the strain. Its struggles grew weaker and finally they ceased
altogether, much to David’s relief, for he too was on the verge of
exhaustion.
When the rhea was quiet he relaxed his grasp. Instantly it again became
charged with life. It gave a powerful wrench and the thick neck slipped
from his aching fingers. But instead of renewing the attack, the bird
seemed to have but one thought, but one desire, and that was to leave
the locality as quickly as possible. It turned and fled in a series of
long strides, its head held high, wings stretched out like sails, and
feet that moved so rapidly the eye could not follow them in their
prodigious leaps.
The supposed horsemen had come nearer all the while and David now saw
that they were a flock of the ostriches, which his attacker joined, when
the entire company turned and soon disappeared in the distance.
David went to the spot where he had first sighted the bird. To his
delight he found a mound of huge eggs. They were of an oval shape,
creamy white color, glossy, and so large he could not span one with his
fingers. There were twenty of them, neatly arranged in a slight hollow
scooped in the ground. He could not take them with him, of course, on
account of their great weight and size, but thinking that he might have
need of them at some time in the near future he tore a strip of cloth
from his trousers--rent by the bird’s sharp claws during the
struggle--and tied it to the highest reed near the nest, to serve as a
marker for the spot.
Another half hour’s walk under the broiling sun and the end of the trail
was in sight. There it was at last, but it looked nothing like the
ranch-house David had pictured. Instead of the long, low, rambling
building he had expected to find, with its corrals, and groups of
saddled horses standing dejectedly under the shade trees, there was a
ramshackle structure built of bamboo poles and covered with a thatched
roof. A dozen or so smaller huts were scattered about the immediate
vicinity. Here and there grew a cluster of tall, graceful palm trees;
that was why the place was called Las Palmas.
The surrounding country did not appear very inviting. It looked forsaken
and, under the hot sun, almost desolate.
David drew a deep breath and kept on his way. Perhaps the new life he
had chosen was not going to be so interesting as he had imagined; but he
would keep on just the same. This was no time for regrets. He must
stick by his determination to see the thing through.
As he approached the largest house a lone dog darted out from some place
of concealment, growling and bristling; he called to it in a friendly
manner, but it bared its teeth and slunk away. A man, obviously a
native, came to the doorway of the nearest hut and stared at the
stranger in open astonishment. David started toward him; the man gave
him a malicious look and faded from view in the darkened interior of the
hut.
“Not a very inviting atmosphere around the place,” thought David. “But
I’ll walk right into the big house as if I owned it and see what
happens.”
On the threshold he stopped, however, and knocked. There was no response
from within, but, hearing the sound of voices in back of him, he turned
quickly to see who was responsible for it. A small group of natives
stood in the doorway of each hovel, or in front of it, eyeing him in a
curious manner.
“Enter!” one of them called to him. “The _patron_ is inside.”
David heeded this advice and walked in. He found himself in a long, low
room with a hard-packed earth floor. A number of benches lined the walls
and at one end were a wooden table and a chair. A man of burly
appearance sat on the chair; his back was turned toward the doorway so
that David could not see his face, but the neck was dark brown--David
did not know whether the color was that of a native or caused by the hot
sun. His clothes--a tan silk shirt and khaki-colored riding breeches,
with tall boots and huge spurs--were neat and not unattractive.
The youth saw that much during the minute he waited respectfully just
inside the room. Then, as the man paid no attention to him, he took a
few steps forward.
“Didn’t I tell you to keep out of here?” The man’s voice sounded like a
roar, but still he did not look up from the papers before him. “Wait
just a minute--then I’ll kick you out, so you will remember it the next
time.”
The man stood up and turned quickly.
“Well, for the--” he exploded and stopped short in apparent surprise.
His face was tanned also and smooth, and his eyes were blue. But for the
fierce scowl he wore he would have been a most amiable-looking sort of a
person.
“Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you get here? What do you
want?”
The questions were hurled in such rapid succession that David was
bewildered.
“I am Jones,” he said, after an instant’s hesitation, and he tried to
smile.
“Jones? Jones who?”
“David Jones. You are expecting me.”
“Boy, you must be crazy. I am not expecting anybody”--with a sneer--“and
furthermore, if I find out who brought you here I’ll break his neck.”
“You don’t understand--” David began, but the other interrupted him.
“Don’t you tell me I don’t know my own business,” he snapped.
“Pardon me. I did not intend to be rude. But I understood that my father
and you were old friends and that he had made arrangements for my coming
here. He sent several cables----”
“Oh, that’s it, is it? Just because he happened to know me he thinks he
can send his lazy, shiftless son to me to look after. What does he think
this is, a kindergarten? What I want is men, real men--not babies. What
do you know, what can you do? Nothing.”
David’s first feeling of consternation was giving way; also, he felt
decidedly less important than he had when telling of his plans just
before sailing, and on the steamer. What did he know after all? What had
he ever accomplished? Now that he was actually face to face with the
rugged type of man he had held up as his ideal, he felt very small
indeed.
“You are right,” he said meekly. “I don’t amount to much. I knew it, and
that is why I wanted to get away to a place where I had to depend on
myself and would have the chance to make good under trying conditions.”
“You picked out the poorest place in the world. Don’t lie to me; you
thought you could come here as Mr. David Jones, son of the big New York
business man, and that I would let you hang around as an ornament, wear
fancy cow-boy clothes, so you could send pictures to your friends at
home to admire; and that I would pay you a big salary for the honor of
having you here. Well, you guessed wrong.”
“I didn’t think of any of those things. I don’t want a cent until I
honestly earn it. All I expect is a chance to do the things I have
always wanted to do. My father did not send me away to get rid of me; I
had a hard time to get him to let me come here.”
The ranchman seemed to relent a little and, encouraged, David told him
all, including his difficulties at Manaos and how he had finally
succeeded in reaching the ranch on the trader’s boat.
“You did have tough luck all around,” Rice commented, “but if I let you
stay, it would only grow worse. Everything here has to be done by men
who know their work; we haven’t time to be teachers. So you can rest up
a bit; then I’ll send you back down the river. And that settles it.”
A loud knock sounded on the door-frame.
“Come in,” Rice called, and into the room stepped a tall, lean man,
dressed in a blue cotton shirt and fringed, leather breeches. He had a
cruel, swarthy face and small, restless eyes.
“Now what?” his employer asked.
“The launch is back from the Iguari; there has been more trouble with
the Indians.” He cast a meaning look at David.
“I’ll go outside,” David quickly said.
“No!” Rice bellowed. “You will stay right here until I tell you to go.”
David stopped and quickly turned to face the two.