THE BEAST
“Now, what’s the trouble?” Rice demanded in an angry voice.
“It’s the Indians, mostly,” the foreman replied, shifting his feet
uneasily. “They fight us every step of the way, when we get a few miles
from the camp.”
“Why don’t you fight back--kill them all. That’s the only way to handle
the savages.”
“We do, but there are so many of them that there are always others to
take the places of the ones we kill. They seem to spring up like weeds,
right out of the ground.”
“Well? Go on! What else?”
“The snakes are worse than ever this year.”
“So you are afraid of snakes, too!” Rice said with a sneer. “You are a
fine person to be entrusted with the management of the rubber camp. If
you can’t do better than that, I’ll kick you out and put one of the
half-breeds in your place. At least, they are not cowards.”
“I’m not afraid of the snakes myself, but when one or more of the men
are bitten and die each day, it is not long before they all get scared
and want to quit. And besides, every one we lose leaves one man less to
collect rubber.”
“Is it really as bad as that?” Apparently Rice had underestimated the
seriousness of the situation.
“Oh, worse. It was bad enough in ordinary times, but this year the
drought is driving all the snakes to the river. They like the huts of
the men to use as hiding places, and are always dropping down out of the
thatched roofs or crawling over the floor at night; they even get into
the hammocks. I have never seen anything like it. Mariano found a
twenty-foot anaconda in his hammock the night before we left; that’s why
no one has seen Mariano since--he left camp in such a hurry he did not
even take his clothes.”
“Snakes or no snakes, the rubber crop must be gathered.” Rice seemed to
have made up his mind and spoke with an air of finality. “Soon the rains
will be here and then the season will be over. You must get more men and
try it again; we must have the rubber even if you lose every single man
in the end.”
“We can fight against the Indians and the snakes,” the foreman ventured,
timidly, “but there is one thing we can’t overcome and that is the
fever. There never was so much of it as this year--on account of the
drought, they say. Most of the men who escaped the other two plagues are
too sick to work.”
“Don’t tell me any more!” Rice thundered. “I’ve got troubles of my own.
It’s up to you to harvest that rubber, so go do it. You are the foreman.
Do anything you want to. Take every soul on the place; it don’t matter
if none gets back alive, just so you bring back the rubber. Now, get out
and do something.”
The foreman did not wait to hear more. He quickly made for the door and
disappeared. David was alone again with the viper.
He was speechless with amazement at the things he had just heard. Had he
been given his choice now, it is but natural that the first impulse
would have been to start for home as soon as possible. But he was not
asked to make known his desires.
“I’ve changed my mind about you,” Rice bellowed. “You will stay. You’ll
make one more hand to get that rubber crop in before the rains
start--even if you’re nothing but a boy. Can you swim?”
“Yes,” David answered meekly.
“Can you ride a horse?”
“Yes.”
“Can you throw a rope?”
“No. I never tried, but I can learn.”
“You are a fine one to come to a ranch--expecting to run it. I ought to
chase you out, and I would if I didn’t need you so badly. The rubber
camp will soon bring out the kind of stuff you’re made of. But just
remember this; we won’t tolerate any smart ideas or new notions. You
don’t know anything and you’ll do exactly as you are told. You are not
Mr. Jones’ son so long as you stay around here. Your official name is
Nobody, and that’s what I’ll call you. You are right down on the bottom
and you’ll stick there, too, if I am any judge of character. Now go, and
tell Carlos where you hid your pack, so he can send for it. He’ll fix
you up with what you need, and remember, he’s your boss. Do whatever he
says and if he thinks you worth the trouble, he’ll take you up-river.
Get out just as fast as you can and don’t bother me again.”
David was too bewildered to resent anything that had been said to him.
It had all come like a thunderbolt, suddenly, unexpected and terrible.
He merely stammered “Yes, Sir,” and hastily departed. Outside the door
he drew a deep breath of relief. What a frightful character Rice was! He
had not the slightest regard for life. No wonder they called him the
viper, but David could not think of any creature that was so repulsive
to him as this man, unless possibly it was a hyena.
How could his father have sent him to such a place? Then the truth
occurred to him. He had not been sent. He had insisted on having his
way. If he had known the truth; if only he had listened to the advice of
others who knew the world better than he, and----. But, no! He dared not
think such thoughts. He had gone this far and there must be no quitting.
He would see the thing through. Somehow, some way, matters would
straighten themselves out and if they didn’t he would force them to.
Seeing the foreman near one of the larger huts, David went toward him
unaware that the eyes of the beast were following his every movement.
The look of cruelty had gone from the eyes and a smile was on his
face--a smile partly of amusement and partly of pity, as he looked at
the forlorn figure approaching the burly Don Carlos.
“Hm!” he chuckled. “He’s showing the right stuff, so far. Getting here
the way he did wasn’t easy. I didn’t think he could do it. I can’t help
but admire him and if he don’t make good, I’ll be disappointed.”
“Mr. Rice sent me to you,” David addressed the foreman. “I guess I am to
go with your outfit.”
“What, you?” sarcastically. “You wouldn’t be good for anything except to
cook for the _mozos_ or some such work.”
“All right. You are the boss.”
Evidently the foreman was not prepared for such a reply and for a moment
he was at a loss as to what to say.
“Very well,” he said finally. “If that is the way you feel about it, I
guess we can use you. But I warn you in advance that you’ll have a hard
time of it. You’ll be the only white man; the others are Indians and
Mozos. They have to work hard and put up with anything, and so will
you.”
“I am not asking any favors. I’ll do the best I can.”
“Come along then. I’ll show you where you’ll live while we are here.
Where is your pack?” the foreman asked.
David told him where he had hidden it.
“I’ll send for it. There’s a short cut you don’t know so it’ll be easier
for one of the men to get it.”
They entered one of the shacks, the interior of which was larger than
the outside indicated. Stout poles set into the ground and covered with
a veneer of grass formed the walls; the roof was made of palm leaves.
The floor was hard-packed earth. A number of hammocks had been swung
between the poles and small, wooden chests and bags of various kinds
lined the walls. Light was admitted through one window opening and the
doorway. The place was gloomy and stuffy and David recoiled at sight of
his quarters, but said nothing.
“Put up your hammock in the best place you can find,” the foreman said.
“If you have none draw one from the supply house. You’ll have to sign a
receipt for it, and for anything else you get and it will be charged to
your account. That’s the way things are issued here.”
By nightfall the newcomer had been installed in his new quarters. His
pack had arrived and he had drawn a number of things he needed from the
supply house. There had also been the first meal at the ranch mess
shack--chunks of beef roasted on sticks before a wood fire, boiled beans
with farinha and coffee. It was the first food David had had since early
morning, and it seemed wonderful to him.
After supper the men gathered in their huts and played guitars, sang
songs and smoked. They did not enter their hammocks until a late hour
and even then they conversed in loud voices for some hours longer.
It was uncomfortably warm under the mosquito netting, but the humming of
the insects just outside the cloth dissuaded David from removing it.
Better suffer the heat than permit the mosquitoes to feast on him and
perhaps inoculate him with the germs of the dread malarial fever of
which he had heard and read so much.
The night came to an end somehow and again David was forcibly reminded
of his surroundings by the babble of voices around him for an hour
before their owners slid from their hammocks.
That day was a busy one. He spent the first part of it getting
acquainted as best he could with the men about him who would be his
constant companions. They were a ragged, unkempt crowd of all shades
from yellow, through brown, to black and at first they regarded him with
suspicion. But after he had assured them that he was to be one of them
and later distributed a generous supply of tobacco, they regarded him in
a more favorable light and one or two called him _camarada_ which word
they used in addressing one another.
However, they seemed unable to comprehend why a white man should be
relegated to their lowly, unhappy station. That situation was new to
them and time alone would accustom them to it.
One of the group, Miguel by name, however, did not hesitate to show open
resentment toward what he considered an intrusion by a stranger who was
not of their kind. He was of heavier build than the others, apparently
with Indian blood in his veins and occupied the place of leader of the
party. When they sang he announced the songs; he led the conversation
and talked in the loudest voice; and when they worked, he selected the
easiest tasks for himself.
In David he saw a possible rival; but he had met similar situations
before and he knew of various ways of handling them.
David, after asking permission of the foreman, drew more things from the
keeper of supplies. Among them was a rope, for he must become
proficient in its use in roping cattle upon his return from the rubber
camp. His object was, of course, to learn thoroughly the ranching
business; all other things were but a means toward that end.
Asking questions judiciously, David learned many things. The men told
him that there were cattle on the place--many of them, but at the
present time they were far away roaming the grasslands and attended only
by a few rangers who would head the roving bands back to the ranch with
the coming of the rainy season when grass would be abundant in the
country nearby. And that he had reached the place by an old, seldom used
trail; the new one was only a score of yards long. The launches came up
a small creek that flowed almost past the doors of the ranch houses.
They all agreed that the rubber camp was an extremely unattractive place
and about Rice, owner of the place, they refused to talk.
Preparations for the departure were being made in a leisurely manner.
True, there was need of haste, for the dry season would not last
forever. Doing things slowly was, however, typical of the country. The
men simply could not be hurried beyond a given point. Probably the
climate was to blame for the fact that the people did not possess the
energy and initiative of those of a more northern latitude.
There were bales of _charque_ or dried, salt beef that looked like
bundles of leather scraps; bags of beans, coffee and brown sugar; and
many bags of farinha. In the course of his inspection of the
settlement, David had the opportunity to see how the latter was made.
One whole hut was given over to the manufacture of the coarse meal, and
women exclusively were engaged in the work. Yucas, which were tubers
like very large potatoes, were being brought from the plantation some
distance away. The women carried the heavy burdens on their heads,
balancing them without using their hands to steady them. Others took
them, pared and grated them; for the latter process they had a board on
which small, sharp stones had been glued. The juice was then extracted
by filling long, tubular baskets with the mash and suspending them from
the ceiling; a heavy stone was tied to the bottom of the filled baskets.
The weight pulled the baskets downward, contracting them and thus
expressing the juice from the pulp. This liquid was caught in wooden
containers and allowed to ferment after which it was used as a beverage.
After the greater part of the moisture had been removed the contents of
the baskets were emptied into a vat; they were taken from this as needed
and placed into shallow pans over low fires. The women stirred the
steaming masses constantly with long-handled paddles until they had
thoroughly dried, when the particles separated into a coarse meal. That
was the finished product--called farinha.
The next day they began loading the launch. David joined the line of
mozos and carried his share of the bales and bags. Most of them were
very heavy, so it was hard work and the perspiration ran in streams
down his bare back. But he stuck to the task without complaint or
comment.
On his return from one of the trips to the launch David found Rice
standing near the passing file of men, surveying them with an appraising
eye.
“Good morning,” he said, halting.
“What?” The voice that replied was filled with sudden anger. “Whining
already? Want to go home? I expected it!”
“Why,” David started in surprise. “I only said good morning.”
“Don’t good morning me. And don’t say anything else, either. You are not
to talk to me unless I speak first--no peon is allowed to.”
“Very well.”
“The foreman is your boss; you are nobody--with a little n. When I have
anything to say to you I’ll let you know pretty quick; and you keep your
mouth shut. Now move on.”
David moved on without further urging. He felt as if somebody had given
him a sound thrashing, but after all, what could he expect from the
beast? He had agreed to start at the bottom although he had not known
how low that bottom might be but he expected no favors--wanted none. He
would show them that he could stand on his own feet without their help
and even in spite of anything they might do; time alone would tell the
story.
When night came he was so tired that he sought his hammock right after
supper. Neither the loud voices of the mozos nor the uncomfortable
position he was forced to assume on account of the short stretch of the
ropes kept him awake. For the first time in several nights he slept
soundly, and it seemed but a moment when someone called them all to
tumble out in a hurry to prepare for the journey up the river.