A BATTLE WITH A CROCODILE
A gasp escaped the circle of onlookers as Miguel struck the ground. And
the first feeling of surprise was followed by one of expectancy, of
curiosity to see what would happen next. According to the rules of the
game as they knew it David should have immediately pounced upon the
prostrate man and given him a good mauling, but he did nothing of the
sort. That puzzled them.
He stood over him, however, with clenched fists, ready for instant
action when Miguel regained his feet.
After a moment the man opened his eyes.
“Now take back what you said,” David demanded.
“I was only joking,” Miguel answered, rising to a sitting position and
holding one hand to his head.
“Well, I was not joking,” David replied. “You know that by this time. I
was in dead earnest. I’ve stood for a good many things to keep from
hurting anybody, but there’s a limit. Take back your words or you won’t
stay on your feet very long when you get up. I’ll knock you down every
time you try it. What you’ve had so far is only a sample.”
The man looked appealingly to the circle of his companions. But the look
in their faces gave him no encouragement to expect help in that
direction. First one, then another face was scrutinized. The onlookers,
if anything, were afraid the fight would stop too soon; they wanted to
see more of it.
“Hurry up!” David’s voice rang out clear and sharp. “Do what I told you
to unless you want to spend the whole afternoon down in the dirt.”
“I said I was only joking,” Miguel persisted. “I said I didn’t mean
anything.” He stopped short.
“All right. And I said I am not joking. Now continue. Say you’re sorry
and take it all back.”
After a short hesitation the man did as he was directed.
“Now get up,” David said. “I’m sorry, too, I had to hurt you and I hope
it won’t be necessary to do it again. It depends on you.”
Picking up his rope he continued his occupation as unconcernedly as if
nothing had happened.
Miguel got up and walked toward one of the huts. The others, however,
remained, watching David’s efforts and giving him a good deal of helpful
advice which he was glad to have.
Day after day the work of collecting the rubber sap continued. The
unvaried nature of the work was monotonous. Each morning David tramped
up the long trail to its end and then went slowly homeward emptying the
little leaf-cups into his pail and cutting new gashes into the trees as
he went. The flow was increasing steadily and was of excellent quality.
As a result of this the ball of rubber on the stick in the smokehouse
grew rapidly. Each day’s work added another layer to the rapidly
accumulating mass.
The men, so it was said, received the equivalent of ten cents a pound
for the rubber they collected. And as David was now adding not less than
twenty pounds a day to his lot, it was amounting up rapidly.
In covering his route one day he found that instead of the white liquid
he had expected to find, many of the cups were filled with little cakes
of a tough cheesy consistency and of a grayish color. He could not
account for the sudden change. Removing one of the cups he pulled away
the leaf in fragments, revealing the little cake in its entirety, and
puzzled over it for some time. There was nothing to do but to collect
the masses and replace the leaf-cups with new ones. Those containers
that held latex as it should be were emptied into the pail. David
removed his shirt and used it for a bag in which to carry the chunks of
congealed substance.
This took more time than usual and it was well past the noon hour when
he reached camp. The men were in the smokehouses, busy with their
occupation. It had occurred to David that the condition of his catch
might be the result of some change in the weather, but when he saw the
others with their pans of snowy liquid he knew that there must be some
other reason.
Dom Carlos, the foreman, happened to be in the hut when he entered. He
was in his usual ugly mood and glared at David as he emptied the
contents of his shirt on the floor.
“What have you got there?” he called in a loud voice.
“I don’t know what caused it,” David began, while some of the men
started to laugh, “but it was nearly all like this today. I thought
maybe it was the heat caused it.”
“Who do you think I am, to try to give me such an excuse?” Carlos
bellowed. “The heat! The heat! It must have affected you but not the
rubber. It’s your own laziness spoiled it. You’ve wasted a day of your
employer’s time and a lot of his property. Do you realize that?”
David did not like being called down before all the others and he could
hardly keep from expressing his feelings in a forcible manner. But upon
second thought he suppressed the impulse. Perhaps the man was trying to
pick a fight.
“What’s the reason for it?” he asked. “Why did the milk get hard like
that?”
“Dirt, of course. You’ve been using the same old cups every day when you
should make new ones at least every third day.”
“What do you want done with this? Isn’t it worth anything?” David asked.
“Throw it into the scrap heap. The boss is entitled to all the rubber on
his property, and if anyone wastes it, as you have done, he suffers a
loss. But I’ll see that he doesn’t lose anything in this case. I’ll
charge it against your work,” the foreman said in an angry manner.
That part did not trouble David greatly. He was not counting so much on
earning money as on winning the good will of everyone around him. So he
made no reply.
Having nothing to do that afternoon, after the small quantity of good
sap had been prepared, he spent the time with his lasso. It was
remarkable how quickly one could become fairly proficient through
constant, earnest practice. He could now swing the rope easily and hurl
it accurately. If he continued to show improvement at the present rate
he would be well able to hold his own when they returned to the ranch.
“I believe in making hay while the sun shines,” he thought, “then after
I’ve won my spurs in the bush it will be easier to get along at Las
Palmas.”
The next morning the contents of most of the cups were found to be in
the same condition as on the previous day. After examining a number of
the little, tough cakes David came to the conclusion that no matter what
caused the trouble, he was not responsible for it. The cups were clean,
for they were new ones. And the milk that trickled from the cuts was as
it should be; it was only after it reached the little containers that it
quickly coagulated. No! It was not his fault and not the fault of the
trees; they had not soured overnight. Someone had visited his route and
had tampered with his work.
First he would try to find out what had been done and the next step
would be to discover the guilty party.
He took one of the small cakes and examined it carefully. The exterior
was perfectly smooth. Then he cut it in half and looked at the texture
of the interior of the mass. It did not differ from the outside. Not
satisfied with this finding he divided one of the halves and when the
knife had gone into it a little ways it scraped against some hard
substance near the bottom. It was a large, black ant and he had cut it
in two.
That might be a clew as to what caused the difficulty. Acting on a
sudden impulse he smelled of the pieces in his hand. There was a strong
odor of acid, not unfamiliar to him.
“Formic acid, of course,” he said half aloud. “Ants are full of it. It’s
strong enough to curdle almost anything.”
The presence of the ant seemed to explain the condition of the latex;
but someone must have placed it there. It was possible that it had been
attracted by the fluid and had fallen into it while drinking. But he did
not recall having seen a single one at any time and if they were so
plentiful that they invaded fully half his cups, it seemed that he must
have observed them for they were of extraordinary size, being nearly an
inch long.
David cut open one after another of the muffin-like pieces as he found
them; each contained one or more of the ants. That fact confirmed his
suspicions. Then he pulled out one of the insects and examined it
minutely; and the first thing he saw was that it was headless. He cut
and broke the mass of rubber into small bits, but the missing head could
not be found. A hurried examination of a number of other pieces produced
the same result. All the insects had been decapitated and were in about
the center of the mass, indicating that they had been dropped into the
cups some time after the sap began to flow--probably late in the
afternoon.
The whole thing was perfectly clear to David now. After finishing his
work in the smokehouse Miguel stole back over David’s trail with a
supply of the ants he had gathered at some nest he had discovered and
placed them in the containers. He recalled now that Miguel was always
among the first to finish the smoking and often disappeared shortly
after. Also, it was not surprising that he should want to have revenge
on the person who had humiliated him.
David determined that he would feign ignorance of his discovery and trap
the culprit at his game. He did not trouble to collect the coagulated
masses, for they would only be thrown into the scrap heap, but tossed
them aside and placed new cups into position.
That afternoon David was passing the time with his lasso, as usual;
several of the men who had finished their task were watching him and
offering advice when up walked Miguel.
The thrashing he had received rankled. He had lost prestige with the
men; and he was determined to square the account.
David saw at a glance that Miguel was in an ugly mood and bent on
starting trouble, but pretended not to notice him.
For a moment the Brazilian said nothing. But the look on his face as he
watched David plainly showed the thoughts that were in his mind.
“That was wonderful,” he said finally and with a note of sarcasm in his
voice, as David, throwing at one of the men who ran past, thus serving
as a moving target, missed. “Keep it up and you’ll soon be foreman of
the ranch.”
Strange to say, none of the men laughed. Their sympathy was entirely
with David and this added to Miguel’s anger.
“And how about that fancy swimming you talked so much about?” he added.
“Who, me?” David seemed surprised. “I don’t remember saying anything
about it.”
“I do, and I have witnesses. You said you would go anywhere I would.”
“All right. I’ll go any time you say.”
“The water is full of crocodiles. You won’t go in when you see them, and
then they,” pointing to the others, “will see how brave you are. And if
you do go in you’ll be eaten in a minute, because you can’t swim well
enough to----”
“I’ll go at any time and place you say and I’ll do anything you will.
Right now suits me. Now come on, or shut up,” David interrupted him
hotly.
Miguel flushed and moved his feet uneasily, but there was now no getting
out of it.
“The lagoon,” he said grimly. “We’ll go to the lagoon.”
“No, Miguel; not there.” One of the men stepped forward as if to stop
him. “It is full of _caimen_ and they are the largest and most savage of
any place. Go to the river.”
“Get out of the way!” Miguel pushed him aside.
David had not even heard that there was a lagoon in the neighborhood,
but followed his challenger as he walked away. Without fully realizing
what he was doing he still retained hold of the rope. In his belt he had
only the long brush knife each man carried; the revolver was in his
hammock in the shack where he invariably placed it upon his return from
the forest at noon.
The men who had been present followed the two in a straggling line. The
thing that was about to happen might have a thrilling ending and they
did not want to miss it.
Miguel took a trail that was new to David and walked rapidly through the
semi-gloom of the heavy jungle. He was grimly silent. He realized the
serious nature of the mission; he had spoken hastily and now regretted
his conduct. But, much to his surprise, David had accepted promptly, and
now, with the others following, there was nothing to do but see the
thing through.
After half an hour’s walk, during which no one spoke, they reached a
point where the forest grew thinner and the patches of sky showing
through the branches ahead of them were larger. They were coming to the
jungle’s end.
Then the trees were replaced by a growth of brush in scattered clumps
and the ground was soggy underfoot. Ahead of them glistened a sheet of
water fringed with reeds and grass. Here and there was a cluster of
tall, feathery bamboo in which large, crested birds were fluttering and
croaking. A number of tall herons, frightened from their places of
concealment by the newcomers, flapped heavily across the opening,
voicing their resentment in hoarse squawks.
A more desolate place would be hard to picture, but Miguel did not
falter. He picked his way carefully over the muddy path and made
straight for the lagoon, David not ten feet in back of him and the
others bringing up the rear.
It happened so suddenly that at first David did not know what took
place. Miguel was just rounding one of the dense clumps of bushes when
he gave a wild cry of terror and sank down into the grass. There was a
struggle of some kind going on. The tall blades beside the trail waved
and crumpled; there was the sound of a heavy body thumping in the mud;
and Miguel’s screams filled the air.
“Help! help! help! For heaven’s sake, help me!” he was calling
frantically.
David thought the unfortunate man had been seized by a giant snake. He
looked back to where the other men had been; they were fleeing down the
trail for their lives and calling to him to follow them.
Just then Miguel’s head and shoulders appeared above the waving grass.
He was clutching wildly at the stems and sprouts, but they either gave
way or his grasp was broken by an irresistible force that was dragging
him rapidly toward the lagoon.
David started for the man on a run; and then he saw that Miguel was in
the clutches of a monster crocodile. The repulsive reptile had seized
him by one foot and was moving away with surprising agility--so fast,
in fact, that David could not hope to overtake it before it reached the
muddy water.
Miguel’s position seemed hopeless; in a few moments he would be dragged
to the bottom and drowned.
David’s mind was in a turmoil. His only weapon was the long knife in his
belt, but that was useless at the moment. But there was the rope with
which he had been toying when the trouble started and which was still in
his hands. Almost before he realized what he was doing the noose was
whirling over his head; the next instant it was soaring through the air,
opening as it went, and as it sped on its way he prayed that it would
find its mark.
By this time the crocodile had reached the bare, muddy flat bordering
the water. In another moment it would disappear into the stagnant depths
with its terror-stricken victim.
The rope flew after it with a whining sound and sent up a shower of thin
mud as it struck. Then it lay limp. The noose had failed in its mission.
A cry of despair escaped David when he realized what had happened; and
then a tug, a violent pull, brought him to his senses. Luckily he still
had the end of the rope in his hands, but he soon found that he had not
the strength to stop the rush of the great creature. He was as nothing
compared to the powerful reptile, which pulled him along as if
unconscious of any hindrance.
A clump of thick sprouts grew just off the trail to one side of him.
They offered the one means of
[Illustration: He delivered thrust after thrust with his right at the
vulnerable neck and throat.]
salvation open to the man. David swerved around the growth and the drag
on the line became less; and when he had encircled it there was scarcely
any pull at all, for he had made a complete hitch around the stout
stems, which now served as an unyielding anchor.
The crocodile had come to an abrupt halt. It lashed its tail from side
to side and writhed in its efforts to free itself from the grip of the
rope that encircled one of its legs; but it still clung tenaciously to
the man, unwilling to release him when but a few steps separated it from
its element.
David worked with frantic haste. He tied the end of the rope to one of
the stems and, drawing the knife with its two-foot blade, rushed toward
the struggling monster.
“Save me! Save me!” Miguel was crying piteously, and in his anxiety
David cast caution to the winds and dashed at the reptile, knife raised
high above his shoulder. The next thing he knew he found himself
sprawling in the mud where a powerful blow of the crocodile’s tail had
sent him. He arose immediately, but this time he approached more
cautiously.
“Use your own knife,” he shouted. “Hack at the eyes, the throat--any
place at all!”
These words carried a ray of hope with them and for the first time
Miguel seemed to regain his reason. He drew the shining blade from the
scabbard and rained a shower of blows on the creature’s head, making it
bellow with pain and rage.
Blood began to stream from the numerous gashes, but still it refused to
relinquish its victim. It was too occupied, however, to pay further
attention to David; in a moment he had leaped astride the armor-covered
back and, clutching the rough plates with his left hand, he delivered
thrust after thrust with his right at the vulnerable neck and throat.
Roars and bellows escaped the struggling reptile as it shook its huge
body in vain efforts to rid itself of its adversary and filled the air
with a shower of the thin mud. However, the odds against it were too
great. Its efforts grew weaker and after a few minutes there were only
the convulsive movements of its massive legs and tail. Its head had been
almost severed from the body.
David pried open the great jaws with the blade of his knife and released
Miguel’s foot; then he carried him to the grass and removed his shoe to
examine the extent of his injury. He found that two of the thick,
peg-like teeth had entered the flesh. Obviously the crocodile had broken
some of its teeth in previous encounters, or the man would not have
escaped so easily. He bore the pain stolidly even when David probed the
wound to encourage bleeding, for he dared not wash it with the stagnant
water of the lagoon.
Just then the men reappeared. They had witnessed the combat from a
distance, but now that it was over they came back and discussed it in
loud, excited voices.
David went to get his rope and paced the distance beside the crocodile,
finding it over twenty feet in length. Then he returned to the group.
“Miguel will have to be carried back to camp,” he said. “He must not
walk until I can wash and dress his foot properly. You can all take
turns carrying him, first one, then the other. Now, let’s start.”
They obeyed mechanically, glad to be under the direction of the man who
was now a hero in their sight, although they were still too dazed fully
to appreciate it.