THE RESCUE FROM THE ANT ARMY
When David failed to return to camp at the usual time little was thought
of it by those who noticed his absence. It was not until the foreman
came around on his daily tour of inspection of the smokehouses that
mention was made of it. It was then past mid-afternoon.
“You, Mariano, go to the _dormitorio_ to see if he is there,” he said.
“He may be sick.”
Mariano dropped his work and hurried out. Soon he returned.
“He is not there,” he said, “and the cook said he has not come in yet.
He’s been waiting for him.”
“Wonder what’s keeping him,” the foreman said uneasily. “Did he say
anything to anybody this morning about going farther than usual?”
A chorus of “No, Senhor,” and “Not to me” came in response to the
inquiry.
The chief bit his lip.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “If he comes let me know at once. Don’t go
away when you are through with your work. I may need all of you.”
A half hour passed and still there was no sign of the missing David. The
foreman came in--visibly agitated.
“Get ready, every last one of you,” he ordered. “Either the boy is lost
or met with some accident. You must find him. Shout as you go and those
of you who have guns fire them. Scatter out far and wide over the
country. Those of you who find or see nothing come back after dark. I
will pay twenty-five milreis to the man who finds him or brings back the
first news of him. Now get your bottles; the cook will fill them with
coffee and give you each a package of food. Then hurry away up the
trail.”
The men departed immediately to do as they were directed. Not long
after, they filed into the forest, alert for any sign or clue that would
be of value to them in looking for the missing man. From time to time
some of them branched off the main path until they had spread out in a
fan-shaped formation that combed the forest in a thorough manner so far
as it went. They kept calling and occasionally there was the report of a
gun.
Before long, however, they were out of hearing of one another.
Therefore, it was not until long after dark, when the last man had
straggled back into camp, that they knew that the search had been
fruitless.
The new trail that David had started that morning had been discovered,
but darkness had come before it could be followed to its end; and they
brought back the empty pail--nothing more.
The uneasiness of mid-afternoon now gave way to consternation. A hundred
explanations were forthcoming to account for his disappearance. Everyone
seemed greatly concerned, but most of all Dom Carlos, the camp foreman.
From the obscure position of “nobody” David had suddenly risen to be the
most important person in the outfit. In contrast to the aloofness with
which he had still been regarded by a few of the men, they now all
joined in extolling his courage and good qualities and pledged
themselves that he must be found at all hazards. The monetary reward was
tripled to give further impetus to their efforts.
Six men were sent out immediately after supper to light fires in the
jungle and to keep them blazing all night, to serve as beacons in the
event that the wanderer should be trying to find his way in the
darkness. They went in pairs and followed widely diverging trails. And
when they returned at dawn the others who had slept in camp started out,
this time, however, spreading in all directions to cover so much of the
country as possible.
Foremost among the searchers was Miguel. He had not fully recovered from
his encounter with the crocodile; his foot still pained him at times;
but, thanks to David’s ministrations, he had the use of it to a
considerable extent. It was he who had found the new trail and had
followed it until darkness made it impossible to go farther the previous
evening. He had returned the pail and collected the first reward. And
now he was determined to take up the search where he had been compelled
to drop it.
The men had been told to carry food for one day only and to come back
that night. But the stock of provisions on Miguel’s back was sufficient
for three days; and, having no gun, he carried his bow and a dozen
arrows in his pack.
The grim expression on his face plainly showed that he was determined to
find David; he owed him a debt of gratitude he could scarcely repay in
any other manner, but, unfortunately, he had never thought of it in that
light. What he did think of and looked forward to was a meeting in some
far-off spot where he would have the opportunity to settle old scores,
safe from the prying eyes of others.
Alone in the towering forest, with only the silent trees as witnesses,
it would be easy to dispose of the one obstacle that stood between him
and complete leadership of the men. Once before, when the opportunity
had been within his grasp, fate had intervened to rob him of his
victory; that was when the crocodile had attacked him instead of David
after the latter had entered the water. Now, he had all the advantage.
Better for David that he remain forever lost in the forest than be found
by the vengeful Miguel.
The first day passed rapidly, for a man hunt was a new experience and it
was a fascinating occupation. He scanned the forest floor, the
tree-trunks, and the lower growth for any traces that would aid him in
his search.
On the second afternoon Miguel found the fire where David had roasted
the armadillo. That encouraged him. He was on the right track. And he
redoubled his efforts, as does the hound when the scent grows hotter.
His eyes glowed with a strange fire at the thought that he might at any
moment catch sight of his quarry.
David had learned the truth of the saying that bad luck is apt to grow
worse; Miguel had never even heard it, but that did not exempt him from
its application. What both had yet to learn was that luck, particularly
bad luck, was only too often the result of some act for which they were
fully responsible. The beating Miguel had received and the narrowly
avoided drowning had been bad enough; but worse was to come.
He awoke on the third morning to discover that his remaining food supply
had disappeared during the night, and the completeness with which it had
vanished made it evident that a colony of ants had done the work. That
was exasperating, but there was game to be shot with arrows, so the
situation was not serious.
After that came the realization that the search was extending over a
wider territory and greater period of time than he had expected. And he
began to wonder if he should find David, after all.
It was that night, however, that he felt the merciless judgment of the
forest in all the impartial rigor which was its law. Those who sought to
ferret out its secrets must pay the penalty and Miguel was no exception.
It swooped down upon him in the same guise it had assumed when it fell
upon David, and while his teeth beat a tattoo, or as the hot blood
coursed throbbingly through his veins, he began to comprehend the
seriousness of the mission on which he had embarked, and to wonder if
the purpose was worth the cost.
The fever ran its usual course. Miguel wandered about in a dazed
condition and when there was finally a lull in the onslaught he found
himself in an unenviable predicament. He too was lost, and for the first
time in his life.
With that realization came the feeling of utter loneliness. Never before
had he felt so completely forsaken, so bewildered, so hopeless. He
longed for the sound of a voice, a glimpse of a friendly face, or the
touch of a sympathetic hand.
It was terrible, this being lost and alone in the silent, heartless
jungle that gave no quarter, that knew not the words pity or mercy.
Gaunt spectres rose on every side; hideous naked Indians pierced him
through with their poisoned darts; serpents struck with envenomed fangs;
and jaguars of enormous size crouched behind each tree-trunk for the
fatal spring.
It had always been thus. It would always be thus. The fever-crazed brain
of a lone man, lost in the tropical jungle, could conjure pictures
without end.
As the days passed Miguel’s desperation increased. All thoughts of
malevolence vanished. If he found David now he would rush to him
joyfully. It would mean companionship, perhaps even salvation. Anything,
anyone to banish the horror of a living death alone in the treacherous
forest.
It was at this point that Miguel heard the twittering of the ant wrens,
and well he knew what their excited cries meant. They had discovered an
ant army on the march and had gathered in numbers to profit by the
marauders’ depredations.
The sound of their calls, even if they were only birds, came as a
blessed relief to the man driven frantic by the breathless silence of
the forest. To see, to be near any living thing, would be infinitely
better than the dread loneliness. He would go toward the chorus of
voices that his fever-dulled brain pictured as possible saviors of his
reason.
Before long he reached the far-flung lines of ants that served as scouts
on the flanks of the main army. The organization and discipline of the
insects was as wonderful as it was terrible to the victims, for it
precluded all possibility of escape.
Miguel stopped to look at the black ribbons flowing over the forest
floor. Thin lines branched off from the main arteries every few yards;
these explored each leaf and crevice, ascending even to the tops of the
tallest trees in their insatiable quest of victims.
In front of the sweeping mass and on both sides was a horde of
terror-stricken creeping, crawling and hopping creatures making frantic
efforts to escape from inevitable doom. There were rhinoceros beetles
with huge antler-like growths on their fore-bodies; centipedes eight
inches long; scorpions wildly lashing their tails armed with poisonous
curved stings; great hairy tarantulas, wood frogs, and many other living
things. Some crawled to the topmost branches of the lower undergrowth of
ferns and like vegetation and remained there motionless during a brief
respite; but they were always discovered and routed by the ants. Others
fled precipitately up the tree-trunks; and still others came out of
their hiding-places only to curl up sullenly and to await the end.
Suddenly the ant army divided. Scouts had in some mysterious manner
brought back the intelligence of an unusual find and the main column had
promptly responded with reinforcements. Miguel saw and understood. At
the same time, the ant birds that had first attracted his attention set
up a furious chatter. Here was the opportunity to see something of an
unusual nature.
Miguel crawled upon a great prostrate tree-trunk in order to have a
better view of what was going on. It was toward this log that the ants
were rushing in a black sheet. And it was there the birds were scolding
in anguish.
About the first thing Miguel saw when he attained the top of the log was
the body of a man lying on the ground as if dead. The hands covered the
face so that he could not see it, but he recognized the clothing and
knew that it could belong to none other than David Jones.
“_Camarada!_” he cried, at the same time dropping down beside the
motionless figure. “It is I, Miguel, who have found you. _Por dios_, and
just in time.”
It required all his depleted strength to raise David to his feet; then
he took the limp form in his arms and slowly carried it to safety--out
of reach of the ravenous horde that sensed the intrusion and sent
skirmishing lines dashing in all directions in frantic efforts to
locate the prize so suddenly snatched from its grasp.
David opened his eyes slowly. When he saw the man who had just deposited
him on the ground, puffing hard from his exertion, he stared in
amazement. Then the remembrance of something dreadful came back to him
in a flash. He weakly raised his arms and placed his hands over his
face.
“Oh, the ants, the ants,” he moaned. “They are all over me. I can feel
their bites--they are killing me and--I can’t get away. I can’t get over
the log.”
“No, they’re not,” Miguel panted, trying to soothe him. “You are safe
now. I will not let them get you. Look, there isn’t one on you; they’re
far away, on the other side of the log, and I’ll carry you farther
before they come near here.”
“But I can feel them, on my hands and face--everywhere,” David
persisted.
“Sh!” Miguel said. “Keep quiet and everything will be all right.”
It was some time before the delirious man could be calmed. But Miguel
finally succeeded in reassuring him that the danger that had threatened
was now past, and with the realization that he was safe from the ants
came a measure of strength.
“I was sure something would happen--someone would find me before they
got to me,” David said faintly after a while. Miguel had propped him up
against the base of a tree while he plucked and prepared to roast a
_mutum_ that looked like a good-sized turkey; he had just shot the bird
in the tree right over their heads. “I never gave up hope and, Miguel,
I’m glad it was you who found me.”
“Me?” in surprise. “Why did you want me to find you?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted it to be you--maybe just to prove to the
others that we could be good friends if it came down to rock bottom.”
“Umph!” Miguel’s thoughts were travelling in strange channels. He felt
queer as he thought of the purpose he had in mind when he started on the
long search. What if he had found David the first few days after leaving
camp?
“I’m glad I found you, too, when I did,” he said. “But neither one of us
has anything much to be glad about.”
“What do you mean? I feel better already. And I’m hungry. We can start
back tomorrow if I can eat as much of that bird as I think I can. They
told me that you’re the best bushman in the crowd, so we’ll take a short
cut back to camp,” David said confidently.
“That’s just it! I didn’t want to tell you right away, but now I can’t
help it. We can’t start back to camp because--because--” Miguel
hesitated as if reluctant to proceed. “We can’t start back because I’m
lost, too.”