*XXII*
*STRICKEN DOWN*
Much as Ken would have liked to go back to that pool, he did not thinkof it twice. And as soon as the excitement had subsided and the journeywas resumed, George and Hal, and Pepe, too, settled down into a silentweariness that made Ken anxious.
During the afternoon Ken saw Pepe slowly droop lower and lower at theoars till the time came when he could scarcely lift them to make astroke. And when Ken relieved him of them, Pepe fell like a log in theboat.
George slept. Hal seemed to be fighting stupor. Pepe lay motionless onhis seat. They were all going down with the fever, that Ken knew, andit took all his courage to face the situation. It warmed his heart tosee how Hal was trying to bear up under a languor that must have beenwell-nigh impossible to resist. At last Hal said:
"Ken, let me row." He would not admit that he was sick.
Ken thought it would do Hal no harm to work. But Ken did not want tolose time. So he hit upon a plan that pleased him. There was an extrapair of oars in the boat. Ken fashioned rude pegs from a stick and drovethese down into the cleat inside the gunwales. With stout rope he tiedthe oars to the pegs, which answered fairly well as oarlocks. Then theyhad a double set of oars going, and made much better time.
George woke and declared that he must take a turn at the oars. So Kenlet him row, too, and rested himself. He had a grim foreboding that hewould need all his strength.
The succeeding few hours before sunset George and Hal more than made upfor all their delinquencies of the past. At first it was not very hardfor them to row; but soon they began to weary, then weaken. Neitherone, however, would give up. Ken let them row, knowing that it was goodfor them. Slower and slower grew George's strokes, there were times whenhe jerked up spasmodically and made an effort, only to weaken again. Atlast, with a groan he dropped the oars. Ken had to lift him back intothe bow.
Hal was not so sick as George, and therefore not so weak. He lastedlonger. Ken had seen the lad stick to many a hard job, but never as hedid to this one. Hal was making good his promise. There were timeswhen his breath came in whistles. He would stop and pant awhile, thenrow on. Ken pretended he did not notice. But he had never been soproud of his brother nor loved him so well.
"Ken, old man," said Hal, presently. "I was--wrong--about the water. Iought to have obeyed you. I--I'm pretty sick."
What a confession for Hal Ward!
Ken turned in time to see Hal vomit over the gunwale.
"It's pretty tough, Hal," said Ken, as he reached out to hold hisbrother's head; "but you're game. I'm so glad to see that."
Whereupon Hal went back to his oars and stayed till he dropped. Kenlifted him and laid him beside George.
Ken rowed on with his eyes ever in search of a camping-site. But therewas no place to camp. The muddy banks were too narrow at the bottom,too marshy and filthy. And they were too steep to climb to the top.
The sun set. Twilight fell. Darkness came on, and still Ken rowed downthe river. At last he decided to make a night of it at the oars. Hepreferred to risk the dangers of the river at night rather than spendmiserable hours in the mud. Rousing the boys, he forced them to swallowa little cold rice and some more quinine. Then he covered them withblankets, and had scarce completed the task when they were deep inslumber.
Then the strange, dense tropical night settled down upon Ken. The oarswere almost noiseless, and the water gurgled softly from the bow.Overhead the expanse was dark blue, with a few palpitating stars. Theriver was shrouded in gray gloom, and the banks were lost in blackobscurity. Great fireflies emphasized the darkness. He trusted a gooddeal to luck in the matter of going right; yet he kept his ear keen forthe sound of quickening current, and turned every few strokes to peersharply into the gloom. He seemed to have little sense of peril, for,though he hit submerged logs and stranded on bars, he kept on unmindful,and by and by lost what anxiety he had felt. The strange wildness ofthe river at night, the gray, veiled space into which he rowed unheedingbegan to work upon his mind.
That was a night to remember--a night of sounds and smells, of thefeeling of the cool mist, the sight of long, dark forest-line and agolden moon half hidden by clouds. Prominent among these was the trillof river frogs. The trill of a northern frog was music, but that ofthese great, silver-throated jungle frogs was more than music. Close athand one would thrill Ken with mellow, rich notes; and then from farwould come the answer, a sweet, high tenor, wilder than any otherwilderness sound, long sustained, dying away till he held his breath tolisten.
So the hours passed; and the moon went down into the weird shadows, andthe Southern Cross rose pale and wonderful.
Gradually the stars vanished in a kind of brightening gray, and dawn wasat hand. Ken felt weary for sleep, and his arms and back ached. Morningcame, with its steely light on the river, the rolling and melting ofvapors, the flight of ducks and call of birds. The rosy sun brought nocheer.
Ken beached the boat on a sand-bar. While he was building a fire Georgeraised his head and groaned. But neither Pepe nor Hal moved. Kencooked rice and boiled cocoa, which he choked down. He opened a can offruit and found that most welcome. Then he lifted George's head, shookhim, roused him, and held him, and made him eat and drink. Nor did heneglect to put a liberal dose of quinine in the food. Pepe was easilymanaged, but poor Hal was almost unable to swallow. Something terriblygrim mingled with a strong, passionate thrill as Ken looked at Hal'shaggard face. Then Ken Ward knew how much he could stand, what work hecould do to get his brother out of the jungle.
He covered the boys again and pushed out the boat. At the moment hefelt a strength that he had never felt before. There was a good, swiftcurrent in the river, and Ken was at great pains to keep in it. Thechannel ran from one side of the river to the other. Many times Kenstranded on sandy shoals and had to stand up and pole the boat intodeeper water. This was work that required all his attention. Itrequired more than patience. But as he rowed and poled and drifted hestudied the shallow ripples and learned to avoid the places where theboat would not float.
There were stretches of river where the water was comparatively deep,and along these he rested and watched the shores as he drifted by. Hesaw no Indian huts that morning. The jungle loomed high and dark, amatted gray wall. The heat made the river glare and smoke. Then wherethe current quickened he rowed steadily and easily, husbanding hisstrength.
More than all else, even the ravings of Hal in fever, the thing thatwore on Ken and made him gloomy was the mourning of turtle-doves. Asthere had been thousands of these beautiful birds along the Santa RosaRiver, so there were millions along the Panuco. Trees were blue withdoves. There was an incessant soft, sad moaning. He fought hisnervous, sensitive imaginings. And for a time he would conquer thesense of some sad omen sung by the doves. Then the monotony, theendless sweet "coo-ooo-ooo," seemed to drown him in melancholy sound.There were three distinct tones--a moan, swelling to full ring, anddying away: "Coo-_ooo_-ooo--coo-_ooo_-ooo."
All the afternoon the mourning, haunting song filled Ken Ward's ears.And when the sun set and night came, with relief to his tortured ear butnot to mind, Ken kept on without a stop.
The day had slipped behind Ken with the miles, and now it was againdark. It seemed that he had little sense of time. But his faculties ofsight and hearing were singularly acute. Otherwise his mind was likethe weird gloom into which he was drifting.
Before the stars came out the blackness was as thick as pitch. He couldnot see a yard ahead. He backed the boat stern first down-stream andlistened for the soft murmur of ripples on shoals. He avoided these byhearing alone. Occasionally a huge, dark pile of driftwood barred hispassage, and he would have to go round it. Snags loomed up specter-likein his path, seemingly to reach for him with long, gaunt arms.Sometimes he drifted upon sand-bars, from which he would patiently polethe boat.
When the heavy dew began to fall he pu
t on his waterproof coat. Thenight grew chill. Then the stars shone out. This lightened the river.Yet everywhere were shadows. Besides, clouds of mist hung low, in placesobscuring the stars.
Ken turned the boat bow first downstream and rowed with slow, evenstroke. He no longer felt tired. He seemed to have the strength of agiant. He fancied that with one great heave he could lift the boat outof the water or break the oars. From time to time he ceased to row,and, turning his head, he looked and listened. The river had numerousbends, and it was difficult for Ken to keep in the middle channel. Hemanaged pretty well to keep right by watching the dark shore-line whereit met the deep-blue sky. In the bends the deepest water ran close tothe shore of the outside curve. And under these high banks and theleaning cypresses shadows were thicker and blacker than in the earliernight. There was mystery in them that Ken felt.
The sounds he heard when he stopped during these cautious restingintervals were the splashes of fish breaking water, the low hum ofinsects, and the trill of frogs. The mourning of the doves duringdaylight had haunted him, and now he felt the same sensation at thislong-sustained, exquisitely sweet trill. It pierced him, racked him,and at last, from sheer exhaustion of his sensibilities, he seemed notto hear it any more, but to have it in his brain.
The moon rose behind the left-hand jungle wall, silvered half of theriver and the opposite line of cypresses, then hid under clouds.
Suddenly, near or far away, down the river Ken saw a wavering light. Itwas too large for a firefly, and too steady. He took it for aJack-o'-lantern. And for a while it enhanced the unreality, theghostliness of the river. But it was the means of bringing Ken out ofhis dreamy gloom. It made him think. The light was moving. It was toowavering for a Jack-o'-lantern. It was coming up-stream. It grewlarger.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished. Ken lost sight of itunder a deep shadow of overhanging shore. As he reached a pointopposite to where it disappeared he thought he heard a voice. But hecould not be sure. He did not trust his ears. The incident, however,gave him a chill. What a lonesome ride! He was alone on that unknownriver with three sick boys in the boat. Their lives depended upon hiscare, his strength, his skill, his sight and hearing. And therealization, striking him afresh, steeled his arms again and his spirit.
The night wore on. The moon disappeared entirely. The mists hung lowlike dim sheets along the water. Ken was wringing-wet with dew. Longperiods of rowing he broke with short intervals of drifting, when herested at the oars.
Then drowsiness attacked him. For hours it seemed he fought it off.But at length it grew overpowering. Only hard rowing would keep himawake. And, as he wanted to reserve his strength, he did not dare exerthimself violently. He could not keep his eyes open. Time after time hefound himself rowing when he was half asleep. The boat drifted againsta log and stopped. Ken drooped over his oars and slept, and yet heseemed not altogether to lose consciousness. He roused again to row on.
It occurred to him presently that he might let the boat drift and takenaps between whiles. When he drifted against a log or a sand-bar thejar would awaken him. The current was sluggish. There seemed to be nodanger whatever. He must try to keep his strength. A little sleepwould refresh him. So he reasoned, and fell asleep over the oars.
Sooner or later--he never knew how long after he had fallen asleep--alittle jar awakened him. Then the gurgle and murmur of water near himand the rush and roar of a swift current farther off made him look upwith a violent start. All about him was wide, gray gloom. Yet he couldsee the dark, glancing gleam of the water. Movement of the oars toldhim the boat was fast on a sand-bar. That relieved him, for he was notdrifting at the moment into the swift current he heard. Ken peeredkeenly into the gloom. Gradually he made out a long, dark line runningdiagonally ahead of him and toward the right-hand shore. It could notbe an island or a sand-bar or a shore-line. It could not be piles ofdriftwood. There was a strange regularity in the dark upheavals of thislooming object. Ken studied it. He studied the black, glancing water.Whatever the line was, it appeared to shunt the current over to theright, whence came the low rush and roar.
Altogether it was a wild, strange place. Ken felt a fear of something hecould not name. It was the river--the night--the loneliness--the unknownabout him and before him.
Suddenly he saw a dull, red light far down the river. He stiffened inhis seat. Then he saw another red light. They were like two red eyes.Ken shook himself to see if he had nightmare. No; the boat was there;the current was there; the boys were there, dark and silent under theirblankets. This was no dream. Ken's fancy conjured up some red-eyedriver demon come to destroy him and his charges. He scorned the fancy,laughed at it. But, all the same, in that dark, weird place, with themurmuring of notes in his ears and with those strange red eyes glowingin the distance, he could not help what his emotions made the truth. Hewas freezing to the marrow, writhing in a clammy sweat when a low"chug-chug-chug" enlightened him. The red eyes were those of asteamboat.
A steamboat on the wild Panuco! Ken scarcely believed his own judgment.Then he remembered that George said there were a couple of boats plyingup and down the lower Panuco, mostly transporting timber and cattle.Besides, he had proof of his judgment in the long, dark line that had sopuzzled him--it was a breakwater. It turned the current to the left,where there evidently was a channel.
The great, red eyes gleamed closer, the "chug-chug-chug" sounded louder.Then another sound amazed Ken--a man's voice crying out steadily andmonotonously.
Ken wanted to rouse the boys and Pepe, but he refrained. It was bestfor them to sleep. How surprised they would be when he told them aboutthe boat that passed in the night! Ken now clearly heard the splashingof paddles, the chug of machinery, and the man's voice. He wassingsonging: "Dos y media, dos y media, dos y media."
Ken understood a little Mexican, and this strange cry became clear tohim. The man was taking soundings with a lead and crying out to thepilot. _Dos y media_ meant two and a half feet of water. Then thesteam-boat loomed black in the gray gloom. It was pushing a low, flatbarge. Ken could not see the man taking soundings, but he heard him andknew he was on the front end of the barge. The boat passed at fairspeed, and it cheered Ken. For he certainly ought to be able to take arowboat where a steamboat had passed. And, besides, he must be gettingsomewhere near the little village of Panuco.
He poled off the bar and along the breakwater to the channel. It wasnarrow and swift. He wondered how the pilot of the steamboat hadnavigated in the gloom. He slipped down-stream, presently to findhimself once more in a wide river. Refreshed by his sleep andencouraged by the meeting with the steamboat, Ken settled down to steadyrowing.
The stars paled, the mist thickened, fog obscured the water and shore;then all turned gray, lightened, and dawn broke. The sun burst out.Ken saw thatched huts high on the banks and occasionally natives. Thisencouraged him all the more.
He was not hungry, but he was sick for a drink. He had to fight himselfto keep from drinking the dirty river-water. How different it was herefrom the clear green of the upper Santa Rosa! Ken would have given hisbest gun for one juicy orange. George was restless and rolling about,calling for water; Hal lay in slumber or stupor; and Pepe sat up. Hewas a sick-looking fellow, but he was better; and that cheered Ken asnothing yet had.
Ken beached the boat on a sandy shore, and once again forced down alittle rice and cocoa. Pepe would not eat, yet he drank a little.George was burning up with fever, and drank a full cup. Hal did notstir, and Ken thought it best to let him lie.
As Ken resumed the journey the next thing to attract his attention was along canoe moored below one of the thatched huts. This afforded himgreat satisfaction. At least he had passed the jungle wilderness, wherethere was nothing that even suggested civilization. In the next fewmiles he noticed several canoes and as many natives. Then he passed acanoe that was paddled by two half-naked bronze Indians. Pepe hailedthem, but either they were too u
nfriendly to reply or they did notunderstand him.
Some distance below Pepe espied a banana grove, and he motioned Ken torow ashore. Ken did so with pleasure at the thought of getting somefresh fruit. There was a canoe moored to the roots of a tree and a pathleading up the steep bank. Pepe got out and laboriously toiled up thebare path. He was gone a good while.
Presently Ken heard shouts, then the bang of a lightly loaded gun, thenyells from Pepe.
"What on earth!" cried Ken, looking up in affright.
Pepe appeared with his arms full of red bananas. He jumped andstaggered down the path and almost fell into the boat. But he hung onto the bananas.
"Santa Maria!" gasped Pepe, pointing to little bloody spots on the calfof his leg.
"Pepe, you've been shot!" ejaculated Ken. "You stole the fruit--somebodyshot you!"
Pepe howled his affirmative. Ken was angry at himself, angrier at Pepe,and angriest at the native who had done the shooting. With a strongshove Ken put the boat out and then rowed hard down-stream. As herounded a bend a hundred yards below he saw three natives come tumblingdown the path. They had a gun. They leaped into the canoe. They meantpursuit.
"Say, but this is a pretty kettle of fish!" muttered Ken, and he bent tothe oars.
Of course Pepe had been in the wrong. He should have paid for thebananas or asked for them. All the same, Ken was not in any humor to befooled with by excitable natives. He had a sick brother in the boat andmeant to get that lad out of the jungle as quickly as will and strengthcould do it. He certainly did not intend to be stopped by a fewmiserable Indians angry over the loss of a few bananas. If it had notbeen for the gun, Ken would have stopped long enough to pay for thefruit. But he could not risk it now. So he pulled a strong strokedown-stream.
The worst of the matter developed when Pepe peeled one of the bananas.It was too green to eat.
Presently the native canoe hove in sight round the bend. All three menwere paddling. They made the long craft fly through the water. Ken sawinstantly that they would overhaul him in a long race, and this added tohis resentment. Pepe looked back and jabbered and shook his brawnyfists at the natives. Ken was glad to see that the long stretch ofriver below did not show a canoe or hut along the banks. He preferredto be overhauled, if he had to be, in a rather lonely spot.
It was wonderful how those natives propelled that log canoe. And whenone of the three dropped his paddle to pick up the gun, the speed of thecanoe seemed not to diminish. They knew the channels, and so gained onKen. He had to pick the best he could choose at short notice, andsometimes he chose poorly.
Two miles or more below the bend the natives with the gun deliberatelyfired, presumably at Pepe. The shot scattered and skipped along thewater and did not come near the boat. Nevertheless, as the canoe wasgaining and the crazy native was reloading, Ken saw he would soon bewithin range. Something had to be done.
Ken wondered if he could not frighten those natives. They had probablynever heard the quick reports of a repeating rifle, let alone thestinging cracks of an automatic. Ken decided it would be worth trying.But he must have a chance to get the gun out of its case and load it.
That chance came presently. The natives, in paddling diagonally acrossa narrow channel, ran aground in the sand. They were fast for only afew moments, but in that time Ken had got out the little rifle andloaded it.
Pepe's dark face turned a dirty white, and his eyes dilated. Heimagined Ken was going to kill some of his countrymen. But Pepe nevermurmured. He rubbed the place in his leg where he had been shot, andlooked back.
Ken rowed on, now leisurely. There was a hot anger within him, but hehad it in control. He knew what he was about. Again the native fired,and again his range was short. The distance was perhaps two hundredyards.
Ken waited until the canoe, in crossing one of the many narrow places,was broadside toward him. Then he raised the automatic. There were atleast ten feet in the middle of the canoe where it was safe for him tohit without harm to the natives. And there he aimed. The motion of hisboat made it rather hard to keep the sights right. He was cool,careful; he aimed low, between gunwale and the water, and steadily hepulled the trigger--once, twice, three times, four, five.
The steel-jacketed bullets "spoued" on the water and "cracked" into thecanoe. They evidently split both gunwales low down at the water-line.The yelling, terror-stricken natives plunged about, and what with theiractions and the great split in the middle the canoe filled and sank.The natives were not over their depth; that was plainly evident.Moreover, it was equally evident that they dared not wade in thequicksand. So they swam to the shallower water, and there, like hugeturtles, floundered toward the shore.