The Pathless Trail

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE GERMAN

  The door of the German's room opened. The German came out and marched tothe table. Two paces away he halted and faced the Americans, ready tospeak if spoken to, equally ready to sit and ignore them if not greeted.McKay and Knowlton rose.

  "Herr von Schwandorf?" inquired Knowlton.

  "Schwandorf. Neither Herr nor von. Plain Schwandorf."

  The reply came in excellent English, though with a slight throatyaccent.

  "Knowlton is my name. Mr. McKay. The third member of our party, Mr.Ryan, has just left."

  Schwandorf bowed stiffly from the waist.

  "It is a pleasure to meet you. White men are all too few here."

  Seating himself at a place beyond that just vacated by Tim, hecontinued, "You stay here for a time?"

  "Not long." They reseated themselves. "We go up the river as soon as wecan arrange transportation."

  The black brows lifted slightly.

  "It is a dangerous river. You would do well to travel elsewhere unlessyou have some pressing reason to explore this stream."

  With an accustomed sweep of the hand he shooed the flies from the beandish and helped himself to a big portion. Over the legumes he pouredfarinha in the Brazilian fashion.

  "We have. We are seeking a tribe of people who paint their bones red."

  Schwandorf's hand, conveying the first mouthful of beans upward, stoppedin air. His black eyes fixed the Americans with an astounded stare. Helowered the beans, stabbed absently at a chunk of beef, sawed it apart,popped a piece of it into his mouth, and sat for a time chewing. Whenthe meat was down he spoke bluntly:

  "Are there not ways enough to kill yourselves at home instead oftraveling to this place to do it?"

  McKay smiled. The directness of the man amused him.

  "As bad as that?" asked Knowlton.

  "As bad as that. Blow your head off if you like. Cut your throat. Takepoison. Jump into the river among the alligators. Step on a snake. Butkeep away from the Red Bones."

  "Why?" shot McKay.

  "Cannibals--and worse."

  "Worse?"

  "Truly. Most of the Brazilian savages do not torture. The Red Bones do."

  "Pleasant prospect."

  "Very. Nothing to be gained among them, either. If you're hunting gold,try the hills over west of the Huallaga. None here."

  Knowlton filled and lit a pipe. McKay slowly drank the last of hissyrupy coffee and rolled a cigarette. Schwandorf continued shovelingfood into his capacious mouth.

  "Know anything about the Raposa?" Knowlton asked.

  The Teuton's eyelashes flickered. He ground another chunk of meatbetween his jaws before answering.

  "Of course," he said then. "Wild dog. Sharp snout, gray hair, bushytail. I've shot a couple of them."

  "This one is a man. Green eyes, streak of white hair over the left ear.Paints himself like the Red Bones, as you call them, but is a whiteman."

  "Oh! That one? Heard of him, yes. Wild man of the jungle. Want to catchhim and put him in a circus?"

  "Maybe. We'd like to see him, anyhow. Heard about him awhile ago. Anyway to get him that you know of?"

  "Might try a steel trap," the German suggested, callously. "But I don'tknow where you'd set it. Best way to get a wild dog is to shoot him, andhe isn't much good dead. Or would this one be worth something--dead?" Aswift sidelong glance accompanied the question.

  "Not a cent!" snapped McKay.

  "And perhaps he'd be worth nothing alive," added Knowlton. "But we havea healthy curiosity to look him over. Guess the Red Bone country wouldbe the likeliest place. How far is it from here?"

  "Keep out of it," was the stubborn reply.

  The Americans rose.

  "We are not going to keep out of it," Knowlton declared, coldly. "We aregoing straight into it. Thank you for your assistance."

  "Not so fast," Schwandorf protested. "If you are determined to go I willhelp you if I can. Shall we sit on the piazza with a small bottle to aiddigestion? So! Thomaz! Bring from my stock the kuemmel. Or would youprefer whisky, gentlemen?"

  "Ginger-ale highballs are my favorite fruit," admitted Knowlton. "Canginger ale be bought here?"

  "Indeed yes. At one milrei a bottle."

  "Cheap enough. Thomaz, three bottles of ginger ale and one of NorthAmerican whisky--the best. Cigars also. Out on the piazza."

  "Si, senhores."

  Schwandorf got up.

  "If you will pardon me, I will drink my kuemmel. Frankly, I do not likewhisky."

  "And frankly, we do not like kuemmel. All a matter of taste."

  "Truly. So let each of us drink his own preference. I will join you in amoment."

  The Americans sauntered to the door, while the German strode into hisroom.

  "Blunt sort of cuss," Knowlton commented.

  "Ay, blunt. But not candid. Knows more than he's telling."

  Disposing themselves comfortably, they sat watching the lights of thetown and the jungle--the first pouring from windows and open doors, thelatter streaking across the darkness where the big fire beetles of thetropics winged their way. As Knowlton had predicted, the night noise offorest and stream had diminished; but now from the village itself rose anew discord--a babel of vocal and instrumental efforts at musicemanating from the badly worn records of dozens of cheap phonographsgrinding away in the stilt-poled huts.

  "Good Lord!" groaned McKay. "Even here at the end of the world one can'tget away from those beastly instruments."

  A throaty chuckle from the doorway followed the words. Schwandorfemerged, carrying a big bottle.

  "Yet there is one thing to be thankful for, gentlemen," he said. "In allthis town there is not one man who attempts to play a trombone."

  The others laughed. Thomaz appeared with bottles and thick cups. Corkswere drawn, liquids gurgled, matches flared, cigars glowed. Withoutwarning Schwandorf shot a question through the gloom:

  "Have you seen Cabral--the superintendent?"

  "Yes."

  "Ask him about the wild man?"

  "Yes."

  "Get any information?"

  "Nothing definite. He suggested that we see you."

  "So."

  A pause, while Schwandorf's cigar end glowed like a flaming eye.

  "The Red Bones live well up the river," he began, abruptly. "Twenty-fourdays by canoe, five days through the bush on the east shore. That wouldbring you to their main settlement--if you were not wiped out beforethen. They're a big tribe, as tribes go. Ever been here before?"

  "No. Not here," Knowlton told him. "I've been in Rio, and McKay here hasknocked around in--"

  A stealthy kick from McKay halted him an instant. Then, deftly shiftingthe sentence, he concluded, "--in a number of places."

  "So." Another pause. "Then I should explain about tribes. Tribes heregenerally consist of from fifty to five hundred or more persons livingin big houses called '_malocas_.' Unless the tribe is very big, onehouse holds them all. There may be any number of _malocas_, theinhabitants of which are all of the same racial stock; yet each _maloca_is, as far as government is concerned, a tribe to itself, controlled bya chief. No _maloca_ owes any duty to any other _maloca_. There is nosupreme ruler over all, nor even a federation among them. They livemerely as neighbors--distant neighbors. At times they fight likeneighbors. You understand."

  "'When Greek meets Greek--'" quoted McKay.

  "Just so. When I say, then, that the Red Bones are a big tribe, I meanthat there are about five hundred--maybe more--individuals in their mainsettlement. They live in huts, not in one big tribe-house like theMayorunas. They are not Mayorunas, in fact; they paint differently, aredarker of skin, and more cruel.

  "The Mayorunas, by the way, are not so debased as you might think.Though cannibals, they do not kill for the sake of eating 'long pig,'like the cannibals of the South Seas. Neither do they eat the wholebody. Only the hands and feet of their dead enemies are devoured. Theseare carefully cooked and eaten as delicacies along w
ith monkey meat,birds, fish, and other things prepared for a feast in honor of avictory. The eating of human flesh seems to be symbolism rather thansavagery. Furthermore, they do not range the jungle hunting for victims.They eat only those who come against them as enemies.

  "So it is quite possible, you see, that strangers might go among themand escape death. It would depend largely on the ability of thestrangers to convince the savages that they were friends. The difficultyis that the savages consider all strangers to be enemies untilfriendship is proved."

  "A sizable difficulty," McKay remarked.

  "Almost insurmountable. Yet it might be done. Mind, I speak now of theMayorunas, not of the Red Bones. I tell you again that the Red Bonecountry is closed."

  "And where is the Mayoruna region?"

  "In the same general section. The Mayorunas are much more widelydistributed. They are on both banks of the Javary and extend as far westas the Ucayali.

  "Now if I sought to enter the Red Bone region--and again I say I wouldnot--this would be my way of going at it. I would go first among theMayorunas near the Red Bones and seek to convince them that I was theirfriend. I would make the Mayoruna chief as friendly to me as possible. Imight even take a Mayoruna woman for a time--some of them are handsome,and such a step would make me almost a Mayoruna myself in their eyes.Then I would persuade the chief to send messengers to the Red Bones withword of me and a request that I be allowed to visit their settlement.The request, coming from the Mayoruna chief, probably would be granted.I would then go in with a bodyguard of Mayorunas, do my business, andcome out via the Mayoruna route."

  A thoughtful silence ensued. Bottle necks clinked against the cups.

  "Something in that idea," conceded Knowlton. "A good deal in it. Barringthe woman part, of course."

  "Ay," spoke McKay, his tone casual as ever. "When you came out whatwould you do with your woman, _mein Herr_?"

  Schwandorf, tongue loosened a bit by his kuemmel, chuckled.

  "Ho-ho! The woman? Leave her, of course, when she had served my purpose.Why bother about a woman here and there?"

  "I see." McKay's face, indistinct in the gloom, was unreadable, but histone had a caustic edge.

  Schwandorf laughed again. "You are fresh from the woman-worshipingUnited States and you disapprove. But this is the jungle, and all isdifferent. '_Cada terra com seu uso_,' as these Brazilians say--eachland with its own ways. Perhaps when you have met the Mayoruna women,looked on their handsome faces and shapely forms--they wear no clothing,by the way--you will change your ideas. More than one man along thisborder has risked his life to win one of those women. But that restswith you. And now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have an engagementwith a man at the other end of town."

  "Certainly. We are indebted to you for your interest."

  "It is nothing. Remember that I strongly advise you not to go. But ifyou will go, I shall gladly do whatever lies in my power to aid you inpreparing for the trip. Do not hesitate to call on me."

  He passed into the house, returning almost at once.

  "By the way," he added, "one of you has the room next mine?"

  "I have it," said Knowlton.

  "Yes. Are you a good sleeper? I sometimes snore most atrociously, I amtold. So perhaps--"

  "Don't worry. I can sleep in the middle of a bombardment."

  "You are fortunate. Good evening, gentlemen."

  When he was gone they sat for a time smoking, sipping now and then attheir highballs. At length McKay said, "Humph!"

  "Amen. Pretty square sort of chap, though, don't you think?"

  "I'm not saying," was the Scot's cautious answer. "Seems to be trying todiscourage us and egg us on at the same time. Something up his sleeve,perhaps."

  "Can't tell. But his line of talk rings true so far. Checks up all rightwith what we've heard about the Mayorunas and so on. And that scheme ofworking in through the Mayoruna country sounds about as sensible asanything. Desperate chance and all that, but it might work. Say, why didyou kick me when I was going to tell him you'd been in British Guiana?"

  "Don't know exactly. Had a hunch. Seems to me I've seen that fellowbefore somewhere, but I can't place him. None of his business where I'vebeen, anyhow. We're boobs from the States hunting for a wild man. That'sall he needs to know."

  But it was not enough for Schwandorf to know. At that very moment he wason his way to the home of Superintendent Cabral, with whom he had noengagement whatever, to learn all he could concerning the business ofthese military-appearing strangers; also to impress on that official thefact that he had sought to dissuade them from starting on their madquest.

  And much later that night, when Knowlton was making good his boast thathe was a sound sleeper, a black-bearded face rose silently above theiron partition between his room and that of the German. A hand grippinga small electric flashlight followed. A white ray searched the room,halting on the khaki shirt lying over a box. A tough withe with a barbat one end came over like a slender tentacle, hooked the shirt neatly,drew it stealthily up to the top. Shirt, stick, lamp, hand, face alldissolved into darkness.

  After a time they reappeared. The shirt came down, swung slowly back andforth, was dropped deftly where it had previously lain. The breastpocket holding the grain-leather notebook and the photograph of DavidDawson Rand was buttoned as it had been, and the notebook bulged thecloth slightly as before. But the contents of that book and the picturedface of Rand now were stamped on the brain of Schwandorf. A sneering,snarling smile curled the heavy mouth of Schwandorf. And softly, sosoftly that none could hear it but himself, sounded the ironicalbenediction of Schwandorf:

  "Sleep well, _offizier americanisch_! Dream on, poor fool! In time youwill wake up. _Ja_, you will wake up!"