The Land of Mystery

  CHAPTER VII

  DESPERATE WORK.

  It seemed to be the only course left. Whether it was or not, it wastoo late to try anything else. That the natives had discovered theexplorers was proven by several low, tremulous whistles which at thatinstant sounded on the night.

  It was risky running along the dark trail, even though illuminated hereand there by the rays of the moon: but, feeling that the situation wasdesperate, Ashman broke into a swift lope, with Johnston at his heels,urging him to make haste.

  "If they come too close," thought the young man, "we can dodge amongthe trees again and pick our way back to the river as best wecan--helloa! what's that?"

  Well might he ask himself the question, for the whizz of somethingclose to his ear left no doubt that one of their pursuers had hurled apoisoned javelin at them.

  An instant after he heard a faint but peculiar noise which he could notdescribe nor identify. Johnston at the same instant uttered asuppressed exclamation, not intended for his ears, and he called out ina recklessly loud voice,

  "Into the woods, quick!"

  Ashman did not hesitate, but darted to his right, halting after acouple of steps, through fear of betraying himself.

  "Where are you?" asked Johnston, speaking more guardedly.

  His groping hand touched Ashman, who seized it and silently drew himforward, neither speaking again.

  Even in that trying moment, the younger was impressed by thesingularity of his friend's actions, though there was no opportunity toask an explanation.

  The savages could be plainly heard, as they hurried past, evidentlybelieving they would overtake the fugitives the next minute and certainof locating them, wherever they might be.

  Sure enough, they had not gone fifty feet, when they detected the trickand turned about to catch the whites before they could steal anydistance from the trail.

  "We must leave," said Ashman; "we are too close to the path, and theyare sure to find us."

  Johnston made no answer, and, instead of following him, sank heavily tothe ground, with a groan.

  "Great heaven! what is the matter, Aaron?" gasped his friend.

  "I'm done for," was the feeble reply; "never mind me:look--out--for--for--good-bye!"

  Struck almost dumb by an awful fear, Fred forgot the natives for thetime and stooped over his friend. It was as he suspected; the poorfellow had been struck full in the back by one of the poisonedjavelins. The exclamation which he uttered at the moment of receivingthe wound was that which puzzled Ashman. The sailor had withdrawn theweapon, and the wound bled but little. The young man, however,identified it on the instant.

  "Aaron, rouse up!" he called, shaking his shoulder; "fight off yourdrowsiness!"

  He suddenly ceased, for at that moment, he realized that his companionwas dead. Thus fearfully did the virus do its work.

  Before Ashman, could do more than rally from his shock, a mutteredexclamation at his elbow announced that the savages had located him.

  "Curse you!" he exclaimed, whipping out his revolver and letting fly inthe dark at the point where he knew several of his foes were standing,waiting for a chance to hurl their missiles at him.

  A screech announced that the bullet had found its mark, and he followedit with a couple more shots, which inflicted wounds, even if theycaused no mortal ones.

  The effect of this volley was to throw the natives into consternationand panic. There is nothing go appalling as an unknown peril, and theflashes of fire lighting up the gloom sent them flying toward theirvillage.

  The path was open for the young man's escape, but could he leave thebody of his friend behind?

  Alas! it was that all he could do, and unless that were done within thenext few minutes, it would be too late.

  Stooping over, he grasped the shoulders of the body and drew it furtherfrom the path, in the hope that it would remain unnoticed. Then heloosed the Winchester from the death grip, removed the revolver, andstepping back into the trail, started on his sorrowful return to hisfriends.

  "I wish they would follow me," he muttered; glaring into the gloombehind him; "the man they have killed is worth more than the wholetribe of miscreants."

  He was in a savage mood, and, despite the fearful danger from thepoisoned arrows and spears, he yearned for another chance at thewretches who fought so unfairly.

  He held a couple of loaded and repeating Winchesters, with which hecould pour the most destructive of volleys among the savages, and helonged for the opportunity; but the profound silence which followed thefierce encounter was so striking that to Fred it all seemed like somehorrid vision of sleep.

  But he dare not wait. These wretches had come from the direction ofthe Xingu, and he was apprehensive of trouble at the camp, where thethree native attendants had been left. His services might be needed atthat very moment.

  He did not run, but advanced with the stealth of an American Indianstealing upon an enemy. It seemed to him his senses were strung to ahigher pitch than ever before, for he had not walked far, when hebecame aware that some one was ahead of him, in the path and travellingin the same direction.

  As yet he could catch no glimpse of the stranger, but there could be nomistake about the stealthy tread. He was sure, too, that sooner orlater the broken rays of moonlight would give him the sight for whichhe was waiting.

  "Yonder is a spot where he will betray himself," he added a momentlater, as he observed the faint light ahead.

  Instead of following on, Fred paused and laying the rifle of his deadfriend on the ground he knelt and sighted his own piece as best hecould in the darkness. Where the hunter is placed in such a situationhe instinctively _feels_ how to aim his weapon.

  He was not kept long waiting. A dark form became dimly outlined in thefaint moonlight and an instant later the infuriated Ashman fired.

  The rasping screech which followed was enough to curdle one's blood,but the young man only uttered an exclamation of disgust. He haddriven a ball through the vitals of a South American cougar, instead ofthrough one of the natives, a score of whom he gladly would have wipedout of existence had he possessed the power.

  The shot could not have been better aimed, had the sun been shining.The furious beast dropped in the middle of the path, rolled over on hisback, clawed the air for a moment or two, and then became motionless.Had not Ashman been on the lookout when he reached the spot, he wouldhave stumbled over the carcass.

  "It is only so much ammunition thrown away," he muttered, again glaringinto the gloom behind him, in the hope of catching sight or sound ofhis pursuers; but they were too thoroughly panic-stricken by thefrightful experience a few minutes before to trouble the white man forsome time to come.

  The dull roar of the rapids grew plainer, and, increasing his pace, hehad but to walk a short distance when the clear moonlight, unobstructedby cloud or vegetation, was discerned where the path debouched from theforest.

  The feeling that something had gone amiss in the camp during hisabsence was so strong with Ashman that he slowed his walk and stoppedbefore emerging from the wood. He paused, however, at a point where hehad a full view not only of the camp but of the river and dark shorebeyond.

  The sight which met his gaze was not calculated to soothe his nerves.From some cause Bippo, Pedros and Quincal seemed to have been seizedwith a panic, hardly less than that produced among their countrymen bythe discharge of the firearms of Ashman. They were in the act ofshoving the canoe back into the water in such haste that there could beno doubt they intended to flee from some enemy that had driven allthoughts of resistance out of their minds.

  "What the mischief are you doing?" shouted the young man, dashing fromcover and hurrying down the bank to intercept them before they couldget away.