CHAPTER VII THE VOODOO DRUM
But we must not forget Curlie Carson. Lost from his friends, far awayamong the hills, confronted by what seemed the scene of a grim tragedy,he found himself at first all but overcome by fear and dread. Thebrilliant illumination caused by burning palm leaves, however, quicklydrove from his mind the suggestion that something sinister and quitehorrible had happened round the half burned out camp fire. A little backfrom the fire, beneath a mango tree, he discovered a broad, sharp-toedhoof.
"Hog," he mumbled to himself.
The next moment he picked up a broad circle of yellow ivory with edge askeen as a knife blade.
"Hog," he repeated. A suggestion of awe had crept into his tone. "Tusk ofa wild hog. And what a monster! Wonder who had the hardihood to face thatfellow and kill him. Whoever it was, he found friends enough to help himpick the bones. Wish--"
He turned to search about among the palm leaves and the bushes. To hisgreat joy, he found, high and dry and quite clean upon a broad leaf whereit had apparently been forgotten, a liberal slice taken from the greatbeast's ham.
"Thanks, kind Providence. Don't mind if I do." He watched the palm leaffire burn low. Then raking out a good bed of live coals, placed his giftfrom the gods upon it.
At once the evening air was fragrant with broiling pork steak. A halfhour later when Curlie rose to go it was with a feeling that nature wasgood to all mankind.
"But where am I and where is Johnny Thompson?"
These questions he could not answer. He did believe that with goodfortune he could find his own way back to camp. This plan, since thereseemed to be no likelihood of his coming upon his missing friend, heproceeded to put into execution.
His small flashlight was still with him. By its light he was able tofollow winding trails, avoid brambles and save himself from many a fallover hidden rocks and narrow stream beds.
He had been traveling so for some two hours, when of a sudden, appearingto come from nowhere, a sound smote his ear. A single boom of a nativedrum. It shattered the silence of the night and set small wild creaturesscurrying.
"Now what?" He came to a sudden halt.
A moment of silence and there it was again. This time three strokes: Tum!Tum! Tum!
"Over to the right," he told himself. "Natives. They may have Johnny. Atworst it's to be one of those forbidden native dances, and that'ssomething. Something that few enough white folks see these days."
He waited until the drum sounded again. Tum--Tum--Tum--Tum. Then hestruck straight away in the direction from which the sound appeared tocome. Nor did he pause until the drummer was so near at hand that thedrum seemed to be his own ears pulsating in wild rhythm.
Parting the bushes, he peered into the open space beyond. Before him wasa spot quite clear of trees and bushes. The grass had been cropped shortby wild goats. And there in the center, squatting low, drum betweenknees, thumping the drum with naked hands, was not some swarthy nativedrummer but a slim white girl dressed in a bright blouse and plaidknickers.
"Of all places!" he thought. "Miles from human habitation. A girl and adrum at night."
Still the girl drummed on. Like one in a trance she sat with eyes raisedto the stars and sent out such rolls and thunder with such vibrations asthe boy had not heard before.
But even as he listened in awed surprise there sounded a stealthymovement off to his right, another to his left. A twig snapped. A branchmade a swishing sound.
He was becoming frightened. Was this some plot? Was the girl a plant, alure to lead him on? He could not believe this. There was about her face,not a perfectly molded face, but well cut and strong, something of a lookhe had seen on the face of angels in an ancient painting.
No, the girl is not a part of a plot, for now in a second of silence, shetoo has caught a sound. Instantly her drum beats cease. She grips thedrum by a strap and drags it noiselessly into the brush. Here she backsfar into the shadows, straight toward the spot where Curlie stands. Astep forward, a hand outstretched and he might touch her.
"Think she'd hear my heart beating," he said to himself, but in theshadows he could not see her.
"Well," he thought again, "the show is over. But I wonder?"
* * * * * * * *
During all this time, where was Johnny Thompson? Curlie had followed histrail over many a weary mile in vain. He had come upon a burned out campfire and the remains of a feast of wild pig. This pig, as you haveguessed, was that killed by Johnny. It was this very beast which hadworked his liberation from the mysterious natives. He had not returned tocamp, for Doris had journeyed to the Citadel, filled with high hopes offinding him there, only to have her hopes dashed to the ground. He wasnot there.
After retrieving his quiver of arrows and slaying the wild boar, Johnnyhad found himself free to go where he chose. Not one of the natives whohad witnessed his marvelous archery and the deadly power of his bow daredresist him.
But where did he wish to go? For a moment he found himself engaged in amental struggle. Strange as it may seem, he felt an almost overwhelmingdesire to stay and see this unusual affair through. There was somethingto be said for this course of action. The natives had, more than likely,saved his life by dragging him from the pit in the ancient fort. Not oneof them all had laid violent hands upon him. They had shown him everyrespect. They had forced him to come with them; that was all.
What was there back of their actions? Had they been sent? If so who hadsent them and why? All down the centuries since Columbus set the ensignof Spain upon these newly discovered shores, such procedures as this hadcome about. A queen of some distant tribe takes a fancy to some gallantyoung Spaniard. She sends a band of men for him. He is brought, whetherhe wills it or not, to the court. There, in time he is showered withriches and made a king.
A native chief learns that gold and odd bits of jewelry can be traded forsteel knives, hawk's bells and bright silk scarfs. His kingdom is faraway. He sends a band to waylay a trader and bring him from afar, only toat last return him unharmed and laden with rich treasure.
"But that," the boy told himself, "was very long ago. There's no useromancing. Dorn and Pompee will be worried about me. Curlie will risk hisneck to find me. I must return to camp."
Some persons are natural scouts. To them an overturned pebble, a benttwig, moss on trees, a thousand simple things, are a sign. Johnny was notof this brotherhood.
Just as night began to fall he found himself descending a gently slopinghillside where the ground was red as a native clay pipe when, uponrounding a curve, he came within sight of a small, square house thatgleamed white in the light of the setting sun.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Now I shall not spend the night alone."
In this he was mistaken. As he neared the place, no dog came out to barka warning, no naked native children scurried through the doorway to theirmother. The place was silent, deserted, lonely. Yet in the fact that thishad once been a home; that children had once played with young goatsbefore the door; that a mother had beaten corn for bread and a father hadreturned from a day of toil, Johnny found comfort. For this boy Johnnywas an exceptional character. Himself a wanderer, he was ever dreaming ofhome, ever thinking of that time when, with loved ones about him, hewould sit before his own hearth fire in a home he called his own.
Having explored the half ruined house and found its roof sound, hebrought in dry banana leaves to make a bed on the shelf beneath therafters.
He found ripe bananas in a little run below the house. Half content withthis sparse supply of food, he sat down to listen. Nor did he listenlong. From above him, on the sloping hillside which had once been a badlycleared cornfield, there came a sound much like a shrill scream.
Stringing his bow and nocking an arrow, he began scouting away up thehill. Now he peered out from behind a clump of young banana plants. Andnow a great boulder hid him. Now he crept rapidly over a patch of barrenred soil. But ever he moved upward. Now an
d then to his listening earscame welcome sounds, cries, calls, duckings that told him that the quarrywas not far away.
And now, as he lifted his head above a low-growing bush, he caught hisbreath as he murmured:
"Now! Now's the time."
Bending his bow for a quick aim, he let fly. Then such a screaming andwhirring of wings! A whole covey of wild guinea fowl went wheeling andscreaming away into the sunset. A whole covey? Not quite. A fat youngcock lay still upon a flat rock. He had been shot through and through byone of Johnny's arrows.
"Supper!" the boy exulted as he lifted the bird from the rock andretrieved his arrow.
There were dry branches to be had from the trees in the nearest run.These were rapidly converted into a heap of glowing coals. Lacking akettle for boiling his fowl, Johnny first plucked off the feathers thenrolled it in a two inch coat of red clay. After that he buried it, clayand all, beneath a great mound of glowing coals and sat down to awaitresults.
"Life," he told himself as he sat there with the abandoned home at hisback, "is strange. Here was this chap who made this place a home. To himfive dollars a year was a fortune. Wild guineas shot or snared, bananasand mangoes growing in the runs, corn from the hills, goat's meat andgoat's milk, all to be had for the asking. These were his. And clothes,"he chuckled, "down here a long shirt and a broad smile makes a wonderfulsuit, better than the best dress suit a tailor ever made.
"But back where I came from," he mused on, "a dress suit, a businesssuit, golf suit, top coat, winter coat, rain coat, high shoes, oxfords,golf shoes, tennis shoes, scarfs, shirts, collars, socks by the dozen.Men work days, nights and sometimes Sundays for a living wage. And howmuch is a living wage? Two thousand, three thousand, five thousanddollars. Poor souls! They grow gray and go to hospitals, sanitariums, andearly graves. And here a man lives well enough on five dollars a year."
Seizing a stout stick he scattered the coals to right and left. An ovalmound of hard, baked clay lay before him. This he cracked with a rock andbehold! Before him lay a feast fit for a king, a guinea fowl baked inclay among the coals.
As he lay down to sleep on that narrow shelf beneath the rafters, hetried to imagine the natures of those who had slept there before him.Their images did not linger long for he was soon lost in slumber.