“No, Señor Hal. Neither did they find where his lode had gone. To this day they have found neither him nor the mine. And so they look always for his body. The Indians they say he has come back from death in the form of a jaguar and every moonlight night he shrieks along the banks of the river, crying for his children or his father to come and find his body in the rushing waters of Pallida Mors.”
“A tragic story, Captain,” said Denis Keen. “They must be an unhappy group up there, being reminded of their father’s sad ending every time there’s a moon.”
“Something spooky about him being reincarnated in jaguar form, huh? Gosh, they don’t believe that part of it, this Pemberton family, do they, Captain?” Hal asked.
“Ah, no. They cannot even believe he is really dead, Señors—they say they won’t believe it till they find his body. And so they wait and the jaguar shrieks on moonlight nights. But Santarem is long in the distance, Señors—the story is ended.”
“Not for the Pembertons, I guess,” said Hal sympathetically. “Gosh blame it, I’d like to help those poor people find that man so’s they could get away and live like civilized people.”
“I think,” said his uncle, after the captain had left them quite alone, “that you have enough on your hands right now. What with your worries about Pizella, my future worries about tracing these munitions to Renan, I think we have sufficient for two human minds.”
“Aw, we could tackle this Pemberton business afterward, couldn’t we, Unk? Even if we just stopped to pay them a friendly visit. Gol darn it, I should think they’d be tickled silly to talk to a couple of sympathetic Americans after living in the wilderness and surrounded by savages all their....”
“I take it this Pallida Mors will have you for a visit, come sunshine or storm, eh, Hal?”
“And how! A nice little surprise visit to the Pembertons,” Hal mused delightedly.
Destiny thought differently about it evidently, for Hal was the one to be surprised, not the Pembertons.
CHAPTER VI
A FAMILIAR FOLLOWER
They departed from the main stream and proceeded up the black waters of the Rio Negro just after sunrise. Manaos, with its modern buildings, crowded streets and electric lights, was indeed a “city lost in the jungle,” for a half mile beyond the city limits, the jungle, primeval and inviolable, lay like a vast green canvas under the sparkling sunlight.
“No one in the city knows what is in that forest twenty miles away,” Señor Goncalves informed Hal and his uncle as they drew into the wharf. “Manaos does not care to know, Señors, for she prefers to be a little New York and forget the naked savages that roam the forests.”
“Believe me, I wouldn’t forget the naked savages if I was a Manaosan,” said Hal earnestly. “I’d take hikes into the jungle and see what was doing.”
“That is understood, Hal,” laughed his uncle. “But there are few Manaosans, if any, that are cursed with your snoopiness. Life apparently means much to them and they are far too wise to risk that precious gift just to find out what the wild, naked savage is doing in his own jungle. You don’t mean to tell me that you are adding the suburbs of Manaos to your already overcrowded itinerary!”
“Listen, Unk, I’m going to see all there is to see and you can’t blame me. Gol darn it, this is my first trip to Brazil and the Amazon, and I’ve only got a few months to see it in. Boy, it’s the chance of a lifetime maybe, so why miss anything?”
The dapper Brazilian twisted his trim little moustache and laughed.
“Ah, Señor Hal he has the right idea, Señor Keen,” he said. “He goes in for—what you call it—sport? Ah, but that is well. So I shall show him places—no? There are the movies to go to—even you shall see this afternoon a fine aviation field where is a great friend of mine, José Rodriguez. He is what you Americans call the Ace—yes?”
“Gosh,” Hal said, “I’d think it was immense to meet a Brazilian Ace. Think he’d like to take us up for a spin around?”
“Ah, that is just what I was going to suggest, Señor Hal. He is very kind, José. Perhaps you would like him to take you for the spin over the Manaos jungle, eh?”
“Great—immense!” Hal enthused. “You do think of things, Goncalves—I’ll say that for you! So we start this afternoon, huh?”
“To be sure, Señor Hal.”
It was something to look forward to and Hal did all of that while the amiable Señor escorted his uncle to Manaos’ best hotel. The trials of registering and selecting comfortable rooms always bored him and he preferred returning to the hostelry when all those formalities were over with.
Consequently, Hal strolled through the busy little city after having breakfast at a quaint coffee house. Up one street and down another, he ambled along with a grace that attracted attention wherever he went. Clad in white polo shirt, immaculate flannels and sport shoes, his splendid, towering physique and crown of red-gold hair stood out in bold relief against the short, dark-skinned Manaosans. More than one dusky damosel arrayed in New York’s latest fashion allowed herself a second glance at him in passing.
But Hal was invulnerable where the Manaos maidens were concerned. His weakness was adventure. Also, during the first part of his stroll he was too interested in watching the thousands of Amazonian vultures which hovered overhead. Garden after garden was crowded with strange birds: egrets with their delicate feathers, duckbills, curious snipe with claws in the bend of their wings, and parrots shrieking in an alien tongue as he passed.
Once he stopped to observe a blustering jaribu, or Amazonian heron, who was trying to lord it over two gorgeously plumed egrets. Suddenly he was aware of a shadow behind him, and when he turned he saw Pizella not ten feet distant. Hal swung completely about and faced the half-caste.
“You’re not,” he said calmly, “following me, are you?”
Pizella was inscrutable. He did not even slacken his shambling pace and as he caught up with Hal his shifty eyes were expressionless and seemed not to see his questioner. In point of fact, he even made so bold as to attempt to pass right by.
But Hal would have none of it. He leaned down from his great height and closed his large, slim hand tightly over the man’s scruff.
“I was talking to you, Pizella,” he said quietly. “Maybe you can’t understand my language, but, by heck, you can understand what my hand means.”
Pizella’s face never changed. He glanced up at Hal in that same expressionless manner as if he neither heard nor understood. To make matters worse a crowd began to gather and in a couple of seconds there was such a pushing, babbling and confusion that the half-caste got away.
Hal pushed through the throng after him but was destined to disappointment. Pizella was nowhere in sight. Gardens to the right of him, gardens to the left of him—the man might have escaped through any number of them. In any event, he was not to be found.
After searching for almost two hours, Hal turned back to the hotel, thoughtful and troubled.
CHAPTER VII
HUNCHES
“It’s got to look downright serious, Unk,” Hal said, after entering their rooms in the hotel. “It’s not just a coincidence, my meeting him like that, or he wouldn’t have pulled away when he saw his chance. Why wasn’t he reported to the police?”
“The captain promised me he would attend to it, Hal. Apparently he didn’t. I myself saw Pizella not fifteen minutes ago.”
“How—where?”
“Señor Goncalves has a room on the next floor,” Denis Keen explained. “I had occasion to think that perhaps I could get him to give me that letter to His Excellency, the interventor, this afternoon and I went up. Just as I got to the Señor’s room, whom was he showing out the door but Pizella.”
“Unk! You....”
“Wait a minute before you come to conclusions. I did. Goncalves acted annoyed more than surprised—I would even go so far as to say that he was somewhat agitated.”
“With you coming unexpectedly?”
“He directed a flow of abuse at the departing Pizella’s head. Told him not to show his nose around there again and words to that effect. Then, with his usual cheeriness and perfect hospitality, he invited me in and told me that Pizella had the brass to seek him out and ask him for a job as guide on his expedition. So that explained it.”
“What do you think about it, Unk?”
“Everything,” Denis Keen chuckled, and rose to fleck some ashes from his cigarette. “Perhaps that poor devil has really been seeking a job as guide right along. Perhaps that is why he did all that sneaking around the boat—one can’t get much out of him. He seems hopelessly ignorant and yet there’s always that sullen look and shifty eye to consider.... Oh, well, he’s either one thing or the other—an ignorant half-caste or an exceedingly clever half-caste. I’d like to know which.”
A knock sounded at the door and at their summons a boy entered with a note. Hal took it.
“From the Brazil-nut,” he said after the boy had gone. “Very informal. He says: ‘Will the Señors excuse me from accompanying them to the field at two o’clock this afternoon? Business will detain me, but I beg of the Señors to not disappoint my very good friend, José Rodriguez, as he has made arrangements and has set aside time to take you up for the spin—yes? A car will come for you at two, Señors.... Regretfully....’ He’s signed his name with a flourish, Unk. Well, it’s up to us to put in our appearance alone. I....”
“Then you’ll put in your appearance alone, Hal. I have no intention of going. I’ve got a more serious matter to attend to. Besides, I’m not keen about airplaning in any country—much less this. I’d be just as pleased if you didn’t go either.”
“Aw, Unk, you’d think I was some kid. Why, I can handle controls now like nobody’s business. Besides, this Rodriguez is an Ace! Do you suppose anything’s likely to happen just because we’re in Brazil? Gosh....”
“Oh, I know, Hal. It’s absurd, I suppose, for me to object to your going, but I guess you’re wishing some of that accursed hunch business on me. Something’s making me feel this way.” He laughed uneasily. “Perhaps I’m just a little upset about other matters. Still, promise me you’ll be careful—I could never face your mother if anything happened to you while you were with me.”
“Unk, you’re the limit! You’d think I had never set foot in a cockpit before! Why, Mother’s been up in the air with me. She says I’m a world beater and she’s going to let me try for my pilot’s license next year. Why, she came up with me twice when Bellair was down on a visit to teach me. Gosh....”
“All right, Hal,” said Denis Keen, pacing up and down the room. “You’re old enough to know what you’re doing, I suppose. This Bellair—he’s one of the famous brothers, eh? Oh, I know they’re considered expert airmen. Glad to hear they’ve taught you what you know. Guess they could give you some fair pointers as to what to do in a tight place, eh?”
“And how!” Hal exclaimed with a wry smile. “They don’t teach anything else but. They’re stunters on a large scale, and if you can’t learn about planes from them, you’ll never learn. But why all these questions about what I learned from the Bellairs, huh? Are you really afraid I might get into a tight place with an expert like this Rodriguez is supposed to be?”
“Well, strangers, you know, Hal ... methods are varied among airmen, aren’t they? Oh, I know you’re laughing up your sleeve. Now’s your chance to poke fun at me about hunches, eh? Well, I won’t give in to it, then. You go ahead. We’ll have luncheon, then I’ll ride with you in the car that Señor Goncalves has so generously sent for. The mansion of His Excellency, the interventor, is half-way toward the field, I’ve been given to understand.”
“You going there this afternoon, Unk? Why, I thought Goncalves was going to write that letter and fix it for you to go there tomorrow?”
“No, he changed all that when I saw him in his room just a while ago. He told me he had already telephoned the interventor, explaining my want of guides and an interpreter, and His Excellency, being terribly busy with the affairs of State, requested Señor Goncalves to arrange those matters himself.”
“In other words, the interventor doesn’t want to be bothered with you, huh, Unk? He wants the Brazil-nut to do the work.”
“So the dapper Señor told me in his inimitable way. But the fly in the ointment is this—Goncalves doesn’t know that it is the duty of the interventor to see me, neither does he know that it is of paramount importance for me to see His Excellency regarding Renan and Ceara before I leave Manaos. His Excellency apparently didn’t understand who the American Señor was whom Goncalves was trying to tell him about. They assured me when I left Rio that the interventor here would be notified of my coming. So I’m going this afternoon and no one is to be enlightened as to my whereabouts—no one! Understand, Hal?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Hal laughed. “Go to it, Unk.”
“Most assuredly I will. I’ve got to see His Excellency about getting Federal aid. Do you know, Hal, I had the feeling when I was talking with Goncalves in his room that he wasn’t any too anxious for me to see the interventor! His attitude ... I don’t know ... perhaps, I imagined that too. Come on, let’s wash up and get down to luncheon before I hatch up some more hunches to worry about.”
“Unk,” Hal laughed, “you’re a chip off the young block and I don’t mean maybe.”
CHAPTER VIII
A DUTCH UNCLE
Hal got out of the car at the edge of San Gabriel aviation field and looked about. Leveled from the surrounding jungle, it was situated at the extreme end of the city and here and there over its smooth-looking surface were divers planes, some throbbing under the impetus of running engines and some still, with their spread wings catching the reflection of the afternoon sun.
Three good-sized hangars dotted the right side of the field and Hal caught a glimpse of mechanics busy within. Several groups of men stood about chattering, while here and there some nondescript individual loitered about with that solitary air that at once proclaimed him as being one of that universal brotherhood of hoboes.
One, whose features were distinctly Anglo-Saxon, despite the ravages which the South American climate had made upon his once fair skin, strolled over to Hal’s side the moment he espied him. He was hatless and his blond hair had been burned by countless Brazilian suns until it was a kind of burnt straw color. And his clothes, though worn and thin, gave mute testimony of the wearer having seen a far happier and more prosperous era than the present one.
Hal caught the look of racial hunger on his face and warmed toward him immediately.
“Hello, fellow,” said he with a warmth in his deep voice. “My name’s Keen—Hal Keen.”
A light shone from the stranger’s gray eyes.
“Carmichael’s mine, Keen,” he said pleasantly. “Rene Carmichael. Awfully glad to speak the English language with a fellow being.”
“But Americans aren’t speaking the English language, Carmichael,” Hal laughed with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes. “Nevertheless, as long as you can understand me, that’s all that counts, huh?”
“It’s music to my ears, Keen,” answered Carmichael gravely. “It’s deucedly odd how one will criticize Americans when one is safe at home, but just get away in this corner of nowhere and see the smiling face and broad shoulders of a Yankee pop up out of this dark-skinned crowd! I tell you, Keen, it makes a chap like myself almost want to fall on your shoulder and weep.” His weather-beaten face crinkled up in a smile, as he looked up at Hal. “You don’t carry a stepladder around with you so I can do that, eh?” he asked whimsically.
“Nope,” Hal laughed. “Notwithstanding my height, I couldn’t conceal it.” He glanced at Carmichael sympathetically. “Funny what you just said about Americans—I’ve thought that way about Englishmen too and yet as soon as I laid eyes on you, I felt just like you say you do. Kindred spirits and all that sort of thing, huh? Anyway, I guess the real trouble, the reason for all our prejudices is that we dislike everything we don’t know and, consequently, can’t understand, huh?”
“And now that you’ve met a regular Englishman—what is it, love at first sight?” His eyes danced with merriment.
“You’re aces high, Carmichael. I’m tickled pink we’ve run into each other, that’s a fact. My uncle and I were supposed to look for a Brazilian named Rodriguez out here who is dated to take us for a spin. Unk couldn’t come, so here am I alone. How would you like to take his place? I’d feel better if you came along—someone who can understand me.”
The fellow studied Hal closely for a moment, then nodded.
“I’ll come, but I shouldn’t really. I’m due to sail for Moura at four. I’ve got a toothbrush and one or two other necessities of life back at the hotel which I have to get.”
“Then you’re not a ho ...” Hal just caught himself in time. “Honestly, I’m sorry, awfully....”
“Save the effort, Keen. I love to be thought a hobo. As a matter of fact I am—in a sense. I’m very poor really, but I don’t have to wear my clothes as long as I’ve worn this suit. It’s just that it suits my—ah, purpose.” He laughed and his voice was musically resonant. “Literally, though, I’m not a hobo. I really do something for a living, and a hard enough living it is, old chap.”
“I believe it,” said Hal earnestly. He studied the fellow a moment, taking note of the buoyant broad shoulders and tall slender figure. For he was really quite tall, when one did not consider Hal’s towering height.
“You’re deucedly odd for what I’ve heard about Americans, Keen,” said Carmichael. “You’re straightforward and honest, and not a bit snoopy. Seem to take me at my face value and all that. No questions—nothing.”
“Why not?” Hal countered. “It wouldn’t be my business, Carmichael. But somebody’s given you a devil of an opinion of Americans! I know there are some pretty poor specimens that go shouting around in Europe, but there’s lots of the other kind too, and lots that stay at home. Well, I guess I’m the kind you haven’t heard about, huh? I’m snoopy in some things, though—don’t think I’m not.”
“Aren’t we all?” Carmichael returned. “It’s the way of life and people, I suppose. But there’re some kinds that get on a chap’s nerves. Yours is the kind that doesn’t. That’s why I want to tell you not to take seriously what I gave you to understand about my being from the continent. I’ve lived all my life in Brazil—perhaps that’s why I like to play for five minutes or so that I’m really a native of some other country. I was educated in an English school in Rio and for eight happy years I fooled myself that I was a citizen of some Anglo-Saxon country. No doubt that sounds deucedly odd coming from a chap born here. But I shall never assimilate Latin ways if I live to a ripe old age in this desolate corner of the world.” He laughed bitterly. “I can only hope then that I shall be allowed the company of Anglo-Saxons in the spirit world, eh, Keen?”
“If you wish to live among Anglo-Saxons as much as that, Carmichael, I should think you’d get your wish before you die.” He looked across the field and saw a short, helmeted figure coming toward them. “Don Rodriguez, I bet. He’s smiling, so that must be he. He’s smiling with recognition as if he’s been given a pretty accurate description of me.”
“And a description one could never forget,” said Carmichael. “You must tell me more about yourself, Keen—that is if you care to. If all Americans are like you, then I want to meet heaps of them.”
“Well, I’m glad I’ve done so much for my country,” Hal laughed. “And I’ll tell you all you want to hear. Wait until we get up in the air—we’ll have a little shouting party, huh?”
“Righto.”
The helmeted figure came straight to Hal with outstretched hand and black, smiling eyes.
“Señor Hal Keen—tall like a mountain and red at the top,” he said in broken English, and laughed. Then he turned to Rene. “And this is the Señor uncle—no?”
“Yes,” answered Carmichael with a swift chuckle, “his Dutch uncle.” And in an undertone to Hal, he said: “Do I look as old as that?”
“It depends on how old looking you think an uncle ought to look,” Hal grinned. “My unk seems like a kid to me yet. He’s not forty.”
“And I’m not thirty,” said Carmichael with a poignancy in his voice that did not escape Hal. But he was all laughter the next second and he added: “At that I can still be your Dutch uncle, eh? Your Uncle Rene?”
“I’ll tell the world you can! You are!” Hal turned then to the still-smiling Rodriguez. “When do we hop off in your bus?”
“Ah, to be sure,” said the aviator. “The plane, you mean, eh? She is there—see?” he said, pointing to a small, single-motor cabin plane. “Now shall we take a fly over the jungle, you and the Señor uncle?”
“Sure,” they answered unanimously. And as they followed at the aviator’s heels, Rene whispered: “I kind of like this, being your Dutch uncle. And as long as he thinks so....”
“Why bother to explain, huh?” Hal returned in the spirit of the thing. “There’s not that much difference between a real uncle and a Dutch uncle anyway.”
But Hal was to learn that there was a difference as far as Rodriguez was concerned.
CHAPTER IX
EXIT RENE
When they got to the plane, Rodriguez proceeded on into his cockpit, motioning his passengers to make themselves comfortable in the tiny cabin. After a moment they were off.
They bumped across the field, then rose into the air, hesitated a moment as if they were going to fly straight for the jungle, then soared high into the blue. Hal nodded with satisfaction, after a half hour had elapsed.
“Some beautiful country,” he shouted at Carmichael. “Like a big painted canvas.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you got lost in it,” Rene shouted back. “This fellow’s taking us for quite a long hop, eh?”
Hal nodded and looked out of the tiny window down upon the endless sea of jungle over which they were passing. The plane roared on through the glistening blue and for a time neither of the young men spoke. Yet they were both aware of a peculiar sound coming from the motor. It was not missing, yet each revolution seemed more labored than the one preceding it.
Rene looked at Hal questioningly.
“I’ve traveled in these things plenty, but I don’t know a thing about them. But I can tell the thing isn’t running perfectly.”
“It isn’t,” Hal roared across to his newly found friend. “We’re going to have trouble in a sec and I don’t mean maybe. If I could talk to Rodriguez I could find out, but his English is painful and my Portuguese hasn’t even begun.”
“If that’s the difficulty, Hal,” said Rene unconsciously using the name with all the affection of an old acquaintance, “why, I can help you out that way. I can speak Rodriguez,” he added with a conscious chuckle.
“Gosh, that’s fine,” said Hal. “Come on, we’ll pile up there and you ask him.”
The Brazilian seemed surprised to see his two passengers appear in the narrow, low doorway of his cockpit. In point of fact, Hal sensed that he was even startled. The smile that he gave them looked twisted and forced.
Carmichael questioned him in Portuguese, an undertaking which seemed interminable to Hal. Meanwhile, the engine sounded worse and after another second it began to miss. They were in for trouble. Rodriguez’ gloomy face augured the worst.
Hal noticed then with something of a start that he was wearing a chute. Neither he nor Carmichael had been asked to wear one and he wondered why. It puzzled him greatly.
“Ask him what’s the idea?” Hal queried, drawing Carmichael’s attention to the pilot’s chute. “Do we look like orphans? We’re his guests.”
Carmichael stared at the chute, then grabbed Rodriguez roughly by the shoulder and a flow of Portuguese ensued. Suddenly he turned back to Hal, his weather-beaten face a little drawn.
“Of all absurd excuses, Keen—he says he didn’t think to ask us if we wanted one. This is the only one on this plane—the one he’s safely wearing. He also says the bus is doomed—comforting news. We’re no less than two hundred miles from Manaos already and there isn’t a deuced place for him to land in this jungle.”
“Then if he thinks we’re doomed, why the devil doesn’t he turn back!” Hal said impatiently. “What’s the idea of continuing north? Besides there might be a place we can find if he’s got the nerve to fly low enough to see. There’s a chance that we’ll pancake and get a bit banged up, of course, but it’s better than letting a bus crack up right under our noses without us making any attempt to prevent it! If you ask me—he’s yellow!”
“I’m thinking so too, Keen.” Carmichael frowned. “You seem to know more about planes than this chap—at least you use your head in a pinch. What do you think the chances are if we landed as you suggest. It’s dense jungle right below.”
“If we could find a bit of a clearing we could take it easy and let her go nose first. One thing, I guess it’s all swamp down there, huh? Well, that’s a help—it makes a softer berth. But to answer your question—if we can find a clearing large enough, there’s a darn good chance for us skinning through whole.”
“But little chance of us getting out,” said Carmichael thoughtfully. “I can answer that, for I know the jungle. One of us ought to bail out in that chute right away and take a chance that this east wind blows him near enough to a settlement so that help could be had. It’s necessary for one of us to go, Keen. Otherwise we’ll all be lost. As long as Rodriguez is wearing the chute....”
“No,” said Hal decisively, “we’ll flip a coin. Heads goes with the chute, tails stays. It’ll be between you and me, then between Napoleon there and yourself. O. K.?”
“Suits me. Here goes—I’ll spin,” said Carmichael, taking a Brazilian coin out of his pocket and flipping it in the air. “Yours first, Keen,” he called as the coin came down on his palm.
It was tails. Carmichael’s flip brought heads and with the next turn the pilot lost too. Hal lost no time in ripping the chute from him and adjusting it on Carmichael.
“Good luck to you, fellow,” he said. “I’ll try to find a spot as near here as possible. Have you got our position.”
Carmichael nodded gravely. Rodriguez uttered a little squeal, the color went from his face and in a second the plane began to wobble. Hal pulled him from behind the wheel and himself righted the ship.
“I’ll keep hold of her now,” he assured Carmichael who stood anxiously in the low doorway of the cockpit. “Our brave Ace isn’t fit to steer a baby carriage. He hasn’t morale enough to keep himself going, much less a ship. All right, now, I’m giving you enough altitude to let you clear us nicely. Can’t keep it up more than a couple of minutes though. Listen to her missing! Bail out now, Rene,” he added, using the latter’s Christian name unconsciously. “See you later.”
“Sooner than that, Hal,” Carmichael smiled wistfully. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Doggone right I will! Scoot now!”
Hal knew he was going, knew he was gone. There was that about Carmichael, he felt, that one immediately missed—that effulgent something which seemed to radiate from his slim person. Now that light had gone with him and there was no sound but the unsteady throb of the motor. Rodriguez was huddled over in the corner of the cockpit shivering, with his eyes fixed fearfully over the illimitable roof of the jungle.
Hal, however, had ceased to consider his presence at all. Moreover, there wasn’t time. Every precious second he used in circling lower and lower over the glistening green jungle and trying to remember word for word the valuable advice that the famous brothers Bellair had given him as to what could be done in a pinch.
He had cut down a thousand feet, then two thousand, and then he could pick out the colorful birds flying from tree to tree. A few hundred feet more and he could see them quite plainly. After that he dared to let her dive a little and coming out on an even keel he saw something between the dense foliage that made his heart thump.
It was a clearing.
CHAPTER X
SAFETY?
Hal shut down the motor after that, let the plane circle once more under its own momentum, then pointed her nose straight down toward the clearing.
Within a flash he had slid from behind the wheel, reached over in the corner and dragged Rodriguez by the collar, pulling him into the cabin with a swift jerk. That accomplished, he flung himself down to the floor, head down, and called to the cowardly pilot to do the same.
Hal tried to keep his mind a blank during the ensuing seconds. Rodriguez’ shrieks of fear, the tearing, ripping sounds of the fabric, and the shattering of glass did not make him move a muscle. And when he did stir it was by force, for the plane thrust her nose into the swampy ground with such an impact that he was thrown the length of the cabin floor.
There was another terrific vibration, another shattering of glass and, before the plane settled her nose in the mud, Hal and the pilot were whisked summarily against the cockpit door. Then all was still.
Hal straightened up as best he could. His head felt bruised and when he looked at his hands they were covered with blood. Aghast, he saw that it came from Rodriguez, who was lying quite still beside him in a pool of blood. An ugly gash had severed the fellow’s dark throat—his lips were gray.
Hal tumbled about in getting out his handkerchief from his back pocket, for the tail of the ship was in mid-air, and he was all confused. But he managed to bandage the pilot’s throat temporarily and set about rubbing his wrists. At that juncture an ominous smell floated by with the jungle breeze.
“Ship’s caught afire, all right,” he muttered, as a small spiral of blue smoke floated past the shattered window at his elbow.
Hal was out of it in a moment, jumping down into the soggy ground and pulling the unconscious Rodriguez after him. A rumble sounded through the plane and the next second it was enveloped in high, shooting flames.
Hal stumbled and tripped, sinking into mire over his ankles. But he managed to drag Rodriguez’ heavy, inert body along, dodging and trampling down bushes, creepers, and clinging vines that grew in the little spaces between the tree trunks.
HAL MANAGED TO DRAG RODRIGUEZ’ HEAVY, INERT BODY ALONG.
After what seemed an endless journey to him, he came at last to a sort of eminence, a tiny area of higher ground that showed evidences of having been a former human habitation. The jungle, however, was beginning to reclaim it, for the whole space was covered with a substantial growth.
Hal looked about thoughtfully, but seeing that it was the only suitable spot in sight, he lay Rodriguez down carefully. After that he hunted around them for a few sticks of wood and started a fire to keep away the mosquitoes.
That done, he set about trying to revive the pilot and after a trying five minutes saw his eyelids flicker, then open.
“It’s I, Rodriguez! Keen! We’re here—safe! How you feeling?”
The fellow seemed to understand perfectly, for he nodded and a look of hope came into the black eyes that were so filled with fear not fifteen minutes before. Hal noted that his lips, however, were an ashen gray.
“You saved the plane—yes?” Rodriguez muttered weakly.
“Nope,” Hal answered, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s up in smoke—fire. We should worry though, huh? We’re saved, anyhow.”
Rodriguez smiled feebly and lifted his head, looking around, interested. Suddenly he put his hand to his bandaged throat and a terrified expression filled his eyes.
“Is it danger—no?” he asked Hal.
“No,” Hal lied. “You’ve just got a bad cut, Rodriguez. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Just lie still and take it easy. I’ll get some more wood to keep these pesky mosquitoes away.”
“The glass she cut me—no?” He seemed to be obsessed by his wound.
“I’ll say she did. That’s why I wanted you to lie face down as I did. I knew we were in for something.”
“I feel weak like baby.”
“I’m sorry, old fellow,” said Hal sincerely. “I’m sorry we couldn’t let you take the chute and escape all this, but it wouldn’t have been sporting. Understand?”
The pilot nodded weakly. He even smiled.
“I was not frightened for death so much, Señor Hal. More I was frightened for myself—my sins.”
Hal frowned until his freckled brow wrinkled into one deep channel between his bright blue eyes. Then a light of understanding spread over his fair face and he smiled.
“Oh, you mean your religion, huh, Rodriguez?” he asked. “You mean you were afraid of your sins in case you did die, huh?”
Rodriguez made the sign of the cross and his dark-skinned hands fell limply to his sides.
“Yes, yes, Señor. My sins were many—too many to die a peaceful death, Señor. I would have to tell you....” He closed his eyes and seemed to doze off.
Hal shrugged his shoulders and got up. He could hear the burning plane snapping and cracking against its steel frame. Its acrid fumes carried on the breeze even to where he stood and hung heavily on the air in a blue haze.
A monkey scolded sharply from a near-by tree and instinctively Hal picked up a piece of dead limb and swung it at him.
“Can’t you see there’s a sick boy here who needs sleep!” he stage whispered to the animal above them.
The monkey stared down with an almost sad expression on its little old face. Then after he scolded some more he swung along to the opposite branch and was soon swallowed up in the dense foliage.
Hal continued to gather more wood after that, looking at his patient at five-minute intervals. But Rodriguez slept on, despite the fact that a fresh bandage had been adjusted—the pilot’s own handkerchief.
It was almost dark in the dense forest before Hal stopped. His pile of wood had become quite high—enough to do them for the long night, he thought, as he sat down on it to have a smoke.
A parrot screeched somewhere in the distance, the jungle teemed with life and sound, and yet it seemed to Hal he had never sat in such oppressive silence before. Suddenly, to his great delight, Rodriguez awakened and, noting the glow of their campfire, smiled.
“Ah, it is comfort, the fire,” he sighed. “You know the jungle—no?”
“Yes,” Hal answered with a cheerful smile. “I’ve been in Panama—yes. I know the jungle.”
“Ah,” the pilot sighed weakly and closed his eyes again.
Hal glanced at him quickly and a fear asserted itself. Rodriguez’ throat was still bleeding profusely—the fellow’s face had a ghastly look in the firelight.
Did it mean death?
CHAPTER XI
A VIGIL
The black vault of heaven with its twinkling stars could be seen in narrow strips through the entangled tops of closely growing trees. Hal looked up at it longingly from time to time and wondered if a searching party did come flying overhead, whether or not they would be able to penetrate the dense screen and see them.
Their campfire, though piled so high, seemed pitifully inadequate for such a purpose, and he experienced a sinking sensation in his stomach when he thought how much less it could be seen in the daylight. Too, Carmichael might not be any better off than they. Parachutes very often failed one. Perhaps it would have been better if they had all stuck and taken their chances together. Rodriguez was in such a bad way.... Hal had long ago given up trying to stop the bleeding. But he felt so hopeless about it, so helpless. There seemed nothing for him to do but sit and wait.
He leaned over to the woodpile from time to time, replenishing the blaze. Sometimes Rodriguez would sigh, then sink into a deeper sleep than before. Hal was always hoping that the sleep was doing him good, but it occurred to him after a time that the pilot’s strength was slowly ebbing and that it wasn’t slumber, but a torpor which held him in its grip.
His heart went out to the young man and he completely forgave him his cowardice. Certainly Rodriguez was getting the worst of it. Perhaps it was true that he had feared the consequences of his sins more than his actual departure from life. Hal shrugged his shoulders at the thought—the Latin temperament was indeed strange.
For a little while after that, Hal began to think of food and water. He had had neither since luncheon and, for a healthy young man with his appetite, that was a fearful length of time to go without nourishment. But that too seemed an after consideration in the face of the present pall that hung over that strange little jungle camp.
Hal reached out and taking Rodriguez’ hand felt of his pulse. He knew little about such things, yet enough to realize that the pilot’s pulse beats were anything but normal. At times he could barely distinguish any pulsation at all. Moreover, the fellow’s hand felt cold and clammy in his own.
When he went to relinquish his hold, Rodriguez showed some resistance. He held feebly to Hal’s warm, strong hand and smiled.
“I feel not so cold, Señor,” he explained hesitantly. “It’s....” he seemed too weak to say more.
“You mean it makes you feel better and warmer for me to hold on to your hands?” Hal asked him solicitously.
Rodriguez nodded.
“All right, fellow. Here, give me the other one—I’ll rub them, huh? We’ll have a little holding hands party.” Hal chuckled, trying not to see the questioning, poignant look in the pilot’s eyes.
He went to sleep again this way, but Hal kept hold of both his hands, pressing them with his own at intervals. It gave him a peculiar sensation, this maternal gesture on his part, and if he had not felt so utterly sad about Rodriguez’ condition he would have been abashed at his display of tenderness.
The long hours crept by—a glimpse of full moon showed in a single silver moonbeam through the trees. From the depths beyond the clearing came the mournful sound of living things unseen. The weird plaint of the sloth came drifting down the breeze, tree frogs and crickets clacked and hummed with a monotony that was utterly depressing, and once the air shook with a thunderous concussion from some falling tree.
Hal started but it did not seem to bother the airman. He merely moved in his torpor and muttered unintelligibly. After five minutes of this he spoke aloud, feebly yet clearly.
“It was for the Cause, Señor ... the Cause. Señor Goncalves he too did it for the Cause. But ah, how it troubles me, Señor....”
“What troubles you, Rodriguez?” Hal asked, pressing gently down on his hand. “What are you talking about, fellow?”