“Well, I’ve got enough electricity in me without clashing with those fish, Joaquim. Thanks for the tip, anyway.”
And so he bathed without incident, shaved and dressed, then strolled toward the Pemberton hut, a broad, low structure of mud and thatch. Felice and her grandfather were on hand to greet him.
The building boasted of three good-sized rooms, that is, it was one vast room partitioned off into three. Two of the partitions, Felice explained, were used as bedrooms and the third, a wide room across the front of the hut, was their dining-living room.
That room, into which Hal was ushered, boasted of a fair-sized dining table, a half-dozen rickety chairs, an antique sideboard, and a dilapidated couch. The kitchen, Felice explained, was in Joaquim’s hut and under his own supervision.
They sat down to a nicely set table and Hal perceived that Felice’s slim brown hand had given the extra touches in honor of a guest. A worn but clean tablecloth gleamed under the candlelight, and the silver, he was certain, had graced the table of many generations of Pembertons in Virginia.
Hal ate his fill of chicken, fish, sweet potatoes, cooling pineapple, and two cups of coffee. True, it was rather bitter and was flavored with condensed milk, but coffee had never been so welcome and he sat sipping the second cup with some Brazilian cigarettes which Old Marcellus kept for guests.
The old man was pleasant, and he beguiled Hal with divers tales of his experiences in the Amazon jungle. Now and then a note of bitterness would creep into his feeble voice, but upon looking at Hal’s smiling countenance he would dismiss his subject and begin on another. But always he seemed to come back to the same subject, that of his long missing son.
His days and nights, the whole of his remaining life was spent thinking of that tragic affair. Hal’s heart went out to him and he wondered what his life would have been—what all their lives would have been if that terrible thing hadn’t happened!
Felice had sat quietly through her grandfather’s long recital. Finally she sat up straight in her chair and shook her small, golden head determinedly.
“Now Grandfather,” she said, “Mr. Hal has been hearing our story ever since he came up the river to Manaos. Suppose we let him have an end to this Phantom of Death River and change to a lighter vein.”
“Of course, Felice,” said Old Marcellus. “No doubt the young man is terribly bored. I forget myself and talk, talk, talk.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Hal assured them. “I lean toward things like this—I mean toward the supernatural. Of course I don’t take any stock in it that Miss Felice’s father is roaming around and screaming in jaguar form. I don’t believe that at all, but the idea fascinates me.”
“That’s because you’re a romanticist, Mr. Hal,” said the girl. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t get into a scrape like that plane business. It pays to beware of strangers, especially men like Señor Goncalves. He must be a very cold-blooded man to have devised such a scheme. I’ve told Grandfather how you met him on your way to Manaos and the subsequent events.”
“Granting all that,” said Old Marcellus, “I can’t understand why the Señor should want to take your uncle’s life and your own. Why?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask, but didn’t,” Felice said smiling.
“And I forgot to tell you,” Hal explained. “You are people of honor and I can entrust to you the secret of my uncle’s mission up here. He’s a secret service man and he brought me along with him on the exciting chase of a munition’s smuggler. That is, he’s trying to help the Brazilian Government, in coöperation with our own, to trace the smuggling of munitions to this country. And if we find the man who’s the go-between on this end, we’ll soon learn who the manufacturers are in the U. S.”
“And is the man—Renan?” asked Old Marcellus softly.
“Do you know him?” Hal returned eagerly.
Before they could answer, Joaquim appeared in the doorway, gesticulating to his master and looking quite perturbed.
CHAPTER XXVI
A FAMILIAR VOICE
“What is it, Joaquim?” asked the old man.
Joaquim’s tongue loosed in rapid-fire Portuguese for fully two minutes. Felice sat tense, her hands clenching the tablecloth and her face noticeably pale. And the old man, though apparently quite calm, had two patches of color that came and went at intervals in his bony cheeks.
When the Indian had finished Old Marcellus stood up, talked crisply in Portuguese, then dismissed the servant. That done, he turned to Hal.
“Just some visitors, young man,” he said courteously. “You will excuse me?”
“Of course,” Hal said smiling. “I’ve been taking up your time too long anyhow.”
“No doubt you feel fatigued still?” Felice asked in a strained manner.
Hal was not a little surprised but he managed to conceal it.
“I can always sleep, Miss Felice,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s why I’ve grown up to be such a big boy.”
She giggled, but grew instantly serious as he said goodnight. Old Marcellus bowed gravely and showed almost too palpably that he would feel immensely relieved when his guest was gone to his hut.
Hal felt the situation as one of his temperament feels everything—intensely. He knew that there was some deep, underlying motive for the strange behavior of his host and hostess. Too, he knew that the sudden visitors whom Joaquim announced must have given them cause for deep concern.
“But then that’s their business,” Hal told himself as he strolled toward the hut. “Why should it have anything to do with me? It’s been said that every family keeps a skeleton or two hidden in the closet. Maybe this is the night that the Pembertons are letting theirs out for a walk.”
Hal had quite forgotten the incident by the time he got into his hammock and under the net so solicitously provided by Joaquim. He was sleepier than he realized and after smoking another of Old Marcellus’ Brazilian cigarettes, he closed his eyes willingly.
He thought over all that had happened during the day, particularly his meeting with Felice. He liked saying her name aloud. There was something soft and soothing in the sound. He thought of her frailness and thin, pinched cheeks and immediately he wanted to do something for her that would make her look bright and healthy, not sad and weary-looking as he visualized her then.
He had a mind picture of her laughing along some unfrequented trail in Ramapo, whose picturesque hills took on its winter cloak when the Amazon was at its highest temperature. She would look pretty, he decided, when the wind blew hardest and the snow flew thickest. There wasn’t the slightest doubt about it—Felice belonged in Ramapo and he determined to tell her so.
Suddenly his thoughts switched to the immediate present. His uncle would soon hear that he was safe, and so would his mother. At last! His next move was to start back for Manaos. But as he had been gone this long he could defer it a few days, as long as no one was worrying about him.
The Pembertons interested him too much to leave right off. He chuckled. The Pembertons? Why fool himself! It was Felice who interested him and he knew that it was especially so because of the glamour of mystery surrounding her life in the wilderness.
In any event, he was inspired to do something manly and adventurous for this frail wilderness flower. And to sleep he went, with this generous and noble desire making peaceful his deep slumber.
That it was deep, Joaquim witnessed when he crept stealthily under the doorway of the hut of their honored guest. Soundlessly he stole up to Hal’s hammock and listened intently for fully five minutes to his soft, even breathing. Then, with a satisfied air, the Indian stole out again.
Hal, however, being temperamental, was often disturbed by another’s mere presence. It was so in this case, for he was awake and sitting up in his hammock before Joaquim’s stealthy figure had cleared the doorway. And though he was still dazed, he knew that the Indian’s presence was a sign that Old Marcellus and his granddaughter were up to something.
Hal got into his clothes in a minute and crept cautiously toward the door. He stood and listened there before he emerged and even then put out his head and looked about carefully.
There was no sound except the low murmur of voices from Pemberton’s hut. He could not distinguish them at all and proceeded to move further out into the clearing when he suddenly saw Joaquim’s squat figure move out of the shadows and down toward the river.
Hal moved noiselessly up to the Pemberton hut and drew close into its protecting shadows. Old Marcellus was talking in even tones, calm and distinct.
“Yes,” he was saying, “this used to be a Pallida settlement. Why do you ask, Señor?”
“Curiosity, Señor Pemberton,” said a soft, purring voice. “And your son, his canoe, his camp was found here—no?”
“Yes. But surely you heard the story many times.”
“Not so thoroughly as I heard it lately, Señor. And the Pallidas they did not come back to claim their settlement?”
“No,” answered Old Marcellus. “It’s their custom not to reclaim a settlement once they’re driven off by a white man. They have a reputation for superstition you know.”
“But your son, he drove them off, eh?”
“Yes; he believed there was a lode somewhere here worth a fortune. But poor man, he gave his life for that illusion. My grandson and I have hunted the length and breadth of this clearing in vain.”
“Ah, but that is the way of life, eh, Señor? Now we must be going.”
“But did you come only to ask me about my poor lost son? Have you no message?” Old Marcellus asked anxiously.
“None, Señor. Perhaps when next I come. Adios!”
Hal waited to hear no more and scooted back to the shadow of his doorway. Soon he saw the dark figures of men emerging from Pemberton’s hut and he heard the soft whisper of voices. Old Marcellus he distinguished by his white, silvery hair, but the rest he could not make out. Besides, Joaquim’s squat body came wobbling up from the river and escorted the two short visitors back to the bank.
Hal was puzzled, yet he could not help feeling that there was something familiar looking about the pair. Certainly, somewhere he had heard the speaker’s voice inside the hut. That soft, slow purring....
CHAPTER XXVII
AND THEN....
Hal went back to his hammock without having come to any definite decision. After all, it was difficult to distinguish one’s voice through layers of mud and thatch, especially when one was talking at a low pitch.
The following day he had breakfast with Felice. Her grandfather, she explained, lay abed late because of his age. She seemed gay and carefree as she spoke and it was hard for Hal to believe that he had seen her so tense and weary only the night before.
He rested some during the day, took a stroll along the river bank with Felice, and fished the rest of the day. Old Marcellus kept much to himself and seemed rather taciturn when spoken to. At dinner that evening, he did not appear.
“Grandfather is worrying about my brother, Rene,” said Felice.
Hal looked across the table and smiled comfortingly.
“Aw, I guess he can take care of himself, huh? I’ll admit I was worried too, but since I know he’s your brother and have heard what a ‘rep’ he’s got, I have the idea that he can take care of himself.”
“I know he can take care of himself,” Felice said thoughtfully, “but we aren’t always the master of a situation. Rene is sometimes headstrong.”
“Gol darn it,” Hal said, noticing the sadness in her gray eyes, “I do believe you’re worried about him.”
“I really am, Mr. Hal. You see he’s never kept us waiting so long. He’s always so concerned about Grandfather and me. Really he’s been all that’s helped me to bear this lonely existence. I couldn’t bear anything to happen to him.”
“But my goodness, Miss Felice, I’m certain nothing has happened to him if he’s such a roamer as you’ve told me! Please don’t worry! If there’s anything I can do....”
“You liked him, didn’t you, Mr. Hal?” she asked suddenly.
“I’ll say I did,” Hal answered readily. “I thought he was one swell chap. Man, he’s the kind I like—you know, plain but not stupid.”
Felice seemed relieved. She smiled sweetly and freely then.
“I thought that a nice person like you couldn’t help liking Rene. You’re so much alike—loyal.”
“Thanks, Miss Felice. I’ll always try to live up to that reputation.”
“Is it a promise?” she asked eagerly.
“Cross my heart and hope to die!”
They were gay after that and strolled about the clearing in the moonlight before they said goodnight. Hal walked on air to his little hut and was so thoughtful that he climbed into his hammock with his clothes on.
But it was just as well, for he hadn’t any desire to sleep and was up again in a few moments. How could he sleep when a lovely girl like Felice exacted a promise from him to be loyal? He’d be loyal to her whole family just to see her smile!
Suddenly it occurred to him that her request for his loyalty was not only meaningless but odd. What did she want him to be loyal to? To whom? He felt silly when he thought that he had made a promise when he didn’t know what it was all about. Still, he could stand feeling silly where Felice was concerned.
He stamped out a half-smoked cigarette and walked out into the clearing. It was a lovely night, breathless and clear, with just enough moon for shadow. Before he realized it, he was down at the river, gazing dreamily at the swiftly moving water.
Suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of a canoe paddling toward him. Instinctively, he drew back under the tree, barely escaped stepping on a peacefully sleeping snake, and in trying to sidestep it, he slipped and rolled down the bank into some thick bushes. And there he stayed.
The canoe had already come into view and the bent forms of the two paddlers were directing its course toward the bank. Straight to the settlement it glided, like some long, graceful snake.
Hal held his breath as it pushed into the bank. He dared not stir the bushes for so much as a peek then. They were too close at hand. But then he had no need to see, for they started to speak and he could listen.
They talked in Portuguese, however, speaking in soft tones. Both voices struck Hal immediately as being familiar—the one especially so. But still he dared not stir, for he knew that they had not gotten out of the canoe. Then after a moment of silence, the familiar voice spoke in English.
“There is gold here—I feel it,” it whispered. “We must get these Pembertons away—no? It would be ver’ easy. The Pallidas, they perhaps kill Señor Pemberton, Junior. Why not make it look as if they do it again, eh? Why not, Pizella?”
“Si, Señor,” came the answer. “Why not so?”
CHAPTER XXVIII
HE WHO RISKS NOTHING
“Quem nao arrisca nao ganha,” said Señor Goncalves, twisting at his moustache. He chuckled softly. “Tomorrow night, perhaps?”
“Si, Señor,” said Pizella in a whisper. “Quem nao arrisca nao ganha.”
Suddenly the swish of paddles sounded and, with a creaking noise, the canoe pushed out of the clay and back into the stream. Hal held his breath listening for them to reveal something more but not a word did they speak until they put a great deal of distance between themselves and the settlement.
Hal crawled out of the bushes, wiped his hands on his handkerchief and scrambled up the bank. He made no effort to conceal himself but walked with determined step past the Pemberton hut. A flickering light showed someone to still be up.
“That you, Miss Felice?” Hal asked anxiously.
“Yes, Mr. Hal.” Her small, slim body framed the doorway. “Why, I thought you went to bed an hour ago!”
“I thought you did too!”
“Yes, but I was restless.”
“Same here. Your grandfather asleep?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Nothing. Say, I was wondering what quem nao arrisca nao ganha means! Can you tell me?”
“He who risks nothing, gains nothing,” she answered promptly. “Where did you hear it, Mr. Hal?”
“Oh, from two Brazil-nuts.” He laughed. “How near are we to the next settlement and how many people live there?”
She laughed softly.
“Of all the questions! But to answer them—we live just twenty miles away from the next settlement and there’s a tribe of about fifty Betoya Indians living there. They’re better left alone though, if you’re thinking of trying to promote good will. Some Brazilian rubber men mistreated them not so long ago and they’re anything but in a conciliatory frame of mind.”
“Well, I won’t add to their worry then,” Hal said, feeling rather depressed. “How long does it take to get to Manaos?”
“Two long days. It depends on the skill of the paddler. Sometimes it takes longer, but certainly it’s not less than that. Are you thinking of leaving us, Mr. Hal?” she asked wistfully.
“Nope, not yet. In fact, I’m not going until you see or get some word from your brother.”
“Oh, you’re kind, Mr. Hal! Awfully kind.”
“Not kind—human,” Hal laughed. “I have a weakness for human beings too.”
“I’m glad, for we need someone with that kind of weakness. But you seem a little—well, serious. What is it?”
“Your brother, Miss Felice. I don’t want to seem snoopy, but I’d like seriously to see him and talk to him. That’s why I don’t want you to feel offended if I ask you what idea you have of his whereabouts?”
“Why, er—Mr. Hal,” said Old Marcellus, rising out of the doorway in a faded dressing gown and an air of injury. “Isn’t this rather a late hour for you to be talking to my....”
“It makes not the slightest difference whom I talk to, Mr. Pemberton,” Hal interposed pleasantly. “In fact, I think it would be better for you to be here. You heard my question about your grandson?”
“Yes, sir, I did,” said the old man with some show of dignity.
“Then you can answer it.”
“Suppose I refuse?”
“That would be absurd. After all, I want to know only to help you and Miss Felice.”
“Something’s happened—something!” Felice gave a little cry. “What is it, Mr. Hal?”
“I hadn’t meant to tell you, but I suppose it’s the only way to do. After all, you know this country and I don’t. It’s simply this—not ten minutes ago while I was hidden in the bushes down at the river I overheard a conversation between that cat Goncalves and his boy friend, Pizella. It seems he has in his mind some plan to drive you people out of here. He said he felt that there was gold and he was going to get it.”
“Never; not over my dead body!” said Old Marcellus stiffening to his full height. “If there’s gold here, we’ll get it, not Carlo Goncalves!”
“I hope to tell you,” Hal agreed vehemently. “But to get to the bottom of this—what is it all about? I don’t mean to pry, but I want to help you people. I won’t stand by and see that little Brazil-nut misuse you!”
“He is a bad lot, Goncalves,” said Old Marcellus more to himself than to Hal. “And Pizella too.”
“I could have told you that weeks ago,” Hal said. “But evidently Goncalves got started when he heard your story from the captain of the boat. He was one of the listeners. He probably is one of those fools who thinks that all he has to do is to pull up at some river bank and he’ll find gold. Gold isn’t found as easily as that. Anyway, Mr. Pemberton, you people know him, huh? He’s on a friendly footing here?”
“We know him, but not because we want to,” said the old man between tightly drawn lips. “He’s lately happened—to come here....”
“Now you’re holding back something, Mr. Pemberton. And there’s absolutely no need to. Nothing you say shall be held against you.” He laughed gently. “I mean it, even if my uncle is on the government’s side. I know that in some mysterious way you people are connected with the revolutionary movement here. You wouldn’t know Goncalves from Adam if you weren’t.”
Felice, who had been standing silent throughout this recital, suddenly put her hand on Hal’s arm.
“You are right about us, Mr. Hal,” she said. “We are sort of connected with Ceara’s side. That is....”
“Ceara’s a patriot and devoted to the Cause,” said the old man suddenly. “Goncalves is a sneak and is in the Cause for greed rather than patriotic motives. I’ve suspected that right along. Also he wants power.”
“We meant it when we said that we thought he was inhuman for what he tried to do to you,” said Felice angrily. “We told him so too! But he would go to any ends to get the rest of the munitions through. He wants to start fighting. He’s jealous of Ceara—he’s jealous of my....”
“Your brother, huh?” Hal interposed. “Wasn’t that what you were going to say?”
Felice and her grandfather nodded.
“I don’t know why we let you know so much,” she said, trying to smile.
“You know why?” Hal asked. “Because you know in your heart I’d rather help than anything else. Besides I promised I’d be loyal, didn’t I? Well, I mean it. And I can understand how people all alone like you are can mix up with the Cause as you call it. You have nothing else to do in this wilderness. Also, I understand now how your brother could get into it. It’s a wonder he didn’t get into worse mischief than this with so much time on his hands.”
“You know then that Rene is....”
“Renan,” Hal interposed smiling. “I guessed it quite a few hours ago.”
CHAPTER XXIX
A SNOOPING YANKEE
“Renan Carmichael Pemberton, that is his full name,” said Old Marcellus proudly. “We’ve always called him Rene for short. But what are you going to do about him, Mr. Hal? You are loyal to your government as well as to us, eh?”
“I think,” said Hal with a smile at Felice, “that I can dope out a way to be loyal to both. Just one thing I’d like to find out though—was he in on that plane plot?”
“I can vouch for him that he wasn’t,” Felice said stoutly. “I don’t think Rene ever met that José Rodriguez before in his life. There are many in the Cause, you know. They can’t all be acquainted. It was just a coincidence.”
“I’m inclined to believe it. Well, what do you say we all turn in? We may not get such a good sleep tomorrow night.”
They all agreed and Hal was about to go when he thought of something.
“How about guns, Mr. Pemberton?” he asked the old man. “Have you anything like that around here?”
The old man said he had. Enough to protect themselves for a little while. And Goncalves, he was certain, was acting upon his own initiative. Ceara, he declared, would have no part in such a scheme.
“I hope so,” Hal said aloud when he got into his hammock a moment later. “It would pain me to know that Ceara did anything like that after all the puffs he’s been given!” He chuckled, then looked grave the next minute.
He was thinking about Renan—Rene, and did not know which name he preferred. He did know, however, that he thought the Pembertons a queer lot. Somehow their connection with the Cause amused him, and he wondered if they, too, could not see the humorous side of it. Renan must certainly see it. Laughter and smuggled munitions!
Hal realized after a while, however, that there was not so much to laugh at with Goncalves. He presented a problem grave enough to make one frown. Meanwhile the time was fleeing and before they knew it, the Señor would be paying them a visit.
His mind was so full of this worry that he slept but little and got up at dawn. After dressing he hurried down to the river bank to think it over, and in his nervous deliberation he pulled out of his pocket the handkerchief which he had had with him the night before.
It felt gritty to the touch, and when he went to put it up to his face a light-colored substance fell from it to the ground. It interested him greatly.
Hal examined it curiously, particularly the few particles that clung to the handkerchief. Then he bethought himself of how, the night before, he had slid down the sloping embankment and into the bushes to avoid the canoeists. That was where he had wiped the wet clay from his hands.
He shook his head uncertainly and slid down the embankment again. There he delved about, poking into the embankment and eagerly scrutinizing every bit of clay that came out in his hand. In several places he did this until he espied his footsteps in the wet earth. Almost covering them was some more clay which he had loosened in his fall.
He searched through it carefully and finally brought up a handful of the yellow dust which he scooped up immediately. Then he scrambled up the bank and across the clearing, almost running into Old Marcellus as he came out of his door.
“G’d mornin’, young sir. You seem to have been as restless as myself,” said the old man.
“Looks that way all right,” Hal said, hardly able to contain himself. “But it’s a good thing I was restless. I think, Mr. Pemberton, that I’ve discovered something.”
“What is that, young man?”
“Gold,” Hal answered, smiling. “A whole handkerchief full!”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed the astonished old man.
“Mr. Pemberton,” Hal said whimsically, opening the handkerchief for his delighted inspection, “that expression you just used—Great Scott!—is uttered by Americans only. Do you know that? What’s more it’s a purely Yankee term and yet you use it!”
“I wouldn’t stand for that insult, young man,” said Old Marcellus with a faint gleam of mirth in his weak blue eyes, “if it wasn’t that you’ve discovered my gold.”
“Then you admit that you’ve given praise to a Yankee by using his name?” Hal teased. “You’ve committed the unpardonable sin, Mr. Pemberton.”
“Then I have,” said the old man, biting back the smile that wanted to shine on his thin, haggard face. “And I’m not denying now that it took a snooping Yankee to find our gold—the gold that will mean so much to my grandchildren.”
“Well,” Hal laughed, “I’d rather be a snooping Yankee than....”
“Than what?” the old man promptly asked.
“Than Señor Carlo Goncalves,” Hal answered with a chuckle.
CHAPTER XXX
PALE DEATH
It rained terrifically that night, lashing this way and that through the clearing. Truly, it was a night to deter the most venturesome, but as Hal had high regard for Señor Goncalves as a moving force, he did not keep to his hut and hammock. Instead, with Joaquim’s invaluable aid and two Colt revolvers, they kept vigil under a tree at the river.
“You heard Señor Goncalves say he come tonight, Señor Hal?” Joaquim asked.
“Exactly,” Hal answered. “I think he meant to do it last night, but he didn’t have the nerve. He said something about making it look as if the Indians had done it—the Pallidas! Do you think it was they who killed Mr. Pemberton’s son?”
Joaquim shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Pallidas think evil spirits get out when white man digs deep in the ground, Señor. They would kill him for that maybe. Pallidas hate Señor Pemberton for chasing them from settlement. Maybe they kill—we do not know.”
“And what do you think about Señor Rene, Joaquim?”
“I think, like master, that maybe Señor Rene is being punished for angry talk about you falling in plane. I think Ceara he hold him there a time so he will not talk.”
“So you and Mr. Pemberton think Señor Renan didn’t like the treatment I got, huh? Well, maybe it’s so. At least I like to think that that’s the sort of a bird he is.”
Joaquim nodded as if to say that Renan Pemberton was exactly that kind. Be that as it may, thinking was often convincing to Hal and he had no further qualms in that direction. His present anxiety was on the river and from time to time he wondered just what Goncalves had in his mind.
He did not have very long to wonder, however, for, just before midnight, Joaquim prodded Hal gently in the ribs.
“Canoe she come,” he muttered between his teeth. “We keep back in dark.”
“I’ll say we will,” Hal whispered in return.
The canoe swished through the water and presently appeared just below the settlement. There seemed to be no other boats with them, and Hal and the Indian exchanged glances of satisfaction. Goncalves, sitting smug and content while Pizella slaved at the paddle, seemed to sense nothing unusual.
Hal noticed immediately that Pizella was carrying a bow, and arrows were lying at his feet. When he pushed the boat into the embankment and got out with his bare feet to make it fast he reached for them. Goncalves smiled.
“Pallidas—si?” he murmured.
“Si,” responded Pizella.
“Not so fast, Goncalves!” Hal roared in a voice that sounded almost sepulchral, coming as it did from under the rain-dripping trees. “We’ve got you covered!” He said we’ve as if it constituted a tremendous armed force.
Goncalves moved like lightning. Without a word, he shoved the boat back into the stream with the tremendous energy of his excitement. For some reason he seemed to have completely forgotten the wading half-caste who stumbled and tripped through the water in his haste to clamber back into the canoe.
Hal fired the gun then over the Brazilian’s head. But the fellow had taken up the paddle and began to stroke vigorously off in the dark. Pizella meanwhile had neither been able to gain the canoe or even keep up with him. Also, it was apparent that the water was too high for him to wade any longer.
He called frantically to Goncalves, called to him to wait, Joaquim said. But as Hal had already aimed another bullet at the Brazilian’s sleek head, there was no apparent slowing up of the canoe for anything or anybody. Consequently, Pizella dove into the high water, clothes and all.
Hal tried another shot but the darkness and the swiftly moving canoe made a sure aim impossible. He thought he heard Goncalves scream after a fourth shot had been fired, but as Pizella was screaming also, they could not be certain. Be that as it may, the Brazilian kept right on paddling and was soon out of sight.
Pizella was in a dilemma, to be sure. He could not hope to reach his master’s canoe and he was afraid to return toward shore, where goodness knows what horrible fate awaited him. Hal felt almost sorry for him in that moment, for Goncalves’ desertion of the half-caste at such a time and in such a place seemed heartless.
But Pizella seemed to have chosen the lesser of two evils and turning his back upon the raging current began to swim toward shore. Hal and Joaquim watched him, interested, each thinking that the man was braver than his master ever dared to be.
In the midst of these reflections, they heard him suddenly shriek, a blood-curdling yelp. He was by that time, too, near enough in to stand on his feet, which he did. But even as they watched him they saw him raise his arms and sort of stiffen from head to foot. The next second he had plunged headfirst back into the stream.
“Electric fish, Señor—he bite Pizella!” Joaquim shouted.
Hal got to his feet ready to jump in after the half-caste, but the Indian put out a detaining arm and pointed to the dark waters.
“Already he sink,” said Joaquim. “Señor no can find now.”
Hal looked, feeling not a little dazed by the episode and saw that it was true. The water rushing along on its heedless course had carried the half-caste completely out of sight. There was not a sign of him.
“Joaquim say right—no?” said the Indian.
“Too right,” Hal answered thoughtfully. “I can’t seem to gather my wits together and remember how it all happened.”
“That is because the Pallida Mors she is swift, Señor Hal. Like that she grabs and then we look—no more! The Indian he say she wants all the time death. So many drown in her, Señor. She look like death—no? She pale for rushing river.”
“She is pale,” Hal agreed. Even in the darkness her pallid yellowish waters gleamed eerily. He shuddered and turned his broad back upon the stream. “This pale death business is getting on my nerves, anyway.”
CHAPTER XXXI
A DECISION
After a long, solemn conference in the Pemberton hut next morning, it was decided that Goncalves had been effectually squelched by the ruse which Hal had so cleverly executed. None of them anticipated a return visit from the Brazilian with such a purpose in mind. Old Marcellus felt confident that they were safe from like marauders.
“But it’s time we heard from Rene,” said the old man. “Besides, somebody ought to put word in General Ceara’s ear about Señor Goncalves.”
“How about me going?” Hal asked more in fun than anything. “I’m sure Ceara would receive me as a representative of the Pemberton family, wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know why he wouldn’t,” Felice said, pursing her full red lips thoughtfully. “Grandfather couldn’t stand the journey, even if it is only a five-hour paddle, and Joaquim couldn’t satisfactorily interpret a message. I’m out of the question in a revolutionary camp, so you are the only solution. Joaquim can go with you, Mr. Hal. If you start now you’ll be back tonight before midnight.”
“Suits me,” Hal said gaily. “I’ll be tickled pink to pike a revolutionary camp. Only you’re sure they won’t nab me in, huh?”
“General Ceara’s a very just man, Hal,” Old Marcellus assured him. “I shall give you a letter of introduction to him, telling him that I can vouch for your secrecy.”
“How about Goncalves—he might be so sore at me that he’ll try and whoop up things a bit, huh?”
“General Ceara’s long been provoked with him, Hal,” said Felice, unconsciously using the young man’s Christian name too. “He’ll give your complaints just consideration.”
“As you say, Felice,” Hal countered, smiling. “I’m to tell him then what greedy eyes the Brazil-nut has cast on your gold hills, huh? And it goes without saying, that I’ll tell him word for word about last night.”
“Of course—don’t forget that important part. General Ceara is too much of a patriot not to see that Goncalves is not a man for the Cause.”
“I agree with you, Felice,” Hal said whimsically. “He’d be the cause of any Cause busting up.”
They talked over the question of food to be taken on the trip, and while Old Marcellus was writing his letters, they summoned Joaquim and made known to him what was required. Then just before noon Felice came down to the river and helped push them off.
“Don’t get nervous, Hal,” she called.
“Your letter to Ceara will explain everything.”
“Even that it’s not my fault that my uncle’s a secret service man, hunting for your brother?” Hal laughed.
“Of course,” she said, giggling merrily. “Your uncle’s not going to hunt for Rene after you get back to Manaos, is he?”
“Not if I can see Rene first and Unk next. Those two will compromise and I don’t mean maybe.”
“Indeed they will.” She waved a dainty handkerchief toward the departing canoe and smiled sweetly. “Be sure that Rene gets the other letter, Hal! I do hope he’s there all right. He’s got to know we’ve struck gold at last. And because of you.”
“Don’t thank me, Lady Felice. It was a mere accident. Really, Goncalves ought to get the credit for that.”
She shook her head, trying to look severe at Hal’s raillery, but in the end she smiled and called a warning to the Indian to be careful of the river. Then when the canoe glided swiftly out of sight of the settlement, she called, “Adios, Hal! I’ll see you tonight.”
“Adios, yourself, Felice!” Hal called back. “And as for tonight, that remains to be seen.”
The girl laughed in answer, and Hal listened to its sad, sweet echo until the noise of the rapids deafened him.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE CORONEL GONCALVES
They turned off the Pallida Mors and into a narrower stream. Small cataracts sprayed down over rocky cliffs, sending a continuous foam over the surface of the water. On the whole, it seemed to be not so rough, and they glided along hour after hour under the beaming sun until Hal began to tire.
Joaquim’s knowledge of the region was uncanny and Hal perceived, before very long, that the Indian must have made many such trips back and forth to Ceara’s camp. Also, he seemed to know just to the minute when they would arrive at the lonely jungle spot.
It was middle afternoon when Hal helped Joaquim push the canoe well up into the foliage overhanging the river bank. Then they clambered up, up and, with the Indian in the lead, came to a narrow trail over which they marched for a half hour.
“Do we walk as far as we ride?” Hal asked wearily.
Joaquim shook his head.
“Soon now,” he muttered. “Listen, Señor!”
A man’s voice cried out sharply and Joaquim answered him quickly. Hal could see no one, but presently a rather wretched-looking young man in tattered khaki emerged from between the trees. He glanced at the newcomers suspiciously.
“He want know who come here,” the Indian interpreted. “He want know what we have to show we come. I say letter from Señor Pemb.”
“Righto,” Hal said briskly, and took out his letters. The one addressed to General Ceara he gave to the sentry and the other he returned to his pocket.
The fellow looked at the address on the envelope, turned it every which way, then glanced at Hal suspiciously again. Finally he spoke to the Indian, talking for an interminable time. When he had finished Joaquim passed on the news.
“The General Ceara he is not here, but the sentry say come, it will be all right.”