There was the twang of the bow and the deadly missile whined through the air
It was the seventh year since the great drought. Choflo, headman, sorcerer and oracle of the Cantanas, scanned the brassy sky and smote his breast with clenched fists.
“Tumwah is angry,” he muttered to the members of the tribe who were huddled in a cowering group several paces to his rear. “The heavens tell me so; the curling leaves whisper the sickening message. Yesterday I saw the nest of a partridge; where there should have been four eggs there were six, for in this manner the knowing bird provides against the coming destruction, hoping that of the larger brood some one will survive. Five of her young may die but one will remain to carry on her species.”
“And today,” Oomah, youngest but most fearless of the hunters panted, “I pursued a she-pig in the forest. Three young were running at her heels instead of two.”
“The signs do not lie,” Choflo returned. “Look! See how the sand in the islands and on the riverbank is cracking! Tumwah is angry. Soon his fiery breath will sweep the green earth, parching the vegetation, searing our flesh and leaving death and destruction in its wake. Long days of suffering are coming.”
No one spoke. But the Indians looked heavenward with terror in their eyes and trembled more violently than before.
“We must try to ward off the catastrophe; and failing in that, we must prepare for the worst. Let the corrals be well stocked with turtles and fill the calabashes with the oil of their eggs. A sacrifice must be made to Tumwah. Tonight, a crocodile shall be killed and eaten in his honor. Everyone must partake of it. And if the God of Drought be pleased with the offering a sign from heaven will show itself. If it displeases him—woe to all living things that walk the earth.”
The group dissolved itself. The people silently went to their shelters of palm-leaves dotting the sandbar that extended far out into the river.
Warruk, the Jaguar, was no longer a cub. Four seasons of rain had come and gone since his advent into the world in the hollow cottonwood in the windfall. The erstwhile kitten, playing in the entrance to the cavity that had proved an irresistible attraction to Myla, the monkey, and to her sorrow, had grown into a creature of great size and powerful build, capable of more than holding his own with any other denizen of the jungle. Seen from a distance his coat was of a glossy, jet black color; but a close inspection would have revealed a regular pattern of rosettes similar to that marking the coats of his tawny brethren. The spots were very faint, however, like the watermarks on paper.
In the forest he reigned supreme, fearing nothing but feared by all; the same was true in the pantenales. Where the interlocking branches of the trees formed a canopy that shut out the moonlight he moved like a specter in the blackness. In the open country his shadowy form was equally inconspicuous. Quick and terrible were his attacks. Like an avalanche he descended upon his victims, seemingly from nowhere, but with a violence and ferocity that bore down and crushed and rent all at the same time, and with a suddenness that prevented escape or resistance.
So far Warruk had not ventured into the lower regions of the pantenal country—that vast world of marshlands, swampy forest islands and pampas bordering the great river compared to which the streams he had been accustomed to frequent in the upper reaches were but rippling brooks.
Suma, his mother, had warned him against the region below her own well-defined hunting grounds. Once, exactly seven years before, while the world writhed and baked in the throes of the last great drought she had been compelled to venture into the unknown land. The streams and lagoons had dried; those of the animals that did not perish outright migrated, and Suma had followed the living stream as a matter of self-preservation for, without food and water, life could not be sustained. But the venture had proved painful in at least one respect for men dwelt along the border of the master river, and in the very first encounter with them Suma had suffered the loss of one ear—neatly shorn from her head by the broad, bamboo blade of a Cantana arrow. She was glad to escape even with such sacrifice; but she never forgot the injury. The haunts of the man-creatures were avoided thereafter, as well as their trails and everything else that savored of them. This dread she had tried to impart to her offspring.
In the height of his powers, Warruk was ready to ignore the warning. Then, too, the sun now shone with an unusual brilliancy; fiery tongues from the sky seemed to lap up the water in the lakes and marshes, leaving nothing but vast areas of cracked and peeling mudflats sprinkled with brown, withered reeds that were a pitiful reminder of the waving expanses of green where the red-headed blackbirds had trilled their cheery song.
The drying-up process was gradual, yet swift. The crocodiles sensed its coming and buried themselves deep in the mud to æstivate until the coming of the rainy season; also the lung-fishes, queer little creatures resembling tadpoles, which could live week after week under the hard crust with only a pinhole in the surface through which to breathe.
As the water receded, the finny tribe proper imprisoned in the landlocked bodies became more and more crowded. They struggled in frantic masses, churning up the mud from the bottom so that the liquid in which they swam was thick and black. The smaller ones attacked one another savagely tearing at fin and tail; and the larger devoured their mutilated remains in the mad struggle to prolong life. But there came the day of complete annihilation when there was not water enough left to support the survivors; they slid feebly through the mire, threw themselves clear of it onto the sun-baked mudflats surrounding it, and then died.
The hordes that perished were numberless. And the stench of the decaying masses that dotted the country for hundreds upon hundreds of miles hung over the pantenales like a pall.
Tumwah was indeed angry! His fiery breath had indeed swept the green earth, parching and devastating it. And Warruk, even if the urge to explore and to conquer new fields were not impelling him, fled the scenes of desolation and guided by instinct made for the broad river where food and water must be abundant.
Both by day and by night he travelled, stopping for a short rest only during the early morning hours. Nor was he alone. Others of the larger creatures, terrified, hungry and thirsty were heading in the same direction, and of them he took a heavy toll.
The first sight of green trees fringing the horizon beyond the seemingly endless expanse of brown came as a blessed relief. Upon reaching it, Warruk found it a veritable oasis in the desert. The vanguard of the unusual migration had already reached the spot and it teemed with life.
The forest island covered many acres. There were deep, black pools in the unbroken shade; stealthy deer, tapirs, peccaries, and agoutis moved like shadows among the columnar trunks. A stream led from it into the distance that appeared greener and still more cheerful. Overhead, in the gnarled branches and leafy boughs were scores of snowy birds, egrets that had chosen the place for a nesting site. Some of them squatted on frail stick platforms; others sat motionless on the tips of the branches. Steady streams were coming and going constantly, resembling giant snowflakes that glistened and twinkled as the white wings fanned the air.
Warruk looked at them longingly for, to him a bird was a bird, and he remembered the tender partridges of more bountiful days. However, there were other creatures to supply his fare and for a week he revelled in the abundance.
Then the desire to push further and further into the unknown again came with an overwhelming insistency and he turned his face eastward where the grass was greener and low clouds hung like garlands of red and gold upon the horizon.
The stream of birds from the rookery was flying in the same direction. Soon he discovered its goal—a marsh of considerable extent which was the feeding-ground. Numbers of the long-legged egrets were wading in the shallow water, stopping now and then to dart their long, sharp bills into the throngs of fish dashing about their feet. Others stood motionless on the margin, like statuettes hewn out of purest marble; though seemingly dozing, they were very much on the alert as Warruk discovered when he tried to stalk one of them. He could never approach closer than a dozen good paces before the bird flapped away to the other side of the marsh, so after repeated trials he gave up the attempt and continued his journey.
The country beyond the marsh grew constantly greener and of a more cheerful character and the air of mystery surrounding the unknown deepened as he ventured further from the oasis. But life was not so abundant and the animals living under conditions varying little from the normal were more wary. So, after a few days of wandering and exploration Warruk returned to the spot so densely populated by the creatures that had fled before the drought. They were there still; in fact, many newcomers had been added to their number. As before, they moved noiselessly in the deep shadows and drank of the black water in the silent pools. But something about the place had changed. It differed in some respect from the haven of a few days before. Warruk sensed the change but at first could not discover what it was further than to note an offensive odor that penetrated into even the most hidden recesses. He sniffed the air in all directions; the stench came from overhead.
It was then he noted that the white birds that had made the treetops their home were no more. Also the lines of twinkling wings linking the nesting site with the marsh in which they fed were lacking. The place seemed strangely deserted and unnatural without their hoarse croaks and flashing bodies among the green leaves.
However, newcomers to the locality had taken their place. Huge, black birds circled over the forest island. Gaunt, dusky forms sat ghoul-like on the stick platforms that had been nests filled with impatient, squealing young birds, or flapped heavily and clumsily through the branches.
The oasis, now reeking of desolation far more than did the upper country when Tumwah descended upon it, had been deprived of its attractiveness and Warruk lost no time in leaving it. He followed the little watercourse straight to the marsh. And there new experiences awaited him.
The borders of the reed-dotted water were flecked with white. That much he saw from a distance. Of course it was the egrets and their presence here explained their absence in the treetops. But, why were they all so motionless? Before, he had been unable to approach to within a dozen paces of them! Now, not one stirred although he was less than half that distance away and the slight wind that blew ruffled their feathers in a most peculiar manner. He drew still nearer. Then it dawned upon him that they were dead. Rafts of fish, also dead, floating on the surface of the water dotted the edges of the marsh. And, strangest of all, queer footprints were visible in the mud. They were unlike any Warruk had ever seen—long, broad, and giving off a strange scent. He sniffed the tracks and followed them entirely around the marsh to the river. There they disappeared at the water’s edge.
For once the Jaguar broke his rule not to eat anything he had not killed. The birds for which he had longed were irresistible so, cat-like, he picked one up in his mouth, carried it away a short distance, and then, finding it not too rank, ate it. After that he started to get another one. Like the one he had just eaten, the bird had been mutilated by some ruthless hand; a part of its back had been torn away. Warruk started off with the prize in his mouth but before he had taken many steps a strange feeling came over him. A shudder passed over his powerful frame and he became violently ill. He dropped the bird he was carrying and rushing to the stream drank greedily, for a burning thirst had now taken possession of him; and then followed nausea so violent that it left him all but lifeless.
How many hours he lay on the bank of the stream, too sick to move, none can tell; but it was many. Again and again he regained his senses long enough to lap up water in great gulps and that always seemed, at least partially, to quench the fire that was consuming him within. When a measure of relief finally came he crawled weakly from the neighborhood, determined never to visit it again.
In some manner Warruk connected his predicament with the new tracks in the mud and the strange scent they conveyed. And he was right, for the first time in his life he had come upon the trail of man, and upon man’s handiwork in all its most pitiless destructiveness.
What had happened was this: A party of plume hunters had discovered the feeding-ground of the egrets; had gathered up great quantities of the imprisoned fish and after poisoning them had redistributed them over the surface of the water. The birds ate and died. Then the men returned, stripped the plumes from their luckless victims and departed in their canoes. The young in the platform nests in the forest island called in vain for their elders and for the food they brought, at first lustily, then feebly until they starved to death. Then the vultures came, making a loathsome feast on the bodies of the little creatures that had perished so miserably. The work of extermination was complete.
Warruk advanced slowly and cautiously for now he knew that in the strange country danger lurked—danger of a kind unknown to him and of a subtle quality. If the creatures whose footprints he had seen and with whose scent the border of the marsh was redolent could outwit the wary birds that had always eluded him, what surprise might not they hold in store for him?
But, there was that insistent urge that bade him advance. And, too, Tumwah was stretching his devastating hand toward the lower country. The animals that had found a temporary refuge in the oasis were moving onward also, for the water in the pools was vanishing and the vegetation began to droop. Day by day the sun’s rays grew more intense until it seemed they must set the world afire.
Two weeks later Warruk reached the margin of the great river that wound its sluggish way through a strip of forested country hugging its banks. But, mighty stream though it was, it had not been spared the wrath of Tumwah’s onslaught. Where ordinarily a wide expanse of water greeted the eye, stretching in a ruffled, brown sheet to the dimly outlined fringe of palms on the distant bank, there was now a series of sun-baked sandbars several miles wide and many, many miles long. The river, still of imposing width, flowed through a channel in the center of the sandy wastes but bore little resemblance to its former awe-inspiring grandeur.
Flocks of gulls and skimmers flew shrieking and wheeling in masses overhead or ran excitedly over the sand. Crocodiles, too, were in evidence, for here there were water and food so there was not the need to bury themselves in the mud and in a semi-conscious condition await the coming of a friendlier season, as did their fellows in the inland country.
It was indeed a new and strange world veiled with an impenetrable air of mystery and romance.
At night the stars glimmered with an uncanny brightness. The vast sandbanks, heretofore peopled only by the shrieking birds and rows of crocodiles, assumed a different and even more animated appearance. For, with nightfall turtles in legion forsook their abode on the muddy river-bottom and sought the hot sand to lay their eggs. The shuffle of their feet and the scraping of their heavy shells was audible some distance away in a muffled conglomeration of sounds. They moved rather rapidly for such cumbersome creatures and made quickly for the highest points in the sandy wastes where with much effort a hole was scooped and the eggs deposited; then the excavation was neatly filled. The turtles hurried back to the water to remain in the depths of the muddy river until the following year.
Warruk looked in amazement at the seething mass of life.
“Ca-urgh, ca-urgh, ca-urgh, urgh, urgh, urgh,” a gruff, coughing roar pierced the still night air from near the deep channel and Warruk’s muscles tensed as he listened to the sound. It was the voice of one of his kind. An instant later his own voice rang loud and sharp in answer to the challenge and he started across the crumbling sand toward the water. In the distance a dark form loomed up, motionless as a statue and Warruk too stopped the moment he beheld the stranger. Then the latter raised his head skyward and again the roar, savage, spiteful and bespeaking rage shattered the air. What right had this newcomer to intrude on his hunting-ground?
Warruk noted the smaller size of the resentful one; also that his coat was, of course, spotted. He listened patiently until the roar had ended. Then, with a mighty bellow he strode slowly toward his challenger.
The latter stood his ground for a moment. But suddenly he perceived the color of the intruder and that one look was all that was required. Without taking a second he dashed to the river, plunged into the water and swam for the other side. Members of his tribe, of his own spotted color he feared not and was ready to battle with at any time. But, when the apparition of a black individual appeared he retreated frantically, relinquishing his choice feeding-ground without a show of resentment or any desire to question the newcomer’s status.
So it had been always. The other jaguars shunned Warruk because they feared him. And being thus made an outcast intensified the black one’s naturally savage and truculent disposition.
Warruk hurled a bellow of ridicule after the fugitive and then turned his attention to the food bedecking the sand.
One blow on the head was sufficient to end the earthly career of the largest turtle but the bony armor encasing the body was not so easy to dispose of; it required a number of powerful strokes of the great, armed paws to crush the plates or break them apart and thus make accessible the flesh within.
Those nights on the sandflats flanking the great silent river were full of alluring enchantments. Never had the moon shed such velvety, silvery light; never had the stars flashed with such supernatural brightness; nor had meteorites drawn such lines of fiery brilliance across the heavens.
The days were hot. In fact, the sun seemed to dart out tongues of fire that threatened to lap up all the water in the mighty river. But, throughout the night a gentle breeze stirred near the border of the stream reviving the life that gathered at the haven of refuge and plenty.
Warruk was now master of all. He strode across the sandy wastes with majestic steps and swaying head. None questioned his position or disputed his way. And when, as sometimes happened, a challenging cry rang out across the water from some distant inlet and his own hoarse voice was raised in answer to the roar, it was never repeated. News travels fast in the wilderness, and in a mysterious way. And his presence was known far and wide and he was avoided accordingly. So he went his way, feasting on the turtles and their eggs which he soon learned to dig out of their hiding places, and on the fish that came up into the shallow water to spawn and which were so easy to catch.
Then, one night the great thrill of his life came. Far, far down the river Warruk saw a light. Was it possible that one of the stars had fallen from overhead to take up its abode on the earth? Had one of the streamers of fire that criss-crossed the sky landed on the sand to flicker out its life?
No! The stars above flashed as insolently as ever and their piercing shafts of light were of a steel-blue color; the meteorites still streaked their orange-red trails across the curtain of black. But this light in the distance, growing constantly brighter, was a deep red. It was different from anything he had ever seen. It seemed to beckon to him and for many minutes he stood gazing at it, trying to fathom its meaning.
If Warruk had only known! The bright light might be said to represent his own star at its zenith. He had reached the parting of the ways. In the height of his development and powers he could either maintain his supremacy of the wilderness for years to come or risk everything in battle with creatures of superior intelligence who possessed a high degree of cunning, who fought unfairly and of whom he knew nothing. What hope of survival had he, or any of the inhabitants of the wilderness in such unequal combat?
Warruk looked steadfastly at the light flickering on the riverbank, far, far away. He turned his gaze in the other direction where lay the untold miles of untrodden wastes that were his kingdom, to have and to hold so long as he chose. He faced the river; the turtle battalions were emerging from the water as before, causing scarcely a ripple. Again he looked at the fire, took a few steps toward it, halted, sniffed the air, and checked a roar that welled up in his throat. He had reached a decision.
If there were new worlds to conquer he would invade them, fearless, determined and confident. He reckoned not on man, the unknown, and had he known it is not improbable but that he should have acted exactly as he did. For, what is all life but a game of chance? And what is chance but a disguise for opportunity?
The first steps toward the fire had been taken. The die had been cast. Fate had stepped into Warruk’s life and while luring him onward, baited with the promise of adventure the hard path that lay ahead.
Daylight was just breaking when the black Jaguar reached the vicinity of the blaze. The fire, replenished throughout the hours of darkness, had guided him unerringly on his way; but with the coming of dawn it had been allowed to dwindle down until nothing remained but a bed of embers and even these died when the sun shot over the horizon.
The place reeked of an uncommon though not unknown odor and the sand was trodden into paths by long, broad feet. Once before he had come upon the same tracks and scent; and it came to him in a flash that it had been along the border of the marsh and near the stream flowing out of it where the dead egrets lay in heaps and rows, their feathers ruffled by the wind. And the recollection also came of the illness he had suffered as the result of eating of the birds. The creatures that could work such havoc among the shy egrets and the after-effects of whose presence was violent sickness, were not to be taken too lightly and Warruk felt a distrust of the insidious power they must possess.
He circled the place, once, twice, in search of further clues to the strange inhabitants. They were not lacking in the form of heaps of turtle shells, bones, feathers, fish scales and numerous other objects. But, of the creatures themselves he saw nothing. His keen ears, however caught the sound of deep breathing that came from a group of leaf-thatched shelters dotting the sand.
Warruk lingered about the encampment until the sun was well above the treetops. Then he entered the edge of the thick cover bordering the flat stretch where the strange creatures dwelt and which was the beginning of the forest. The wind, blowing the sand before it in rippling waves, soon filled the imprints of his massive feet and obliterated all trace of his visit. And this was on the very night following the gathering of the Indians when Choflo, headman, had announced that the wrath of Tumwah, God of Drought, was about to descend upon the land.
The crocodile had been slain by the hunters and its skin removed with much ceremony. The head, with its leering expression and long rows of peg-like teeth was raised on a pole in the center of the encampment. The flesh of the reptile was roasted at night. A great fire was kindled and as the flames mounted skyward they threw a red glow upon the dusky faces of the Indians. Not in seven years had such a huge fire been made and its glare could be seen many miles up and down the river, in regions never penetrated by the watch or cooking fires. It was this light that Warruk had seen as he patrolled his beat and that had lured him from the country he knew to the region inhabited by ruthless man.
After the thick sections of white flesh had been roasted until they resembled charcoal they were raked out with long poles. Everyone partook in silence—grim silence that was ominous. And after a while Choflo danced a sacred dance around the fire. He wore an anklet of dried seeds that rattled above his right foot; as he stepped over the sand in rhythm with the music of a wind instrument made of a long-necked calabash, and the thrumming of a snake-skin drum played by two assistants, he called upon Tumwah to look down upon them and to pity their unhappy plight. Then both dancer and feasters went quietly to their shelters and the fire was allowed to die down.
Daylight, as always, came with an appalling suddenness and soon the sun was high in the heavens with searing rays that transfixed the earth as relentlessly as before. Tumwah had not taken note of the sacrifice. He was more than angry; he was enraged, for his onslaught was more terrible than ever. Even at this early hour the heat-waves danced and quivered in the still air in a blinding, confusing manner.
The men departed from the camping site while the day was young. They pushed their long, narrow, dugout canoes into the water, clambered aboard, took up the short paddles and pushed to the other side which had not, as yet, been despoiled of its buried treasures. There they fell to work probing the sand with sharpened sticks and when it yielded easily to the thrust they dug with their hands until the pocket containing the oblong, tough-skinned eggs had been uncovered. These they gathered into baskets to be emptied into the canoes so fast as they were filled. All day long they toiled giving not a thought to the women and children who had been left behind.
Warruk, from his place of concealment in the border of the thick jungle had not for a moment taken his eyes from the human habitations. He had seen the men emerge from the shelters and paddle away. And he marvelled at the strange creatures that were taller than any of the animals of the forest or plain and that walked on two feet. He felt no antagonism toward them, no desire to attack or slay. He was overawed, for he could not comprehend them and that filled him with a burning curiosity to know more about them, to see them at closer range.
So long as the queer creatures were present in numbers he dared not show himself for he well remembered his experience with the peccary herd whose strength lay in numbers.
The long awaited opportunity came toward mid-afternoon. From the collection of huts, crackling and warping in the heat came a solitary form. It was not unlike the others that had appeared earlier in the day except that it was very much smaller and seemed to walk with uncertain steps.
The little man-creature faltered to the shady side of one of the shelters and sat down. Then it began to dig in the sand and toss handfuls of it up into the air.
Warruk watched with glowing eyes. Here was his opportunity. Almost before he knew it he had slipped out of the thick cover and was gliding shadow-like across the sandbar. So silent and so stealthy were his movements that the child was not aware of his approach, and even when he halted and crouched low not more than ten paces away his presence still was unsuspected.
In his turn, the Jaguar was so interested, so fascinated by the child that he was oblivious to all else. Had he been suffering from hunger his intentions might have been different. But with food so plentiful, the thought of attack had not even occurred to him.
Mata, mother of the child soon missed her offspring and went in search of it. She suppressed a scream of terror as she took in the scene of the great, black beast apparently about to spring and dashed back into the shelter for the long, keen-bladed knife that was always kept handy for any emergency. Without thought of danger to herself she flew at Warruk as only a mother can in defense of her young. The machete was upraised and flashed in the sunlight. It was not until this occurred that the mighty cat became conscious of her presence, so absorbed had he been. At the same time a streak of fire shot through his shoulder where the point of the knife slashed its way through skin and muscle. He gave one cry of pain and surprise, leaped to one side, and turning bounded away to the forest. The Indian gathered up her little one and fled into the hut. Her screams now brought out the others who had remained at home, among them Choflo, and as they rushed from the low doorways they had just time enough to see the black form disappear into the thicket.
That night pandemonium reigned in camp. The men built another great fire and chanted prayers for deliverance while the women squatted in the outer circle with swaying bodies and raised their voices in loud lamentations mingled with praises for the valiant Mata who had dared attack and repel the savage animal.
As for Choflo, he sat silently on one side throughout the demonstration and consulted the contents of his charm-bag. There were the teeth of crocodiles, pebbles worn round and smooth in the riverbed and a tuft of snowy feathers taken from the shoulders of a luckless egret. Finally he arose and raising his hands commanded all to be silent.
“Tumwah has not been pleased with our offering. He is more angry than before,” he announced in a sepulchral voice. “My magic tells me so. The terrible god has sent a Black Phantom from the lower world to haunt us and to render our lives more miserable. Dark and filled with forebodings is the season that has descended upon us.”
His hearers rocked to and fro and smote their breasts in unison with the sorcerer.
“We must bring a greater sacrifice. Twenty turtles must be offered to Tumwah. Then, and only then will he recall the evil spirit that lurks in our midst. Otherwise we shall perish.”
Without a word of complaint or remonstrance the men boarded their canoes and pushed out into the river, for the turtles were kept in corrals on the other side. When they returned, long after, the creatures, their feet bound together, were heaped on the fire to which the women had added bundles of driftwood. And as the struggling turtles slowly expired the men danced about the fire to the sounds of hissing flesh and crackling embers.
“Now go!” Choflo commanded after the flames had spent their fury. “Go to your shelters. I alone will remain to study the heavens and read the pleasure of the god.”
But no sooner had the dancers departed than Choflo too entered his hut to sleep.
The path was now open to Warruk. He had watched the fire and the dancing but there was no longer awe in his heart for the man-creatures. A savage rage and the desire for revenge had taken its place. His shoulder pained him frightfully from the cut inflicted by Mata. Why had he been attacked when his intentions had been of the friendliest? All the other creatures of the wilderness respected his position and these too should have their lesson. He would show them the savagery of which he was capable. Never again would he trust man; he was cruel and unfair. Two experiences had taught him that—first the poisoned bird and now the unprovoked attack. Hereafter he would match his cunning with the man-creatures and if necessary, it would be a battle to the bitter end. Vast as the wilderness was, it was too small to harbor both the man-creatures and himself.
Warruk glided out upon the sand so silently and stealthily that he was like a shadow flowing over the ground. Straight as an arrow he went, retracing his steps of the previous afternoon and in a few minutes he stood before the entrance of Mata’s shelter. None stirred inside but his ears caught the sound of deep breathing. There was no hesitation, no indecision. One quick bound and he had entered. His nose guided him to the guilty one; a step in the right direction and his long, white fangs had closed on Mata’s shoulder and he began dragging her to the doorway.
Loud shrieks came from the terrified woman. She clutched wildly at her assailant and at the poles of the hut but her strength was as nothing compared to the power that held her in its grip. And the Jaguar, forgetful of all else in this moment of triumph felt a savage exultation in the anticipation of devouring his victim and thus proving that after all he was master of all that walked the earth.
The encampment had been aroused by the cries and was in a turmoil. Men rushed to the heap of smouldering embers, seized thick branches still glowing at one end and waved them aloft until they burst into flame. Others held spears and arrows in their hands, and came running to the rescue of the woman.
At first Warruk paid no heed to the mob but when a flaming brand was flung into his face, burning him painfully, he was compelled to relinquish his victim. But he did not retreat; instead, he drew himself up to his full height and faced his attackers.
A second blazing torch was hurled in his direction and he dashed it aside with a blow of his massive paw. Then came a spear, the point barely penetrating the skin of his flank. Warruk turned with a snarl and crunched the shaft between his teeth. Blazing clubs and spears were now falling in a shower; with a terrible roar he charged through the barrage of missiles into the midst of the yelling group, striking to right and to left. The men, panic-stricken, dropped their weapons and fled to their shelters. When none was in sight the great cat voiced his victory in a series of cries and grunts that made the very ground tremble. He was lord of the wilderness; even the man-creatures with all their wiles and cunning had acknowledged his supremacy and had departed precipitously, leaving him in possession of the field. Another savage roar of triumph and he strode majestically to the forest.
It was several hours before the terrified Indians dared leave the security of their shelters and then only at the imperious summons of Choflo’s voice. Three fires were hastily kindled and between them the council sat feeling sure that neither beast nor demon would dare brave the blazing barrier.
“Again our offering has been spurned by Tumwah,” Choflo moaned, “and now I know the reason why. A spirit of evil has escaped from the place of darkness and is ravaging the earth; it has entered the body of a monstrous tiger and has changed it into a black demon, a Black Phantom whose very appearance is enough to strike terror to the bravest heart. Twice has he made onslaughts on us. Who can tell what may next occur!”
“It is indeed a spirit from the world of darkness,” Sagguk panted, his superstitious fancy encouraged by Choflo’s words. Sagguk had thrown the spear that grazed Warruk’s flank. “For, did I not thrust my spear full into his heart so that the blood gushed out in a crimson torrent? Yet the demon turned, grasped the shaft in his teeth and drew it out without sign of pain.”
“And my arrows bounded off his neck and shoulders as from the horny back of a turtle,” another added. “The phantom bears a charmed life. Our weapons cannot harm this monster from the other world that has come to destroy us.”
“Listen!” Choflo commanded. “Thus have I solved the mystery. Tumwah is not angry with us. He is angry with this evil spirit which is usurping his power on earth. Therefore, by drying up the land and the water Tumwah hopes to destroy the great tiger so that the demon must leave the dead body and return to the place of blackness from which it escaped, even if in so doing all others that live must perish in the battle. To save ourselves we must kill the Black Phantom.”
“But, have we not seen how useless our weapons are against this monster?” Sagguk interposed.
“True. But I will prepare a charmed arrow with a poisoned point. Someone must go to seek out the lair of the great tiger that harbors the evil spirit and slay it.”
“Is it not true, all-knowing one,” Yaro, who was of great age ventured to inquire, “that he who slays a tiger, possessed of an evil spirit though it be, shall come under a spell? And that the spell shall not be broken until his nearest of kin shall have forfeited his life in atonement for the deed?”
“It is true. But what is one life compared to the lives of all of us? Better that one die than all. But the honor that shall fall upon the slayer will be great for, even as he sends the charmed arrow crashing on its mission of beneficent destruction knowing that in so doing he is sacrificing the life of his most beloved, he shall also know that he is the savior of the race.”
Choflo paused so that his words might have their full effect. Then he continued. “Now go!” he commanded, rising. “And let no man look toward the entrance of his shelter, for before the sun rises the Great Spirit will decide. A white feather resting in the sand before the doorway will announce the selection of the honored one, who must pursue and slay the Black Phantom. The responsibility will be great, for upon the success or failure of the chosen one will depend not only the survival of the race but of all life on earth.”
Once again the group dissolved itself. And as the frightened people huddled in their huts the voice of Choflo, raised in incantations and accompanied by the rattle of charms floated out over the still night air. After a time the sounds were hushed.
The silence was ominous. The suspense was awful. Now as never before did terror enter the hearts of the Indians cowering and trembling in their dark hovels. The white feather was on its way to announce the fateful selection of the Great Spirit as interpreted by Choflo, headman, sorcerer and oracle of the simple-minded Cantanas.
Scarcely had the sun risen on the morning following the appearance of the Black Phantom when the encampment was astir, for each was eager to discover whether or not he had been selected for the perilous task of slaying the mysterious visitor. The men stole out of their shelters just as the rays of the brilliant orb bathed the level sea of green treetops of the Amazonian jungle with a flood of roseate light, and scanned the sand in front of their doorways.
Oomah found the symbol, a tuft of snowy, drooping aigrettes that quivered and glistened at the slightest touch. And he stood reverently gazing at the sacred object until Choflo’s drum, followed by the sound of his voice bade the men gather in solemn conclave.
“Upon Oomah has fallen the mission of saving the earth from a terrible end,” the sorcerer said gravely, “and the selection of the Great Spirit has been a wise one.”
“But, am I worthy to be entrusted with such a holy undertaking?” Oomah asked incredulously, holding the plumes in his hand.
“The decision of the Great Spirit has answered that. You must prove yourself worthy or pay the penalty. Either you will slay the Black Phantom and bring back evidence of the deed, or you will not return at all.”
“I question not the wisdom of Choflo who understands the mystic things that are withheld from the rest of us,” old Yaro meekly protested, “but, had it not been decided that Oomah was next to be leader of the tribe? As the coming headman, should not his life be guarded? Should not he be shielded from peril? If he perish in the attempt to slay the Black Phantom; or, if he should fail and thus become an exile, we should lose him forever.”
“If Oomah be lost another will be found to take his place. Wana, son of my sister, is a promising youth. And besides, there is another reason why Oomah has been chosen.”
“What is that reason?” Yaro persisted.
“Do you not recall your own words, Yaro, uttered during the last hours of darkness? 'He who slays a tiger, possessed of an evil spirit though it be, shall lose his next of kin by another tiger appearing suddenly in the role of avenger?”
“Yes, it is true.”
“Oomah has no next of kin. He is alone in the world. He has neither father, mother, sister, brother, wife nor child. Therefore the spirit of vengeance will be cheated for there is no one to slay. There is no other man in the tribe without family upon which revenge could fall.”
“As I said before,” Yaro admitted, “Choflo knows all things. He speaks truly and wisely.” Then turning, he muttered to himself, “But he is determined to be rid of Oomah so that Wana, son of his sister may become leader of the people.”
“The magic arrow shall be prepared at once, for only by it can the Black Phantom be slain; heed well my words, Oomah, and use no other. You will depart at nightfall. A long trail and a hard one lies before you with death waiting at the end for the loser.”
All through the day Oomah moved as in a trance. The enormity of the undertaking dazed him. Not that he feared the jungle or the hardships of long wandering, for to pursue and to slay the beasts of the wilderness was a part of his life. But, this was a mission of a different character. The very existence of the whole tribe depended on him; and more than that. If he failed, the whole earth, as he knew it, would be laid waste; Tumwah would never stop his fiery onslaught until the Black Phantom had been slain. Had not Choflo, who knew all things, said so? Still, he could not but feel that the sorcerer had been at least to some extent influenced by personal motives in interpreting the wishes of the Great Spirit. Did Choflo hope that the quarry would kill him, or at least elude him? In either event he would be out of the way. The whole thing seemed very mysterious but he had no alternative but to obey.
Oomah was young, tall and strong. As he walked there was the rippling play of well-formed muscle under his brown skin. His black eyes, set at a slight angle somewhat like an Oriental’s, glowed with the fire of determination from under the heavy shock of hair that covered his head.
The women peeped out of the doorways as he passed, with looks akin to veneration. Liked by all, the sacred mission on which he was about to depart enhanced the esteem in which he had been held. And while their eyes were filled with admiration, their hearts were full of pity and sadness. For, with the coming of night Oomah would pass from among them like the fading of a shadow when the sun sets.
Preparations were at once started for the parting feast. Hunters had gone in quest of game. The women ground yuca roots for fresh cassava bread. And the children, with tear-stained faces, gathered wood that had been stranded along the edge of the sandbar. But the youth wandered about listlessly, barely conscious of the activities that were going on all around him.
Choflo had gone to the forest early in the forenoon. At mid-day he returned, carrying a bundle of slender stems in his hand. Looking neither to right nor to left, he entered his hut and drew a curtain woven of rushes across the doorway so that none might behold him plying his sacred calling.
Safe in the seclusion of his abode, he dug a hole in the sandy floor and buried the stems he had brought so ostentatiously from the forest; then he took down a bundle of arrows from under the thatched roof and selected one after a good deal of scrutiny of the lot. It was long—six feet or more, with a slender, reed shaft and a needle-like point of tough palmwood fitted and glued into the stem. A short thorn, fastened to the point with fine twine, formed a barb so that the arrow could not be withdrawn once it had entered the flesh. On each side of the base was a split eagle’s feather attached with colored thread. The feathers were not fastened in a line parallel with the shaft, but curved slightly; this gave the arrow a rotary motion in flight like that imparted to the bullet by a rifled gun barrel and made for accuracy in shooting. He now took a lump of resinous gum from his charm-bag and rubbed it on the point of the arrow until the latter was covered with a thick, black coat, resembling old beeswax. A cap of a joint of slender bamboo was fitted over the end of the missile to prevent the rain from washing away the supposed poison, and it was ready to be delivered to Oomah.
Choflo had been guilty of treachery of the vilest kind. Instead of the deadly pua poison contained in the stems of the creepers he had brought from the forest he had used the harmless gum which so closely resembled it that the eye could not distinguish between them.
Oomah started on his perilous mission that night, after the feast had been eaten and all the members of the tribe had bade him a solemn farewell.
It was a silent group that watched him depart, for they felt that he would not return; and in their grief they entirely forgot Choflo’s dire predictions for themselves in the event that Oomah was unsuccessful in his quest. In their hearts they rebelled at the dictum of their leader but the long habit of obedience caused them to suppress their resentment. So they merely looked sad and said nothing.
“Now go,” Choflo said, ceremoniously presenting the magic arrow, “and return when you have slain the Black Phantom. Bring back the ears, the claws and the tail so that we may have the proof. And do not return until your mission has been fulfilled.”
Oomah gathered up his bow, a pack of arrows of various types to use in procuring game, and a small bag of food, and without a word vanished into the night. The last thing the watchers saw was the tuft of white feathers which had been inserted in his head-band.
The youth did not go far. Entering the edge of the forest flanking the sandbar, country of which he knew each square foot, he went straight to a giant ceiba tree and took up his station between two of the buttressed roots to await the coming of daylight. And while the long hours of darkness dragged their way into eternity Oomah laid his plan of action.
The first thing he did after the sun appeared was to examine minutely the arrow prepared by Choflo. Certain words whispered into his ear by old Yaro had had the effect of making him cautious. Besides, there were his own suspicions to verify or to disprove.
The subject for a test was not hard to find in the form of a spiny rat that he dug out of a decayed stump and holding the rodent in one hand he pricked the tender skin with the point of the arrow. The rat struggled and squeaked, but when he released it a few minutes later it scurried to cover. Choflo’s treachery had been proven.
Oomah replaced the missile in his pack and started up the river. Two hours later he halted, started a fire by rubbing together two dry sticks and placed a forest partridge which he had shot on the way, to roast. While the meat sputtered on the spit he collected the slender stems of the same species of creeper that Choflo had gathered and buried in the floor of his shelter, and prepared the poison of whose deadliness there was no question.
The process was a simple one. First the stems were crushed to a pulp between stones and the juice pressed out into a small bowl taken from his food-bag. The container was placed over the fire; when it had boiled half an hour its contents had been reduced to a thick, black liquid which was ready for use. The point of the arrow was dipped into the concoction and revolved until it was covered with a uniform, heavy coating. There was now no doubt as to the efficacy of the missile.
Day after day Oomah roamed the forest and the sandbars for some sign of his quarry, but there was not the slightest trace to be found. Either the Black Phantom had departed to some distant place or had vanished from the earth. At night he squatted with his back to some giant tree-trunk and a blazing fire before him; and between naps he listened for the roars that never came.
Food had been plentiful but was constantly becoming more difficult to procure. The turtles had finished their laying and had returned to the water; their eggs, buried in the hot sand, were now unfit to eat. However, there was still an occasional partridge, a monkey or a turkey-like curassow and when one of them was secured Oomah ate sparingly so that the meat lasted several days.
After a while the long and fruitless tramps and the nightly vigils began to show their effects on the youth. His stolid nature gave way to a restlessness that caused him to start in his slumber, and to stop suddenly in his tracks to listen for sounds that never came. At first he could not understand the new feeling. And then the truth came upon him in a flash. Unheard feet were treading in his own footsteps; unseen eyes were watching his every movement. He was being followed and observed by an invisible enemy.
Oomah was sure of it, so sure that he swerved out of the forest and walked along the edge of the bar where the sand was softest and after he had gone a distance of fifty paces returned to the forest. He continued along in the deep shadows apparently without concern for the greater part of an hour. Then he turned and retraced his steps. On the sandbar he found the confirming evidence. Huge feet had left their imprints besides those of his own. Some monstrous creature had dogged his every step, was doubtless even now watching him from a place of concealment in the dense cover. And of the identity of that creature there was little question. It could be none other than the Black Phantom.
A thrill came over Oomah—not of fear but of the anticipation of success. He had at last found his quarry and would lay a neat trap that the shadowy one would all unsuspectingly enter. His victory was assured.
The youth entered the forest and continued on his way. He walked mile after mile without turning to look back and then gradually altered his course so that it took him to the river. Emerging from the wall of trees he made a wide semi-circle in the sand and returned to the heavy growth. But now he did not continue his journey; instead, he hurried back, keeping just inside the fringe of trees until he reached a point halfway between the tips of the semi-circle. He now crept to the very border of the jungle where, though hidden from view he could nevertheless have a clear sweep of his trail across the sand.
Oomah carefully removed the protecting cap from the poisoned arrow and grasped the missile in his right hand while in his left he held the bow, ready for instant use, and awaited the appearance of the Black Phantom. He was trembling with emotion, for the great moment had arrived.
But the black form that he so confidently expected did not appear. The hours slipped by and just as darkness spread its pall over river and jungle alike a thunderous roar burst upon the still air from nearby. The hunter turned quickly in the direction from which the sound came and his eyes sought to penetrate the undergrowth; but while he gazed at the mass of stems and leaves the roar was repeated in back of him, exactly opposite to the direction from which it had come at first.
Oomah, reared in the wilderness though he had been and knowing the traits of most wild things, for once knew not what to do; it was clear that the pursued had divined his plan, had sensed his trap, and was openly defying him. Would he charge next in an overwhelming rush too swift to be stopped by the arrow’s venomous thrust? Or wait until the darkest hour of night for a silent stalk and lightning spring! The latter seemed more probable so Oomah lost no time in seeking the protection of a great tree-trunk to forestall attack from the rear, and in building a fire to ward off the onslaught from in front. Between the two, he felt reasonably secure.
After that it was impossible to tell which was pursuer and which was pursued. If the man turned back on his trail he always found evidences that the crafty foe had been shadowing his every move. And the roars that reverberated through the forest both by day and by night reminded him of the proximity of the elusive one. When the rumbling voice was hushed for any length of time Oomah knew that the Black Phantom was on the hunt for food, or was out to slay, and redoubled his vigilance. Like his brethren of the more earthy, spotted color, the black monster never roared while in quest of victims. To do so would be extremely foolish for it would apprise the prey of his whereabouts and would give them time to escape to the security of their hiding-places. So the youth was on his guard during the periods of silence and slept when the roars were most frequent, for then the danger was least.
With the passing days the drought grew more terrible. If Choflo’s words were true, and Oomah was to save the earth by slaying the Black Phantom, he must act soon or Tumwah’s work would be too far advanced for remedy. He could do no more than he was doing. Yaro had even hinted, in furtive whispers, that the combat between the Phantom and the God of Drought was a fabrication of Choflo’s mind, simply another explanation of something the sorcerer did not understand added to the several he had already given. Still, he did not know whose words were to be heeded; and added to his doubt was the lack of understanding of why the Black Phantom did not attack him. It seemed always to be following him in accordance with some mysterious design, or to be luring him onward like a will-o’-the-wisp, further and further into a strange and more hostile wilderness.
The youth’s disturbed state of mind, coupled with the meager amount of food now obtainable and the fatigue of the long tramps so undermined his strength that he fell an easy victim to the dread fever to which, in his normal, robust condition he was immune.
With throbbing head and blurred eyes he moved painfully through the forest and over the sandy riverbank. On those rare occasions when he saw game his arms trembled so violently as he drew the bow that the arrow went wide and fell far short of the mark.
Choflo had guessed well. He was sure that the Black Phantom would prove too elusive or too savage for any human pursuer, and that he should never see Oomah again. In both things he was right. Oomah was destined to be robbed of his prize and the sorcerer had beheld the youth for the last time. But despite these facts, the designing purveyor of magic had been also totally mistaken in his calculations. For, while both of his hopes were realized they, at the same time, strange as it may seem, were doomed to failure.
The terrible fever fast gained on the unfortunate hunter, racking his body and adding physical torture to his mental anguish. Still he struggled to overcome the insurmountable obstacles in his way. But, while a firm resolve may do many things there is also a limit to all things, and there came a day when Oomah could go no further. He had already wandered far from the country so well known to him. Around him grew castanha trees with nuts in shells like cannon-balls that hung high over his head; palms with leaves so enormous that one could shelter an entire encampment; and birds of species he had never seen before fluttered among the branches. The air was saturated with the heavy though not unpleasant odor of vanilla beans. It was indeed a strange land but Oomah was too ill to take much heed of his surroundings.
At noon he could go no further. The ground seemed to rise toward his flushed face and then smote him such a blow that all grew black before his eyes.
When he awoke the screeching of the cicadas warned him that the day’s end was at hand. The fever had relented and he felt somewhat refreshed. His first thought was of fire. Dry wood was not hard to find in the crackling forest and a few deft twirls of the fire-sticks produced the spark needed to set a handful of dry leaves aflame. Food there was none so, with his back to the thick butt of a castanha tree and the blaze in front Oomah silently and gravely awaited the coming of night.
Hours passed. The moon had disappeared and the glimmer of the stars did not penetrate the canopy of foliage overhead. Even the goatsuckers, queer birds that looked like giant whip-poor-wills, had ceased their wails and in the jungle reigned the darkest hours of night.
Oomah awoke with a start, as if in response to the prod of a rude hand, and shivered. The blaze had died to a mere flickering tongue of flame that leapt now and then from the bed of coals. Over the youth came that nameless feeling that bespoke the proximity of some living thing; seeing nothing, he nevertheless felt that hidden eyes were boring him through. Minutes dragged by; the suspense was frightful but his knowledge of the wilderness bade him feign sleep and he moved not a muscle. Then, with a suddenness that was appalling, the insane cackle of a woodrail shattered the silence with its demoniacal cries. The sound, enough to drive the uninitiated into a frenzy caused even Oomah to turn his head toward the direction from which it had come, and what he saw were two points of greenish fire glaring at him out of the blackness not ten paces away.
Terror lent strength to the faltering arms. The protecting cap was dashed from the poisoned arrow and the notched base of the shaft flew to its position in the string. There was the twang of the bow and the deadly missile whined through the air. A hoarse scream rang out; the points of greenish fire were gone; a heavy body tore its way through the undergrowth. Then all was still again.
That effort had cost Oomah his last particle of strength. He shuddered, swayed, and clapping his hands over his eyes as if to shut out a frightful dream, sank to the ground.
Nechi, on her way to the fish-traps in the river found the unconscious youth when the sun was two hours high in the heavens and claimed him for her own by right of discovery. In other words, to the captor belonged the choicer tidbits when the captive should be restored to fit condition for eating.
As she exultantly viewed the prostrate form a pang of fear shot through her heart. What if he should be dead? She would be cheated out of the delicacies and also the laurels to which the victor was always entitled. In haste she knelt by his side and placed one hand over his heart; it was fluttering weakly. She rushed to the river and brought water in a folded plantain leaf and dashed it into his face. After that she pried open his eyelids with her fingers.
Oomah regained his senses with a start and his eyes met the grimaces of the delighted Nechi.
“Sabana is not dead!” she exclaimed.
“No, the stranger is not dead—not quite dead.”
“You are mine. I will take you to the village; it is less than half a rest away. I will feed you and cure you of the fever. You are mine.”
Oomah looked again at his discoverer, and closed his eyes.
“I know you,” he said feebly. “You are of the Patocos who have eaten many of my people.”
“Yes, I am of the Patocos and we have eaten many of the Cantanas. When you are well and fat again we will eat you too.”
The youth showed no emotion. What mattered it if the girl should make good her threat, now that his mission had failed?
“I will take you to the village,” Nechi repeated. She left the baskets she had been carrying on the ground and picking up the youth threw him over her back. Accustomed as she was to carrying heavy burdens, the weight was not too great for her strength. A half hour later she reached the village, a collection of dilapidated shelters nestling under the protection of the giant palm trees.
The arrival of the girl with her find created great excitement. The men rushed up with spears and clubs ready to deliver the deathblow but the girl was not inclined to give up her prisoner so easily.
“He is mine,” she protested; “I found him. You shall not take him from me. I will feed him and give him chinca bark to cure his fever and when he is well again and fat—”
“No! No! We must not wait. The prisoner might die and then we should be cheated out of our feast.”
Nechi had not thought of that.
“Tomorrow,” she relented. “If he shows no signs of improvement by tomorrow you can prepare for the feast.”
Oomah opened his eyes.
“I came on a sacred mission,” he faltered. “Get me the white feather so that I may die like a hunter who has not given up the chase. With the white feather in my hair I can take up the trail of the Black Phantom in the other world.”
The group that surrounded him hushed their chatter.
“Where is the white feather?” asked one of the older men who seemed to be in authority.
“There where the woman found me. It must be there for I had it when sleep overcame me.”
One of the young men was sent immediately to fetch the emblem while the girl prepared food which Oomah ate with ravenous appetite. Presently the runner returned; in his hand was the tuft of plumes, now soiled and frayed from hard usage.
The sight of the sacred object had a telling effect, for among the savages of the Upper Amazon it was the one inter-tribal flag of truce likely to be respected, provided the bearer of it could prove his right to its possession. They stared in silence at the feverish youth as, with great effort he told them the story of the Black Phantom and of the heartbreaking weeks he had spent in pursuit of the elusive quarry.
“I shot the magic arrow into the night where the points of green fire burned, and I know no more. Perhaps it was only a dream or a vision, for my head was throbbing with fever; I do not know! I do not know!” he ended wearily and sadly. “Therefore I am an outcast among my people; I cannot return to them. I have no proof that the Black Phantom is dead or that I did not fire the arrow at some picture of my reeling brain.”
The leader of the Patocos turned to some of his young hunters.
“Go! Search the forest and the riverbank,” he commanded. “Let nothing escape your eyes. The words of this youth are queer. How do we know that he speaks the truth? If there was a phantom the magic arrow could not fail to strike it dead. And when you find it bring back the evidence of your eyes so that the name of this man may be honored; but if you find nothing we shall know that he lied and he shall pay the penalty without delay.”
Not long after, the hunters filed into the forest and Oomah watched them go with yearning eyes. A whole week passed before the hunting party returned. But their hands were empty; they bore no evidence that their mission had been successful.
As for Warruk, the Jaguar, he had considered his score with Mata settled. She had been punished for the injury she had inflicted on him. But the others; they had hurled flaming brands at him and had wounded him with spears. The day would surely come when they too should pay.
As he lingered in the heavy growth bordering the riverbank he became aware of the fact that one of the man-creatures was roving in the forest, detached from the group on the sandbar, and he straightway began to follow and to watch his actions, being careful, however, always to remain in the dense cover where he could not be seen. By following and by watching he could learn many things that would be of value in dealing with these new enemies when the proper time arrived.
The game continued day after day. It was only when the man laid a trap for him by making a wide detour on the sandbar that Warruk discovered that it was he who was being sought by the lone wanderer. After that he was more cautious than before. He followed the scent only when it was several hours old. But at night, when his pursuer was asleep, he stole up noiselessly to look upon him and to ponder, for the blazing fire prevented an attack; he had not forgotten the stinging brands with which he had been showered not so long before.
There came the night, however, when the fire died down. The opportunity had arrived and he crept up for the fatal spring.
It was then that Oomah, awakened by the hideous cackle of the woodrail, saw the blazing eyes. And before the Jaguar had time to realize that the man-creature had been aroused from his slumber, he heard a sharp twang and a fiery pain darted through his shoulder taking him so completely by surprise that he turned and fled with a scream of terror. Truly, this new enemy was beyond all understanding. His deadly sting reached out far, even into the blackness of night. Against it he, the king of the untrodden wilderness, could not hope to contend.
As he rushed madly through the undergrowth the pain in his shoulder spread rapidly and a heaviness made itself felt in his limbs. What if the creature hurling shafts of fire that could wound him so sorely should pursue? With the intense agony of his hurt, and the first signs of a coming numbness, he could not hope to give battle or even to escape further injury. No! At least not until he had had time to recover from the surprise and the confusion of the onslaught; until he had quenched his burning thirst, and until the pain had subsided. Then he would even up the score. No more watching, no more stalking! Hereafter, the mere sight of man would be the signal for his own destruction.
Warruk reached the river’s edge near the rapids where the water rushed with a seething fury through a narrow channel between the sandy banks. In the center of the roaring flood was a rock, his rock, where many an hour had been spent basking in the hot sunshine. It was his only abode, his one place of safety and to it he would go.
Without hesitation he plunged into the maelstrom. The rushing water swept him back, again and again, but each time the struggle was renewed with increased determination; and each effort carried him a few yards nearer the goal. Just as it seemed the coveted spot had been attained, the breakers sought with increased fury to drag him down; but he fought back, inch by inch, and at last one massive foot touched the rough surface of the stronghold.
With a frantic tenacity that sapped the last vestige of his fast vanishing strength he dragged his weary body onto the rock and lay down, cushioning his great head upon his forepaws. Tremor after tremor passed over him, but they were not from the chill of the night nor from the drenching of the water. The pain had gone and a drowsiness had taken its place. Here, where he had rested before, he would sleep again. The bright stars shimmered overhead; a gentle, lulling breeze fanned his face; below, the water roared and hissed in impotent rage for he had conquered it and was out of its reach.
It all spoke of the freedom of the wilderness, and of the joyousness of life. Not knowing death, Warruk did not fear it. But, knowing sleep as a reviver of spent energy, he welcomed its coming to relieve the heavy numbness that was penetrating to his very bones. It came, swiftly; the deadly poison prepared by Oomah was completing its ghastly work, was inducing the sleep; but not the normal, restful slumber that comes between sunset and sunrise but the sleep that is everlasting and without awakening.
Agoo reached the village of the Patocos after a week’s rapid journey through the forest. He had been sent by the Cantanas to look for Oomah. The twigs snapped from the undergrowth by the hunter as he walked along guided him unfailingly to the last camping site and from there a beaten trail led to the village.
And Agoo was promptly made prisoner by the fierce enemies of the Cantanas. There would be a feast indeed, with two captives instead of one.
The newcomer also carried the flag of truce—the tuft of white feathers; but the emblem would be of no avail if the report of the hunters would be unfavorable.
“I would speak to my tribesman,” he said, “here, where all may hear.”
They brought Oomah and formed a circle around the two.
“I am the bearer of a message,” the newcomer greeted the emaciated youth, “from the fathers of the tribe.”
Oomah grunted. “Why have you come to add to my suffering? I know that I am an outcast, and I am ready to die.”
“No! You must come back with me. Your work is finished. Your reward will be great. Choflo’s place shall be yours. That is the message I bear.”
Oomah stared blankly at the speaker.
“How can I return without the evidence? I do not even know that the Black Phantom is dead. And besides, we are both captives,” he replied.
“We have proof that the sacred mission has been fulfilled. By signs that cannot be doubted has it been shown that the spectre that brought desolation to the earth was slain by the magic arrow just seven settings of the sun past.”
“Seven settings of the sun ago the arrow was sent on its flight into the darkness; but where it struck I cannot tell.”
“On that night Choflo, who sent you, was slain by a great, spotted she-tiger which burst into his shelter and fought savagely to retain her prize even when assailed with spears and firebrands in the hands of those who would have rescued him. The monster had battled with men before, and knew their ways, for one ear was lacking, lost in a previous encounter. The law has been fulfilled. You have no next of kin upon which vengeance could fall for your deed in slaying the Black Phantom; therefore, Choflo, who sent you, paid the penalty.”
Agoo did not know it but it was Suma who had avenged her Warruk.
“Speak, Agoo, are these tidings true?” Oomah asked.
“There is even more. Scarcely had Choflo died than a blanket of dark clouds rolled across the heavens and rain fell throughout the night. Tumwah had been appeased. We are saved. The earth is saved. And you, Oomah, shall be rewarded and honored above all men.”
The Patocos stood about in a spell-bound group.
“If this youth speaks truly, why has not the rain fallen here?” one asked. “Our yuca fields are parched and the animals of the forest are disappearing. Soon we will die of starvation.”
“I have spoken the truth,” Agoo persisted. Then, pointing to the sky with both hands, he begged “Tumwah, send the rain-clouds here too. They do not believe that the Black Phantom has been slain. Why, see,” he exclaimed suddenly, pointing to the East “even now the sky is overcast where the sun rises and soon the rain will fall upon you. Look, Oomah! They can ask for no other proof. Tumwah has come to save you.”
Just then shouts from the forest announced the coming of the hunters and before long the excited youths had filed into the village and joined the circle.
“Now tell us what you found,” the headman demanded. “Let your voice be clear and loud so that all may hear and understand. Did you find evidence that the first captive spoke the truth? His companion too says strange things. Either the one is a great hunter who has fulfilled a sacred mission, or both are spies and shall be dealt with before the setting of another sun.”
One of the youths who had just returned stepped into the circle.
“These many days we searched the forest and the sandbars, but found nothing,” he said impressively. “So we returned.”
A hush had fallen upon all. Even the women and children peeping out of the palm-leaf hovels stopped their chatter and looked with wide-open eyes.
“Build the fires!” the headman ordered. “I suspected treachery from the very beginning.”
“Wait!” the hunter, continued. “This morning as we rounded the bend in the river where the banks are set close together and where the water roars and boils in its haste to pass the terrible place so it may join the peaceful stretches below, Tupi’s sharp eyes saw the form of a vulture in the sky. We watched the evil bird and soon discovered other black specks circling above the gorge. It was there we found the proof, on a rock in the midst of the raging water; a black tiger of such great size that it could be none other than the Black Phantom. The broken shaft of an arrow was still in its shoulder. We could not swim to the rock; no creature of earth could conquer that angry flood. But there it is so that all may see yet none may reach except only the loathsome vultures.”
That night there was a feast in the Patocos’ village. Turtles had been brought from the corrals and the women made fresh cassava bread. And long into the night the sound of the celebration rang through the black forest as war drums boomed and the voices of singers chanted the praises of the mighty hunter who was among them.
Not until the sharp report of thunder followed by a drenching rain drove the revellers to shelter did the festivities end.
“Nechi shall go with me,” Oomah said the next morning as he prepared to depart. “Nechi, who found me dying and whose medicine drove away the fever. And send one of your hunters also to select a wife from among the Cantanas. It is my wish that there be blood relationship between us. Then there will be peace between the Patocos and Cantanas. No more fighting, no more killing. I speak as headman of my people.”
The older men drew together for a serious discussion that ended in granting Oomah’s request, and Tupi was selected to go back to the encampment on the sandbar to be an honored guest and to select a wife.
After that came the leave taking; then the party started on its journey. The three men, carrying only their bows and arrows, filed into the forest and Nechi, carrying a heavy basket of food trotted happily after them.
