The Radio Detectives in the Jungle Page 9

  CHAPTER IX

  KENAIMA!

  For the next three days the boat was worked steadily up the river;paddled swiftly through long stretches of tranquil water; hauled upfalls; dragged through rapids and ever penetrated deeper and deeperinto the heart of the vast wilderness.

  From time to time they had met Indians, sometimes individuals paddlingsilently close to shore in tiny canoes of bark which Mr. Thorne saidwere known as "wood skins"; sometimes families in big dugoutsaccompanied by flea-bitten, woefully thin dogs, naked brown childrenand all their household belongings, and once they had paddled up acreek and had visited a large Indian village where the boys had founda thousand things to interest them.

  But while every Indian was questioned, few could give any informationin regard to the plane, although many had seen or heard it as it hadflown southward more than a week before.

  Each day and every night too, the boys had listened at their radiosets, but no more messages from the plane had been heard and all hadbegun to think that the aircraft had departed and that the longjourney would prove fruitless. The boys, however, had had the time oftheir lives. They had taken numerous trips into the bush with Josephand the other Indians. They had shot deer, wild turkeys, peccaries anda tapir, while a splendid jaguar skin and two beautiful ocelot hideswere safely stowed among their belongings as trophies of their prowessas hunters, and Rawlins treasured a huge snake skin from a twenty footanaconda that he had secured.

  Much of Mr. Pauling's time had been spent trying to decipher themessages the boys had received from the plane and the "reds'"confederate, for it was his boast that there never had been a secretcode which he could not interpret.

  "I guess I've had my trouble for nothing," he announced one afternoon."I've got it, but as I expected, it's in some foreign tongue--Russianmost likely. Yet it doesn't look exactly like Russian either. It's notGerman, but whatever it is, it's no value to us now. Of course, we canget it translated eventually, but I'd give a lot to know what itsays."

  "May I see it?" asked the explorer. "Possibly I may be able toidentify it, even if I can't read it."

  "Certainly," replied Mr. Pauling, handing him the sheet he had coveredwith writing.

  Mr. Thorne glanced at the paper. "Why, it's Dutch!" he exclaimed."Here, Colcord, can you read this?"

  The Boviander fished a pair of battered spectacles from his pocket,adjusted them low on his nose and looking, as Tom said, as grave as ifhe were about to preach a sermon, he peered at the writing.

  "Yes, sir, Chief," he declared after a minute's study. "I 'spec' Ican. I don' comprehen' Dutch too much, Chief; but I can tell yo' whatit mean."

  "All right, what is it?" replied Mr. Pauling.

  "This firs' one say as how they need help," declared the Boviander, ashe ran his blunt brown forefinger along the lines. "It say how theybus' up the apperatix an' can't fly an' don' have food."

  "By Jove!" cried Mr. Pauling. "That's good! Machine disabled, eh? Goodfor you, Colcord, we'll get them yet. Go on, what's next?"

  The Boviander grinned and peered about over his spectacles vastlypleased to find himself the center of interest and able to exhibit hissuperior knowledge. Then, again studying the writing, he continued:

  "I can't 'lucidate all the words, Chief. But here 'bout it saysomething 'bout the ship bein' los' and some fellow makin' afraid forto talk."

  "Jove! then they know the _Devon's_ taken," ejaculated Mr.Henderson, "and whoever was talking has got cold feet and has quit.That's the reason we heard nothing more. Is there anything else,Colcord?"

  "Plenty else," replied the captain, "but this specie of Dutch I don'rightly know, Chief."

  "Well, by the great horn spoon, we've found out all we want to know!"exclaimed Rawlins. "They're here; they're helpless--at least as far asgetting away is concerned--and they're short of grub. By glory! myhunch is working out O. K., I'll say."

  Only two days' travel now lay between them and the Maipurisi districtwhere the plane was supposed to be and as they gathered about the campfire that night, plans were discussed and formed as to their actionsand procedure when they neared the hiding place of the two fugitivecriminals.

  "I think the best plan is to run up Unuko Creek," said Mr. Thorne."It's scarcely ten miles across from there to Maipurisi and we cansend a couple of the Bucks over to scout and report. Then, when welocate the plane, we can go overland, surround them and call upon themto surrender while we are hidden in the bush. As they can't get off inthe plane and have no boat or canoe, they'll be helpless."

  "Yes, that sounds like a good scheme," agreed Mr. Pauling, "but canyou be sure your Indians will manage to keep out of sight? Moreover,if by chance they were seen or captured, are you sure they would notgive away our presence?"

  The explorer smiled. "If you'd ever seen one of these Indians stalkgame you would not ask the first question," he replied. "Do you noticethat they always use small bore, muzzle-loading guns and double 'B'shot and yet they kill tapir and jaguar? They could only do that bygetting so close to their quarry that the light charge of shot actslike a solid ball. In other words, they creep within a dozen feet ofthe most wary creatures in the South American jungle and an Indian whocan do that could sneak into those fellows' camp and be within arm'sreach without being seen or heard. As for being captured, why there'sno more chance than of capturing a ghost! And if by a miracle theywere seen why should those rascals ever suspect the Bucks knewanything about them or us, or had any connection with officers whomthey probably imagine are hundreds of miles distant? No, don't worryon that score."

  At this moment a low, plaintive, long-drawn whistle was borne faintlyfrom the forest across the stream and instantly the Indians leaped upand stood motionless, listening intently and peering apprehensivelyacross the river.

  Once more, from the black depths of the jungle, came the mysterioussound and hastily gathering up their half-finished meal, the Indianscame crowding close to the group of white men.

  "Eh, eh, Joseph! Why makeum for 'fraid like so?" queried Mr. Thorne."What you sabby?"

  Joseph turned fear-wide eyes and terrified features towards theexplorer. "Kenaima!" he exclaimed in a whisper.

  Mr. Thorne whistled. "So that's it!" he ejaculated. Then, turning tothe Indians, "No makeum 'fraid, Joseph! Kenaima no makeum walk thisside. No huntum you fellow Buckman same way!"

  "Please tell us, what _does_ he mean?" begged Tom, utterly at aloss to understand what had frightened the Indians or what theexplorer was talking about. "What _is_ a Kenaima?"

  "The blood avenger," replied Mr. Thorne in a low voice. "If an Indianis killed, tribal law demands that his slayer must be destroyed, andnot only the assassin must pay the penalty but all his relatives aswell. The man chosen to wreak vengeance is the 'Kenaima' or, as theIndians believe, a man in whom the spirit of vengeance takes up itsabode until its mission is accomplished. Until the Kenaima kills hisvictim he cannot see or speak to any living being, but must livealone, ever trailing the one he seeks until he has wreaked vengeance.He may chose either one of two forms--the 'tiger Kenaima' or the snakeor 'camudi Kenaima.' If the former, he must strike down his man with ashort club, if the latter he must strangle him, but in either case hemust not kill his victim outright at once. Instead he must disable himand then return three days later when the wounded man is put out ofhis misery by the Kenaima driving a wooden spear through his body.Then the avenger must lick the blood from the spear or--so theybelieve--the spirit of vengeance will not leave and the Kenaima willgo mad, ranging the forests and killing all he meets."

  "Uugh! it makes me shiver," cried Tom, edging closer to his father andthe fire.

  "And I thought these Indians were peaceable!" exclaimed Frank as heglanced nervously about.

  "So they are--usually," declared Mr. Thorne. "But they have their ownlaws and customs and the Kenaima is one of them. Nothing can stamp itout."

  "By glory, I'd hate to kill one of them!" exclaimed Rawlins. "But whathappens if the fellow gets away--reaches civilization for inst
ance?"

  "He never gets away," the explorer informed him gravely. "The Kenaimais tireless, relentless. If one is killed, another takes his place andthere are two deaths to avenge. Why, I've known a Kenaima to trail hisvictim into Georgetown and strike him down on the street!"

  "By Jove!" ejaculated Mr. Pauling. "And these Indians think there'sone about, eh?"

  "They think that whistle was one," replied Mr. Thorne. "I can't say,but I know the Bucks claim the Kenaima warns friends to keep away byuttering a whistling sound. He must not be seen and the Indians aredeathly afraid when they hear it. No power on earth could induce oneof these men to cross that river to-night or to enter the jungle overthere to-morrow."

  "Great Scott, I don't blame 'em!" declared the diver. "Say, I wonderwho the poor devil is that he's after!"

  "Gosh I won't be able to sleep to-night," said Tom. "It makes my bloodrun cold, just to think of it."

  "Nonsense!" exclaimed his father. "Probably that whistle was merely anight bird of some sort. These Indians are superstitious and imagineall sorts of things. Besides, we have nothing to fear. None of us hasinjured an Indian."

  But despite Mr. Pauling's assurances and the fact that after a timethe Indians gradually drifted back to their own fire and crawled intotheir hammocks, the boys tossed and remained wakeful for hours,starting up at each unusual sound and listening with straining earsfor the uncanny, mysterious whistle. But it was not repeated and atlast, worn out and sleepy, the boys' drowsiness overcame their nervousfears and the gruesome blood avenger was forgotten in a dreamlessslumber.

  With the bright sunshine of the following day it seemed very silly tohave been afraid of the supposed Kenaima and the boys discussed itwithout the least shivery sensations running up and down their spinesas had been the case the night before. But they noticed that as theboat left camp, the Indian paddlers kept close to shore and glancedfurtively across the river and that even Colcord seemed to feelrelieved when they reached a bend and the locality of the strangewhistling sound was left astern.

  But even then the Indians acted strangely. Heretofore, they hadlaughed and joked or had sung rollicking chanteys in unison to thestrokes of their paddles, but to-day they were quiet, talking togetherin low tones, constantly edging the boat towards the center of theriver, despite Colcord's efforts and commands, and plying theirpaddles more vigorously than ever before.

  "I believe there's something afoot," declared Mr. Thorne. "I've liveda long time among these people and I'm convinced they have a sixthsense--mental telepathy or something--by which they know intuitivelywhen there is danger near and I'm beginning to think that there may bea Kenaima about."

  "Why don't you ask them?" inquired Mr. Henderson.

  "Torture wouldn't force them to tell," responded the explorer. "Evento mention the avenger by name is considered dangerous--I'm surprisedthat Joseph dared utter the word last night."

  "But if he's only after one person, why should they he afraid?" askedFrank. "They know he's not after them."

  "Very true," replied Mr. Thorne. "But they fear that he may not havedriven the spirit of vengeance from his body--if he's killed hisman--and that being the case he is liable to kill and attack any one."

  "Hmm, uncomfortable sort of chap to have at large in the bush,"commented Mr. Pauling. "Does that ever occur?"

  "Yes, frequently," said Mr. Thorne. "It may seem preposterous to us,but the Indians believe so thoroughly in their superstitions that if aKenaima does not succeed in carrying out his entire purpose he goescrazy and does run amuck."

  "Ah, I understand, sort of auto suggestion," remarked Mr. Pauling.

  It was now time to think of stopping for the noonday rest and lunchand at Mr. Thome's orders, Colcord headed the boat towards shore.

  Instantly, the Indians stopped paddling, jabbered excitedly togetherand then one of their number spoke vehemently to the Boviander in theAkawoia tongue.

  "He say they not goin' make camp ashore, Chief," announced Colcord."They boun' for to make stop at a islan'."

  Mr. Thorne raised his eyebrows, "Oh, very well," he replied. "It'sjust the same as far as I'm concerned."

  "Not taking any chances, I see," laughed Mr. Henderson as themollified Indians again took up their paddles and headed for a smallbarren island in midstream.

  While Sam was cooking lunch, the two boys and Rawlins strolled aboutthe island, hunting for turtle eggs in the sand and amusing themselvesby chasing the big lizards that ran scuttling across the pebbles.

  As they reached the upper end of the island, the river beyond a sharpturn came in view and the boys called the diver's attention tohundreds of great black birds, wheeling and circling above the treeshalf a mile distant.

  Rawlins looked at them a moment. "They're buzzards," he announced."Vultures--wonder what they've found up there."

  "Gee, but there's a bunch of them!" exclaimed Tom.

  Then, at Sam's shout, they hurried back to the boat and busiedthemselves with their meal.

  As the boat once more moved upstream and passed the island, the greatflock of buzzards still soared in the clear blue sky above the forest.

  "What do you suppose they've found?" Frank inquired of the explorer."They were there when we walked about the island. Isn't it funny theydon't go down and eat if they've found a dead animal?"

  "Possibly it's a wounded creature," replied Mr. Thorne. "They oftenfollow a sick or injured animal until it dies. Or again there may be aking vulture there. The black rascals won't dare touch carrion untilthe king's gorged himself."

  "King vulture!" exclaimed Tom. "What's he?"

  "It's a large species of vulture--light colored--sort of creamy whitewith red and blue head, and nearly as big as a condor. They always gosingly and if one of them alights near a carcass, the black vultureskeep off until he's finished. That's why they're called kingvultures."

  "I'd like to see one," declared Frank. "Let's go over and see if he'sthere and what they've found."

  "Very well," laughed Mr. Thorne, glad to humor the boys' curiosity."Whatever it is, is near the river. Colcord, run over to that pointand we'll have a look at what the buzzards are after."

  As the boat approached the spot, the boys saw that trees and rockswere black with the loathsome birds which rose on flapping wings asthe craft touched the shore and the boys and the others sprang on tothe rocks.

  Whatever had attracted the scavengers was evidently just within theverge of forest and climbing the bank, Rawlins, who was in advance,saw a huge white and black bird flap up from a clump of grass a fewyards away.

  "There goes the old king!" he exclaimed.

  Anxious to catch a glimpse of the great bird, the boys stopped andcraned their necks and the diver stepped forward towards the clump ofcoarse grass.

  The next instant a cry of mingled horror and surprise rang through theforest and Rawlins, pale and with a strange expression on his face,came hurrying back.

  "Don't go in there!" he cried. "Come on back to the boat, boys!"

  "But what--what is it?" cried Tom. "What _did_ you see? You lookas if you'd seen a ghost!"

  "Worse!" exclaimed the diver. "It's a man! A man staked out--"

  "A man!" yelled Frank and then, seized with sudden terror, the twoboys turned and fled headlong towards the boat.

  "You mean there's a human body in there?" demanded Mr. Pauling who,attracted by Rawlins' excited tones, had hurried forward. "Come on,brace up, Rawlins! A dead man can't hurt you! We can't leave a humanbeing to be eaten by vultures."

  With a great effort, Rawlins recovered himself. "Guess it was theshock of seeing him," he declared, rather shamefacedly. "But by glory,it is a rotten sight!"

  "Rotten or not we'll have to bury him," declared Mr. Pauling. "He's anIndian I suppose."

  "Indian nothing!" cried Rawlins. "That's the worst of it! It's a whiteman!"

  "By Jove!" ejaculated Mr. Pauling. "Who could it be?"

  The next instant they had reached the thicket and at the sight whichgreeted them, even Mr. Paulin
g, Mr. Henderson and the explorer drewback filled with nauseating horror.

  Stretched at full length upon the ground was the body of a man, with along staff of wood driven between his shoulders and pinning him to theearth. And then, as they took a second glance, horror gave way toamazement, for fringing the dead man's face pressed against the forestfloor was a huge red beard!

  "Jumping Jupiter, it's he!" cried Rawlins. "Old Red Whiskers himself!"

  "And killed by a Kenaima!" exclaimed Mr. Thorne.

  "Jove, no wonder those Indians were nervous!" ejaculated Mr. Pauling.

  "I'll say they had reason to be!" declared Rawlins. "But what inblazes started a Kenaima after this guy do you suppose?"

  Mr. Thorne had stepped to the edge of the trees. "Come here, Colcord,"he called, "and bring a couple of shovels along. Better bring Sam too.No use trying to get one of the Bucks."

  But when the Boviander arrived, he took one glance at the body andthen, throwing down the shovels raced back to the boat. Too muchIndian blood flowed in his veins for him to approach a victim of theKenaima and as he reached the boat a low, terrified wail arose fromthe throats of the Indians: "Kenaima! Kenaima! Kenaima!"

  Leaping into the craft they seized their paddles.

  "Come on!" shouted Mr. Thorne. "Run for your lives! They're crazedwith fear! They're going off!"

  Shouting to Colcord and the Indians, the explorer tore down the bankand across the rocks with the others at his heels. Already the boatwas several yards from land, but as he heard Mr. Thorne's commands andrealized what he was doing, Colcord checked the boat, uttered sharporders to the Indians and with Sam's help swung the boat ashore. Thefour men and the boys leaped in and instantly the terrified Indiansdug their paddles into the stream and drove the boat madly from theaccursed spot.

  "Too bad, but it can't be helped," muttered Mr. Thorne. "I hate toleave him, but there's nothing to be done."

  "Well, he's tossed many a poor devil to the sharks!" exclaimedRawlins. "So I guess it kind of evens up things. But by glory, I'dlike to know where his mate is."