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MOUNTAINS
OF MYSTERY





MOUNTAINS
OF MYSTERY
BY
ARTHUR O. FRIEL
AUTHOR OF
THE KING OF No MAN'S LAND, Erc.
G R O S S E T & D UN L A P
PUBL Is H E R S N E W Y O R K
|-


ſ: º 2x cº-a- ſ-
MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Copyright, 1924, 1925
By Arthur O. Friel
Printed in the U. S. A.
First Edition
B-2
lv
|


CONTENTS
I Marooned
II
III
IV
Loco León
Reprisal -
The Legend .
W A Stone in the Pool
WI
WII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI I
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV W
XXVII
A Snake in the Trail
The Blackened Men
Toll . . . . .
A Voice in the Night
A Dead Man Walks
The Highlanders
The Messenger -
The River of Demons
The Dart . .
Ghost Land . . . . .
The Talking Mountain .
Out of the Storm
The People of the Shadows
The Pit a •
McKay Gambles
nferno . . .
Black White .
Wengeance .
The Raiders .
aſ . . .
The Out Trail
Under the Stars .
PAGE
I6
3 I
44
57
74
88
IO3
117
I32
I47
I59
173
I90
2O5
223
24O
256
274
288
3O2
3I 5
329
342
356
37I
386
v





MOUNTAINS
OF MYSTERY





MOUNTAINS
OF MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
MAROONED
The moon sank.
Behind a black bulk of cloud, looming like a
tremendous dragon couchant on the rim of the
world, the brilliant disc slid into eclipse. Along
the irregular back of the cloud-beast flamed a
bright, cold fire. Then the weird radiance paled,
died out. Across the tropic wilderness of
Guayana swooped darkness. *-
Dimmed by a thin veil of mist, stars looked
wanly down on a chaotic land of disordered
mountains—some peaked and ranged, others
flat-topped and isolated; on rolling wastes of
barrens, on wide sweeps of jungle; on a network
of rivers, writhing and twisting, sometimes creep-
ing as stealthily as serpents, sometimes snarling
over rapids and roaring down cataracts—cease-
lessly hurrying northward, westward, or south-
ward to escape the harsh uplands and lose them-
I


2 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
selves in the encircling Orinoco. On all this
night-shrouded expanse the scattered eyes of the
sky dwelt with faint interest; for everything
there was as it had been nightly for thousands of
years. But over one of the myriad rivers their
gaze grew a little more sharp and bright. There,
in midstream, on a small sandy playa left tem-
porarily bare by receding waters, lay little dots
which had not been there on the previous night:
the forms of sleeping men.
Four of them, there were. Three, resting side
by side on outspread rubber ponchos, slept with
light blankets loose-wrapped from shoulders to
feet. The fourth, a little apart, had neither
poncho nor blanket, but was completely muffled
in a length of old sail-cloth. Close beside each of
the three lay a rifle. The other man apparently
was unarmed. A few steps away stood a tiny
cooking-tripod, beneath which were a few charred
fagots. Near it rested an aluminum kettle and a
small heap of unused fuel. And that was all.
No fire, no food, no boat. On either shore, verti-
cal clay banks heavily grown with tropical tim-
ber. Around the playa, empty water. Four men
marooned on a few square rods of sand.
These things the stars of the heavens saw.
And down on the earth, other stars also saw them.
§


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 3
Twin stars, these were; malignant, evil stars
which glared from the top of a shore-wall. They
moved along the bank, appearing, disappearing,
glaring again, and again vanishing. After a time,
from the thicket where they had gleamed, broke
a harsh cough. Several times that ugly noise
rasped. Then it was heard no more.
The form in the sail-cloth moved. From the
shapeless huddle protruded a head. It listened
intently. Somewhere far off sounded a hideous
laughing noise. Somewhere nearer whistled the
unutterably sad plaint of a sloth. Two or three
fish-splashes broke the quietude of the water.
The listener sleepily subsided. But he did not
again cover his head.
Over where the evil stars had blazed, a long
shape crept with incredible silence down the sheer
bank. Projecting tree-roots, gnarled or sinuous
as petrified snakes, gave foothold for its taloned
paws. The few small blobs of clay dislodged by
its movements fell with almost inaudible plops.
In the darkness, the creature itself was invisible
now that it had veiled its glare. And presently
it was gone from the shore. **
Across the smooth current grew an angular
ripple. At its apex, steadily nearing the playa,
moved a wicked flat-nosed head. Its eyes now
º


4. MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
did not glimmer; their lids were drawn to malevo-
lent slits. Its jaws worked soundlessly, already
writhing into the grimace of attack. Under the
surface swam those great hooked paws. Nearer—
nearer—
Again the man moved. He rose on an elbow,
peering fixedly across the stream, straining his
ears. In all the sounds of the night—some faint,
a few more noticeable—was one which was not
right. Just what or where or why it was, he did
not know. But something—
“Crra!” he gasped.
His cover flew aside. Headlong he dived
toward the nearest sleeper—snatched his rifle—
threw himself up on one knee. The gun darted
to an aim; hung motionless for a fraction of a
second. And up from the shallows of the shelving
playa rose the ferocious head which had made the
ripples.
A shot cracked.
A horrible snarl retorted. A fierce swash and
splash—the beast came on, hurling itself to the
grapple. The man leaped erect. Again his gun-
flame slashed the dark. Then he sprang aside.
The three blanketed men were up now. Bed-
ding swirled in air, steel glinted, quick ejacula-
tions sounded. Two thumps terminated the


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 5
swirl of motion. One was that of the brute, which
staggered and flopped as the second bullet struck
home. The other was that of the rifle, descending
in a terrific blow on the beast's back. Only the
quick dodge of the rifleman had evaded the
eviscerating sweep of the giant paws. The great
cat, still grimacing, died on the spot where the
man had just stood.
For a moment none spoke. Every eye, every
sense, was fixed on the dead destroyer. Then the
man beside it relaxed from his tense poise. His
teeth gleamed in a shadowy grin.
“Un tigre, señores,” he casually remarked.
“Gee cripes!” rumbled the shortest of the
three. “I’ll say it’s a tigre and a half! And right
on top of us before we knowed it!”
“Good work, Portoniol” heartily commended
the second, lifting his head. “Straight shooting
and a sharp eye. But I thought you said no tigres
were here.”
“Few, señor,” Portonio mildly corrected. “I
said that on this Rio Ventuari they were few. So
I was told, and I believe it is truth.”
“Begorry, if them few are all big go-gitters like
this here one, there's plenty for me!” asserted the
stocky fellow. “I’ve seen plenty o’ tigres, but I
never knowed one to swim a river to git to me.”


6 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“He was hungry,” Portonio laconically ex-
plained.
The tallest of the trio, standing straight and
soldierly, had said nothing at all. His keen gaze
had studied cat and man, glanced across the
water, dwelt again on the quiet Portonio. Now
he turned his head, as if seeking other men. Then
he wheeled abruptly and stood staring down-
stream. At the same moment Portonio, as if
smitten by the same thought, started and squinted
past him.
“Ajo!” he swore. “La lancha—”
“Boat’s gone!” finished the tall one.
A swift about-face by the other two. Then a
growl from the short one.
“Wal, the lousy bums! They’ve deserted and
took everything with 'em! And here we laid like
a string o' dead fish and let 'em git away with it!”
For another minute or two the others said
nothing. They peered about them, striving to
pierce the farther gloom, listening in vain for
voices or other sounds of men; scanned the sands;
looked into one another's faces. All three keenly
studied the fourth, Portonio. His return gaze
was square and steady.
“Capitán,” he calmly reminded, “I too am
here.”


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 7
The tall captain nodded. But the short man
growled again.
“Looks fishy to me, cap. He's stuck here,
same as we are, but— Pie was awake when this
cat come. Why was he dead to the world when
them guys sneaked—”
“Oh, pipe down, Tim!” interrupted the man
next him. “He’s in the clear. He’s been with us
all the way up the Orinoco. He got those two
mestizos at San Fernando only because we wanted
him to. He slept farther from the boat than we
did. If anybody ought to have heard their geta-
way, it's you! You were nearest to them. Quit
your bellyaching.”
Tim grumbled something, but subsided. The
captain nodded again.
“You heard nothing, Portonio?” he asked.
“Nothing,” echoed the Venezuelan. “Nothing
until the tigre woke me. He barked overyonder.”
His head tilted shoreward. “Then I nearly slept
again. But I heard a thing—the breathing of the
tigre as he swam—sí, that was it! It puzzled me,
and I looked and saw his head. So I took the gun
and shot.”
He extended the borrowed weapon, butt first.
The captain—it was his gun—declined it.
“Keep it for the time,” he said curtly.


8 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Portonio's strong teeth showed again in a
pleased grin; for he knew, without further words,
that the tall commander had faith in him. The
latter drew out a watch and scanned its faintly
glowing numerals.
“Nearly four,” he announced. “Not long to
dawn. About an hour and a half. Can't do any-
thing until then. Might start up the fire and
stew some tiger-meat. That's better than noth-
ing. Got some matches, Merry?”
“Guess so. Portonio, make a fire.”
With a grunt of assent, the Venezuelan lounged
back to his place on the sand and picked up a
naked machete. At the little woodpile he deftly
made kindlings. Ignited, the sticks gradually
flamed up into a goodly blaze. Into its light the
big cat was dragged, and by that light were
revealed both the superb proportions of the beast
and the faces and physiques of the marooned
Inen.
Even in death, the jaguar was formidable: a
muscular-bodied brute, seven feet from tip to tip,
whose powerful legs, massive paws, and hooked
claws bore eloquent testimony to its ability to
twist and break the necks of creatures much
heavier and stronger than mere human beings.
The sinister savagery of its destructive build,


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 9
merciless head, and cruel mouth was enhanced
by its funereal color; for, unlike the usual dap-
pled animal of its class, it was black as night—
an embodiment of stealth, gloom, and death.
Breast and head now were dyed red from wounds.
The first bullet, striking a trifle low as the brute
rose from the water, had drilled through the
thick-thewed chest. The second, more luckily
placed, had gone through an eye into the brain.
And even then, with its center of life destroyed,
the beast had almost made its kill in the last few
seconds of existence.
Portonio, its slayer, now viewed it with a slight
smile, but with no particular show of interest.
The firelight disclosed him as a bronzed giant—
curly-haired, square-jawed, brown-eyed—clad in
aloose cotton shirt and baggy trousers, and bare-
foot. The others, though sunburned, were lighter
of skin than he, and only one of them—the tall,
gray-eyed, stern-faced man whom he addressed
as “capitán”—was black-haired. Tim was florid
of face and of hair; blue-eyed, wide-mouthed,
pugnacious of jaw; broad of shoulder, muscular
of build. Merry was a pronounced blond; slender,
yet strongly knit, with a hint of the dreamer in
his curving lips and long-lashed eyes. Even now,
with the loss of the boat and all it contained


IO MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
w
hanging heavy on the minds of all, this golden-
haired fellow was smiling with care-free satisfac-
tion as he contemplated the great cat.
“A black one, Rod!” he rejoiced. “They’re
rare. I'll just have to undress this chap and take
along his hide.”
“What'll ye take it along in, and where to?”
demanded Tim. “The only way we can git any-
wheres now is swimmin’ and walkin'—and gosh
knows what'll grab us while we’re swimmin'.
Hey, Tonio, is there any o’ them big water-snakes
in this here river?”
“Culebras de agua? Men say there are many,
señor. I do not know. I never before have been
on this Ventuari.” -
“The cat swam over here,” reminded the cap-
tain. “We can swim over there.”
“Oh, yeah. And then what do we do? D'ye
mind the bank's like a wall, straight up and
down? It's like that for miles. That's why we
tied up here in the middle. How do we git
topside?”
“Oh, just climb,” retorted the blond. Sinking
on one knee, he unsheathed a keen belt-knife and
began deftly slitting the skin. “Cheer up, you
old grouch! Luck's with us yet. Here's a lot of
meat. We can ferry it ashore somehow, smoke


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY II
g
y
lſº
mº
it well, and live on it for days while we walk.
And I'm betting something will turn up.”
“Yeah. Prob'ly one o’ them big snakes.”
Tim Scowled at the mysterious darkness, doubly
dark now by contrast with the fire's glow. As if
in answer, near at hand sounded a rushing
splash. Tim jumped, clutching his rifle tighter.
Portonio smiled slightly, casting a nonchalant
glance outward.
“A large fish, señor,” he explained.
“There, there, little man!” sarcastically
soothed Merry. “Was mother's lamb afraid of
the darky-dark and the boogy-boost Come here
and let mamma wipe his little nosey—”
“Aw, shut up!” flared Tim, reddening furi-
ously. “I’ll wipe your nose on me fist, ye big
stiff!”
Merry laughed mockingly. Portonio chuckled.
Even the iron-faced captain smiled. After a
minute Tim himself grinned a little, though he
cleared his throat harshly to conceal it.
“Take a run down the river and beat up those
two halfbreeds,” advised Merry. “That’ll
sweeten your temper. Bring the boat back with
you.” .
“Umph! What I’d do to them birds if I got
a holt of 'em! But say, come to think of it, they


I2 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
can’t be so far off, at that. They dunno how to
run the engine. How are they goin’ to make
their gitaway? She's heavy, that boat is, and
there's a bunch o' sand-bars— Say, mebbe
they're aground somewheres, right close by!
When it comes light we’d better trail down the
bank and see if we can nail ‘em.”
“Right,” vouchsafed the captain. “That's
what I had in mind. We’ll get ’em if it takes a
year. The only way they can navigate her is by
poling, and that's slow work. The fools!”
Tim again eyed the dark.
“It’ll be hard goin’ in all that tangle. Aw wal,
we’ve got out o' worse scrapes than this here,
many's the time. Wonder why they didn’t knife
us before they beat it.”
“Afraid to chance it. One of us would be sure
to wake up and shoot.”
The blond now had stripped a haunch. From
it he carved slabs of flesh, which he tossed into
the kettle.
“Portonio, put this to boil,” he instructed.
The Venezuelan, with his usual slow smile, car-
ried the pot to the water's edge, returned, set it
on the tripod, and squatted to tend the fire. The
skinning proceeded. The captain and the red
man produced cigarettes, lit them, and squatted


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I3
also. Presently the kettle began to bubble. Tim
gave a reminiscent chuckle.
“Funny, ain't it, us three comin’ back to
tiger-meat?” he said. “Mind the time we went
battin' round the bush down on the Amazon and
got up the Tiger River? 'Twas fair crawlin’ with
cats. And we run out o' meat and had to live
on them tigres till we made our big gold-strike.
And now here we are, all of us rich as mud, comin’
down here jest to do a little explorin’ to pass
away the time—and plunk! we wake up broke
and stranded. Money to burn in the bank up
home, and a fat lot o' good it does us! We’re
down to chewin’ the tough ol' cat-leg again, and
glad we've got good teeth.”
His two mates smiled, but made no answer.
While the blond worked absorbedly at his task,
the gray-eyed man squatted with gaze far away.
Portonio, incurious, continued his imperturbable
watching of the fire.
At length the big black pelt was off. After
spreading it out and washing knife and hands,
the blond straightened his blanket on its poncho
and lay down. The other two joined him.
“Daylight pretty soon,” remarked the captain.
“M-hm. And then cat stew without salt.
Ugh! And no coffee. That's what hurts my


i4 IMOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
feelings worst. If we catch those two sneaks I
fear my temper may be unmerciful.”
“So'll theirs,” grunted Tim. “And they’ve
got guns, mind ye.” -
“A fact which will make our proceedings much
simpler.” The blond man's tone was hard-edged.
“Yeah! Ye said a mouthful that time. No
questions asked. Shoot on sight.”
For awhile they lay quiet. At length the
watching stars grew a shade paler. Across the
sky sped a faint sheen. Rapidly the eyes of the
night closed; the light brightened; the sky turned
to a glowing blue. From towering jungle, root-
studded clay walls, and olive-green water the
shadows were wiped in a trice. And from the
river forest, near and far, rose a discordant chorus
of monkey-bellows, turkey-moans, toucan-barks,
tapir-whistles, and nameless gobbles and rattles,
screams and hoots. With one accord the three sat
up and fell to adjusting their sleep-disheveled
clothing. -
“Now come on, bugs!” gloomily invited Tim.
“Our skeeter-nets are gone with the boat. And
come on, sun'ſ Helmets are gone too.”
A blaze in the east heralded the coming of
that malign sun. And a sudden myriad of moving
specks announced the arrival of the bugs—a
*.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 15
stinging horde of tiny day-mosquitoes which
would attack ceaselessly until sunset. The three
stepped into the thin smoke of the fire, where the
insects would be fewer. -
“Umph!” grunted Tim, eyeing the stew-pot in
distaste. “I’m hungry, but I dunno about eatin’
that. If we only had some salt —”
“Which we haven’t,” clipped the captain.
“Portonio, take it off the fire. Let it cool. Then
we'll claw it out with our hands and worry it
down.”
With the last remaining stick the cook swung
the kettle from the blaze and set it on the cool
sand. Rising, he stretched himself, his warm
brown eyes traveling smilingly from face to face
and reading the expressions there.
“I have eaten worse things, señores,” he com-
forted. -
“So have we,” admitted the blond. “But not
lately.” -
For several minutes they stood in the smoke
waiting for the unpalatable meat to cool. Then
Portonio, stooping to test the breakfast with a
finger-tip, let his gaze rove upstream. In that
bent position he froze, his gaze suddenly fixed
and sharp. -
“Mira, señores!” he murmured. “Look!”


CHAPTER II
Loco LeóN
Low-RIDING, slow-moving, down toward the ma-
rooned men floated a dugout canoe.
It had crept stealthily around the next bend, a
quarter-mile upstream, and was drifting near
shore. Its black body, rising but a few inches
above the surface, blended with the dark water;
its low curved cabin of bleached palm-fronds
merged with the yellowish dirt wall. Its crew,
bent low and peering at the playa, made only an
indeterminate blob against the shadow within the
cylindrical hood. Along its gunwales moved no
paddles. The river-beast was warily reconnoiter-
ing, keeping itself so inconspicuous that, but for
the chance discovery by Portonio, it could easily
have withdrawn unseen by the smoke-wreathed
men on the sand.
Now those men sprang forward, shading their
eyes beneath their palms for a few seconds, then
raising their hands and waving them in impera-
tive gestures. From them broke a chorus of
shouts. Only the Venezuelan remained silent,
16


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 17
still studying that creeping craft whence sounded
no response. After a little, however, he relaxed
into his usual easy poise and his slow smile
dawned.
“What the divil ails them guys?” grumbled
Tim. “Ye'd think we had smallpox, the way
they lay off. He-e-ey!” His voice rose again
into a foghorn bellow. “Come here, ye poor
fish! Aquí!”
No answer. The canoe floated at the same
creep. But now, deliberately, a figure arose and
stood before the cabin—a blue-clad, sombreroed
form which remained motionless for minutes.
The Americans grew silent. Then, quietly, spoke
Portonio.
“It is a señor. See the carroza on his boat.
None but a señor uses a cabin here. I think it is
Loco León.”
Lifting his voice in a riverman's hail—not loud,
yet musically clear and long-drawn—he called:
“Ho-o-o-o-o! Amigos!”
Now came a reply, curt and incisive.
“Quién es? Who are you?”
“Por-tonio Ma-ri-fio,” rang the slow response.
As if the name were a countersign, the drifting
men dropped their suspicion. Paddles rose and
fell. The canoe surged forward, a small creamy


18 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
roll forming under its overhanging prow, a quick
cadence of gunwale-thumping strokes beating in
unison. The three Northerners looked queerly at
their employe, who, though he had professed igno-
rance of this river, was so readily recognized. In
a moment, unasked, he gave an explanation.
“It is Loco,” he declared, still watching the
canoe. “I have known him long.”
Merry, the blond, laughed.
“The very chap we want to see! Didn't I tell
you our luck was still with us? I'll bet he has
some decent grub, too. We won’t eat cat-leg
until we find out.”
Swiftly the craft bore down on them, its paddles
throwing water into the air at each vigorous
stroke, its master balancing easily before the
swaying cabin. The crew, loose-shirted, light-
skinned, seemed to be mestizos. The paddlers
numbered three; a fourth, seated behind the
cabin, was steersman. The owner, despite deep
tan, was obviously a pure-blooded white; above
medium stature, lean, and wiry.
With a loud swash, the crew held their paddles
rigid. The blunt-nosed boat lost way. Another
swash, and it swung broadside on to the playa;
drifted into the shallows, and stopped, aground.
“Buen' dia’,” formally greeted the blue-clad
s
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I9
man. “Good morning. How are you, Portonio P”
His eyes, blue and keen, rested steadily on, the
Strangers.
“Bien. Well.” Portonio lounged forward.
“These señores come to visit you, Loco.” They
are from North America. We have lost our
boat.”
With this laconic summary of the entire situa-
tion, he glanced at the captain. The latter
promptly took up the conversation.
“You are Señor Lucio León º Good! I am
Roderick McKay. This is my friend Meredith
Knowlton.” He nodded toward his blond part-
ner. “And this is Timothy Ryan. We are three
fools who have come to explore and allowed two
men of San Fernando to steal our boat.”
León's eyes twinkled. He answered McKay's
Spanish with fluent English.
“I am glad to make your acquaintance, gentle-
men. Ah, yes, I speak English—I lived for some
years in Trinidad. It was in the time of Cipriano
Castro.”
. He paused. The three smiled. They knew
that the British island of Trinidad, off the mouth
of the Orinoco, was a haven for thousands of
Venezuelan political refugees; and the reference
to the deposed tyrant Castro made doubly clear


2O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
the reason for this nonchalant fellow's sojourn
there. He laughed lightly and went on.
“Life on an island grows stale after a time, I
have found. If by chance you have tired of yours,
the ship is waiting. Ah—who were those San
Fernando men?”
“Their names were Tito and Mateo,” supplied
Knowlton.
“Ah. Tito Coro and Mateo Collado, perhaps?”
He glanced at Portonio, who nodded. “Ah, yes.
I think I understand. Did you hit either of
them? I heard you shoot in the night.”
“Oh, that wasn’t a war,” Knowlton explained.
“Portonio shot something for breakfast.”
He moved aside, giving a view of the stark
carcass. León's quick gaze took it in; also the
hide and the kettle beside the fire.
“Válgame Dios!” he ejaculated. “You shall
not eat that, friends! I have food—rough fare, but
far better than that. But perhaps we had better
start the chase at once. We can eat on the way,
and then make a better meal when the business is
settled. Let us be off. And since you do not
need that tigre meat, give it to my Indians.”
The marooned three, already turning away,
turned back, looking quickly at the crew. Por-
tonio kept on moving toward the blankets.
ºf
* \
Aſ
*
*:::
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 2 I
“Indians! These chaps are Indians?” blurted
Knowlton.
“Of course. They are almost white, yes—but
they are full-blood Indians.” Without change of
tone, but with slower diction, he spoke in Spanish
to his crew. “The strangers have meat of the
tigre. They go on a blood trail of their enemies.
Eat the meat that you may have the strength of
the tigre for the journey. It is in the pot. We go
to kill men of San Fernando.”
Into the cool brown eyes of the canoemen came
a glow that increased as he spoke. At his final
sentence those eyes flamed, and hard grins shot
across their faces. With a simultaneous spring
they were out and bounding across the playa,
shirts flying behind them, strong bare legs sprint-
ing for the prize pot. As one man they pounced
On it, hands clutching the unseasoned meat; and
with loudly guzzling jaws they gnawed down the
wet portions, their eyes still shining with a tiger-
ish gleam.
“Begorry, they’re Injuns, all right,” asserted
Tim, “No pants—no hats—muscles like snakes
-yeah, they're hard gorillas, I’ll tell the world,
even if they do wear nightshirts. And they don’t
like them San Fernando guys for a cent. Some-


22 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
thin' tells me bad luck is trailin' them two
deserters. Wal, le's go.”
Portonio was rapidly rolling blankets and pon-
chos into a compact bundle. Knowlton gathered
up the black hide. McKay and Tim picked up
the rifles. Meanwhile León, who had been un-
obtrusively holding a carbine beside his right leg
all this time, lowered it and quietly slid it back
into the cabin by a push of one alpargata-shod
foot. The Indians, having gobbled the contents
of the pot almost at one swallow, looked covet-
ously at the big body on the sand. But their
master grunted, and they returned slowly to the
canoe, carrying with them both pot and tripod.
After them flocked the laden whites, Portonio
managing to pick his machete from the sand with
one finger as he went.
“We’ll be a bit crowded, I’m afraid,” said
Knowlton. “That is, for a while.”
“It is nothing,” answered their rescuer, specu-
latively eyeing the rifles of the Northerners. “I
am riding light, and there is room in the carroza.”
By his direction, the Indians stowed the bun-
dles in the rear of the cabin. The four got aboard
and crept into the shade of the hood. The crew
tugged the craft off the sand, splashed in, and
sunk their broad paddles in the water.
º
".


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 23
“Now let us see the strength of the tigre,” sug-
gested their commander. A powerful heave of
the shoulders answered. The playa slid behind
and was gone.
For a minute or two, while the passengers set-
tled themselves in their cramped quarters—for
the addition of four new men crammed the little
place to the limit—there was no more talk. León
calmly studied anew the faces of the strangers.
He had taken off his straw sombrero as he
crouched within, and the others saw that his hair
was a golden brown, thick and wavy; his mus-
tache, cut short but of heavy growth, and his eye-
brows were so nearly the color of his bronzed
skin as to be almost unnoticed at a little distance.
His direct gaze was that of the frontiersman, and,
though slightly narrow-lidded from habitual look-
ing into sun-glare, frank and straightforward.
After contemplating the strong features and
steely eyes of McKay, the expressive face of
Knowlton, and the tenacious visage of Tim, he
smiled slightly as if well pleased with his new
companions.
"You will pardon me for coming to you a little
slowly at first,” he said. “It is well, in this Rio
Negro country, to look a little carefully. And I
am not on good terms with the governor.”


24 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Governor Ramirez? At San Fernando?”
queried McKay.
“The same. It is not long since he sent a few
men to—ah— remove me. So, as I say, I look
a little carefully.” ~ :-
“Huh ! Sent guys to kill ye?” Tim demanded.
“Quite so. They—were unlucky. But he
might send others. The gentleman has a queer
idea that if I should die he might enrich himsen
by working my rubber lands up here. I suppose
you met him, and he was very gracious to you?
Of course. You are foreign señores, and, no
doubt, have letters from high officials. Quite so.
But now—how did you happen to pick Tito and
Mateo to come with you?” -
“Why, we didn't exactly pick them,” recalle
Knowlton. “In the first place, we got Portonio,
here, at Ciudad Bolívar. He was said to be, an
expert pilot and well acquainted with the upper
Orinoco—” sd bris
“And he is,” put in León. “There are ser
better.” ;M .tº
“Uh-huh. But he said he knew nothing about
this Rio Ventuari. So at San Fernando we looked
for a couple of men who did know it: one as a
pilot, and the other as a handy man. Portonio
found several who claimed to know something
º
º:
º
**
* #


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 25
about the Ventuari, but all but these two refused
to go.”
“Ah, And you had mentioned your need to
the governor.” It was not a question, but a
Statement.
“Yes.”
“And he admired something of yours which
vou refused to part with.”
"“He did.” All three eyed their new friend in-
tently. “It was the launch. He was very eager
to buy it—or, at least, to have us set a price
On it.”
“Launch?” The Ventuari man looked sur-
prised. “You travel in a launch: And you
forced it up into this country? Carambal
“Then, señores, all is plain. The honorable
gentleman desired most earnestly to possess your
launch. And you refused to consider the idea of
parting with it. So he said no more about it,
"''' de you adios with the best of wishes. And
while he saw to it that no men but Tito
a.º. ateo should go with you. And they were
good, faithful men—who watched for their chance
and found it last night. Now they are poling
their way down the Ventuari as fast as they can,
taking the launch and all its goods back to their
mäster, the governor.


26 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“You are left without food or boat, more than
a hundred miles from the Orinoco, and a hundred
and fifty from San Fernando. If by any chance
you live to reach San Fernando again, your
launch is safely hidden somewhere beyond the
town; Tito and Mateo are not to be found; every-
one else is dumb; the governor is shocked and
desolated by your misfortune. He will see to it
that the thieves are hunted to the ends of the
earth, and so on. After you are gone, in a rotten
curial kindly loaned by the governor—which
probably will sink and drown you before you go
very far–Tito and Mateo and the launch reap-
pear, and all the Rio Negro country laughs at the
joke. But there is not much chance, señores,
that the Ventuari will allow you to return to
San Fernando. This river has a way of killing
men.” -
The faces of his auditors hardened. McKay's
gray gaze took on a cold glitter. Knowlton's
mouth became a thin line. Tim's jaw protruded.
Again León laughed lightly.
“You see, I know Governor Ramirez,” he
added. Then, turning to Portonio, he restated
his assertions in Spanish. The riverman's eyes
opened a little wider. After a short interval of
consideration he drawled: “Sí.”


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 27
“We must be growing simple in our old age,”
rasped Knowlton. “I sized up Ramirez as a
rather smooth proposition and a bit of a grafter,
but not so slimy as all that.”
McKay made no answer. Tim was not so
silent.
“Me, I’ve got a good mind to go right back
to San Fernando—after we git our boat—and
take this here, now, Rameery guy apart and see
what kind o' works he's got! And I wouldn't
put the pieces together again, neither!”
“There are others who feel likewise,” rejoined
León. “And sooner or later— Well, señores, the
last two governors of this Territorio de Amazonas
died very suddenly from an overdose of lead. But
it is always a little embarrassing for those who
give the lead; the federal government is far away
and fails to understand the reasons. And since
you must go out again through Bolívar, where
there is a federal garrison—” -
“Tim didn't mean exactly that,” interrupted
Knowlton. “What he'd like to do is to beat up
the gentleman. As a matter of fact, it would be
considerably more painful to Ramirez than
merely being shot; and if Tim turned loose his
full repertoire it would take some weeks for the
victim's bones to grow together again. How-
3.


28 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
ever, we'll pass up Ramirez and take it out on
Tito and Mateo.”
The Ventuari man smiled again, but said no
more. All turned their gaze forward, seeking
signs of the traitors and their stolen craft. None
was visible. The clay banks slid past; turn after
turn was rounded; the canoe quivered from the
swift throb of its man-power propulsion, beating
away with the regularity of tireless machinery.
Still the water ahead remained empty of life,
varied here and there only by a low playa or a
cluster of gray bowlders.
On the brows of the Northerners gathered
thoughtful frowns. The thieves were making
much better progress than had seemed probable,
Either they had stolen away early in the night
and worked strenuously with poles throughout
the moonlit hours, or they had solved the prob-
lem of starting the engine. In the latter case the
chase by canoe would be well-nigh hopeless—
unless the launch should run hard aground. In
any event, it was increasingly evident that,
but for the lucky arrival of this canoe, the
marooned men would have had scant chance of
ever overtaking their lost boat.
With only one machete, their progress—
hampered by the pathless tangle along shore, the


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 29,
occasional side creeks blocking the way, and the
necessity for hunting food—could hardly have
measured more than ten miles a day. Ten hard
days, at least, to the Orinoco; fifteen to San
Fernando, the only settlement in this whole
vast territory. It would have been a grim,
dolorous march, with Death stalking close be-
hind them; with venomous reptile and insect
lurking on ground or in bush, with fever and
beriberi hovering ready to seize on weakened
tissues, with unknown aborigines likely at any
time to strike down the staggering little band.
No, there was not much chance that they would
have survived to confront Governor Ramirez.
And to this fate the men Tito and Mateo had
abandoned them without a scruple.
Hour after hour snailed away. The voyagers
broke their fast on slices of broiled peccary,
mutely tendered by their rescuer. The morning
breeze died; intense heat settled on the winding
water. The paddle-beat slowed; the power of
the strokes dwindled. The Indians still were
doing their best, but no human frames could
forever maintain that terrific labor. Then,
suddenly, from the bowman broke an inarticulate
croak of triumph.
Another curve had been rounded, and ahead


3O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
stretched a long straight-away. A couple of
hundred yards beyond, hard aground on a
shelving playa, lay a heavily listing motorboat.
On either side of the stranded craft a man worked
doggedly with a stout lever, vainly striving to
refloat her.
The long stern chase was done.


CHAPTER III
REPRISAL
THE canoe rocked as the men under the hood
attempted to rise and emerge.
“A moment!” cautioned its owner. “Let us
make room.” Then, to the paddlers: “Into the
water!” -
With swift precision the three obeyed. Their
paddles came inboard and slithered along the
curved bottom. They half rose, crouching on
tense legs. The bowman grunted. With a
simultaneous spring, the pair behind him leaped
overboard, one on each side, while the bowman
himself shot headlong over his prow. So accu-
rately timed was the triple dive that the boat
neither rolled nor yawed. Three splashes sounded
as one. The men were gone—turning under
water and swimming to the stern, where the
steersman still held his post.
Into the space left vacant crept the three
Northerners: McKay taking the extreme bow
and lying prone, elbows resting on the flat-
topped overhang, rifle-stock cuddling into his
3I


32 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
shoulder; Knowlton and Tim kneeling behind
him, guns at the ready. León, first out, had
moved aside enough to let them pass, and now,
wordless, watched approvingly their businesslike
selection of positions. He himself stood before
his cabin entrance, the short but big-bored
carbine again dangling negligently beside his leg.
Portonio, without a gun, grudgingly remained
cooped within. At a word from León the steers-
man swung the boat obliquely across the current,
giving the three riflemen room to fire freely with-
out hampering one another's movements. •
The triple splash had caught the eye or the
ear of one of the traitorous San Fernandans. As
the cabin yielded up its avengers, he stood
motionless a few seconds, with gaze fixed on the
canoe. Then, with a yell, he dropped his pole
and scrambled monkey-like into the motorboat.
His mate, after a second of staring, also flung
away his lever and snatched a rifle which the
other passed out to him. The first sprang out
again, and the pair dropped on their knees in the
shallow water.
As the canoe swung into firing position a
wicked whine sounded above it. From the
playa thumped a blunt report.
“Steady, León! Hold her!” snapped McKay.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 33
A cool, curt command from the Ventuari man—
the steersman held the boat motionless. Some-
thing sizzled along the water. From the sand
came another bang.
With a crash three rifles opened an answering
fire. From below retorted a ragged popping.
Bullets thudded into the solid gunwales of the
dugout. A segment of the palm cabin flew in air.
From within sounded a sudden emphatic oath
in the tones of Portonio. The guns of the
Northerners leaped in a rapid, yet deliberately
timed, succession of shots.
León, coolly careless, still stood with rifle un-
aimed, viewing the combat as unconcernedly as
if it were a mere play. Now his sombrero flew
off. At that his face contracted, and his carbine
snapped to his shoulder. Even as his eye caught
the sights, one of the malefactors down ahead
slumped forward, struggled an instant, and went
limp.
The other sprang up; threw a last bullet at his
hunters; turned, and dashed in panic across the
sand. Tim's gun cracked. The fugitive stag-
gered. Then León, coolly marking down his
man, fired for the first and last time. The San
Fernandan took two more stumbling steps and
collapsed.


34 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
For a moment utter silence held the river. No
voice of bird, beast, or man broke the stillness
succeeding the gunfire. The canoe drifted on-
ward, the paddlers floating behind the stern, the
gunmen lowering their pieces but keenly watching
the fallen pair.
Then León spoke briefly. The bow swung
again, pointing for the playa. The trailing In-
dians let go, swam forward a few feet, grasped the
gunwale amidships with one hand each, and con-
tinued swimming with the other. The steersman
began wielding his broad blade. Under the com-
bined impetus of paddle and swimmers, the dug-
out forged ahead at better speed.
“Huh! No wonder we had a long cruise! The
engine's runnin'!” Tim discovered.
It was true. From the stern of the motorboat
boiled a yellowish wake.
“Gother running and then didn't know enough
to shut her off,” McKay surmised. “We’ll have
a job.”
No more was said: until the canoe grounded
beside the beached craft. Then, while Knowlton
climbed into the throbbing launch, Tim promised:
“Now I’m goin’ to git the goods on Rameery,
if there's any words left in these mutts.”
The one lying next the boat obviously possessed


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 35
no words; for he lay with face under water. The
second, however, seemed to be still living.
Toward him advanced the grim-faced whites and
the dripping Indians—the latter carrying ma-
chetes which had mysteriously materialized from
some shadowy part of the dugout. As they
walked, the straining pant of the motor stopped.
The thief sprawling on the hot sand was still
breathing. His rifle lay several feet away, but his
nearly nerveless fingers held a knife, drawn with
his last strength. As the men who had hunted
him down stopped beside him, he quivered and
his knife-hand moved slightly. McKay promptly
stepped on his wrist, stooped, and twisted away
the steel.
“Mateo!” he called sharply. “Mateo! Why
did you do this?”
The glazing eyes moved a little. The lips, too,
moved; but no sound came.
“Hey! Mateo!” roared Tim, bending close.
“Who told you to leave us? Rameery?”
Far down in the fading eyes came a glimmer of
hate. Through yellow teeth struggled a hoarse
whisper. Then something rattled in the dying
man's throat. He stiffened—then lay limp.
"No use,” grumbled Tim, rising. “He’s gone.
Ye heard what he said, didn't ye? 'Twas one o'


36 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
the rottenest cussin's in the Spanish lingo—and
that's goin' some. Now was he cussin' us, or
cussin' Rameery for gittin’ him into this? I
dunno.”
Nor did anyone else know. The putrid invec-
tive with which Mateo had died might have been
intended either for his slayers or for the governor
whose name was the last word to reach his
mind.
“Well, that ends that.” McKay turned away,
throwing aside the captured knife. Instantly the
Indians jumped after it. The steersman, nearest
to the spot where it dropped, was first to pounce
on it, and arose with a gloating grin. The others,
moved by a simultaneous thought, dashed back
across the playa to loot the body of Tito. To
these aborigines a knife was more precious than
a diamond.
Portonio, easy-going as ever, ambled over to
the fallen rifle—an ancient Winchester of the
usual .44 bush type. As he moved away, a big
red splotch became noticeable on the back of his
shirt.
“Gee cripes! Tonio's wounded !”
“Portonio! What is that wound f* This from
León.
“Nada. Nothing.” The riverman grinned and


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 37
picked up the gun. “A bullet came through the
carroza and burned me. It is nothing.”
Critically he examined the repeater, handling it
like a man experienced in its use.
“Cool chap,” commented McKay, walking on-
ward.
“Sí,” agreed León. “He has looked death in
the eye many times. He was for years a river-
captain on the upper Orinoco, bringing out rubber.
A very quiet fellow, always calm—and honest.
You are very lucky to get such a man.”
They reached the boat and stood a minute
looking down at Tito, whom the Indians had
drawn up from the shallows. León waved a hand
outward. His men picked up the body and
walked around the boat. A splash sounded.
Empty-handed, they returned and trudged over
to Mateo. Another short trip, another splash.
“Crocodiles up here?” asked McKay.
“Only the small babicho—too small to be use-
ful. But there are plenty of caribes.”
The Northerners nodded. They knew the
caribe to be the ferocious fish which, traveling in
schools, quickly chops a man to bare bones. The
faithless Tito and Mateo had disappeared forever
from the sight of men.
With their passing, the victors turned their


38 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
whole attention to the boat: a trim, graceful
vessel, with speedy lines which even her awkward
position could not conceal. The force of her
powerful engine had driven her high and dry
forward, whereafter the vainly fighting propeller
had scooped a deep hole from the slanting sands
behind. Now she lay at a badly strained angle,
bow high, stern nearly awash, stanchions and
double awning tilted far to starboard.
“Think she's damaged, Merry?” asked McKay.
“Not much, Rod, if at all. Strained a bit, of
course; but she's got a good sound hull, and she
was doing only about eight miles when she hit—
unless those fools throttled her down afterward;
and that's not likely.”
“No, they'd hardly do that. Must have
started her accidentally in the first place, monkey-
ing around. Probably didn't even get the power
on until an hour or two ago. Then they just hung
on and let her rip.”
“Wonder how the dumbbells thought they'd
git her off o' here with that juice on,” snorted
Tim. “The more they pried her the higher she
climbed. Say, sling out me Englishman toppy,
looey. I’m gittin’ woozy with this here sun.”
Knowlton tossed out a couple of helmets. Tim
and McKay donned them, dropping the mosquito-


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 39
veils behind their necks, but leaving their faces
uncovered.
“Ye know, Loco,” Tim went on, with easy
familiarity, “these here cake-eater hats and veils
always make me snicker, but now I’ve got used
to mine I'm scairt to go without it when the sun’s
goin' strong. Us three guys, now, we bummed
round the Amazon a lot, and we never wore
nothin' but felt campaign hats. But these ain’t
so bad—except they always make me feel like I
was back in France with me tin dome on.”
“Ah! France? You were in the war?”
“Oh, sure. Up to our necks. This hard guy
McKay was a cap'n, and Pretty-Boy Knowlton
there was a looey—lieutenant, y'understand—
and I was sergeant. And between us we licked
the kaiser.”
“Ah, I see,” smiled the Spaniard. “I have
often wondered just what it was that ended the
war. My country was not in it, you know, and
I was busy here in the far forests, where news is
scarce. But now I quite understand.” His
glance strayed to the military-looking rifle in the
Irishman's fist—identical with those carried by
Knowlton and McKay. It was evident that
his understanding included the efficiency with
which those rifles had just been handled.


40 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
At that moment Portonio, carrying the re-
peater which he had picked from the sand,
quietly spoke up.
“This is a good gun, capitán.”
His steady gaze rested on McKay. The latter
glanced at him, at the gun—and smiled a little.
“It is yours,” he responded. Then, to León:
“Your country, like mine, has some fool laws.”
: “Which only fools obey—unless they must,”
was the rejoinder. “S1, it now is unlawful for any
man in Venezuela to own a rifle or revolver.
And what is the result? Honest men like
Portonio are disarmed, while snakes like Tito and
Mateo have weapons. Every outlaw, every
murderer and robber has his gun. So we who
live in lawless Rio Negro see to it that we have
our guns also-else we do not live long. And
those in Caracas who make such laws make us
spit at our own government.”
“O’ course,” agreed Tim. “The only kind o'
law that's any good is the kind that folks can
swaller. Give 'em law that makes 'em sick and
they'll spit it right back in yer face. And they'll
keep right on spittin' at ye after that, and it's
yer own fault for bein’ a fool. But speakin' o'
law, we'll pass one right here and now, to let
Tonio pack a gun and shoot any guy that looks


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 4 I
:
º
cock-eyed at him. All in favor, aye. There ain’t
no contrary.” Having thus made amends for
his recent suspicion of the faithful riverman, he
added: “And now le’s git this hooker off the
beach.”
Again the Indians went to work. With their
spade-shaped paddles they dug steadily at the
sand, forming a watery trough in which the boat
could settle to a more even keel. Meanwhile
Portonio shifted the cargo—boxes of food, rolls
of dunnage, cans of fuel—into the extreme stern.
At length the vessel lay at an easy angle, nearly
afloat.
Then the paddles were cast aside, and all
except Knowlton gathered at the bow. Within,
the lieutenant tested the controls, giving the
propeller a few preliminary revolutions at idling
speed. All the machinery responded. So did the
Indians. -
At the first lifelike purr and quiver they
leaped backward. It was not until their Spanish
commander berated them, and then leaned
against the sharp cutwater to prove its harm-
lessness, that the aborigines would return to
close quarters with the devil-craft.
“All set?” queried Knowlton. “Snap into itſ
Heave-ol Heave!”


42 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
The eight heaved, lifting as they pushed. The
engine, running in reverse, tugged the hull back-
ward. Grinding on the sands, she dragged her-
self slowly outward—then jumped away. Her
liberators tumbled in a heap. When they arose,
the boat was idling in deep water.
“Nothing hurt. She runs like a clock,” ex-
ulted the driver. “Tumble in, fellows, and we'll
go somewhere else and have a regular feed. By
the way, Señor León, where were you heading
for P’’
“For my sitio, a long distance up the river. I
have just been visiting some Indians on the Rio
Pará, and am on my way home. If you had
traveled another half-mile yesterday you would
have caught up with me, for I camped above the
bend beyond your playa. Perhaps now we had
best go downstream a little more and eat.” He
glanced along the river, which, to the eyes of the
Northerners, showed no distinguishing marks at
this point, but which he evidently knew well;
for he added: “The Caño Camani is not far
down, and at its mouth is a good camping spot.
If you do not mind losing a little more distance—”
“Sure. Pile in.”
The dugout filled again. Its paddlers, with a
few strokes, sent it across the intervening water,


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 43
and its master swung himself into the power-
boat, followed by McKay, Tim, and Portonio.
But the Indians refused to enter the infernal
craft which moved without paddle or pole; and
this time León did not urge them. The piassava
rope of the canoe was hitched astern, and as the
launch forged ahead the round-barreled river-
beast began to swim after, her crew squatting
low and tensely clutching the thick gunwales.
With a gentle swish of divided waters, the
strangely mated pair of small craft—one gliding
gracefully with her aristocratic nose in air, the
other wallowing in uncouth ugliness—slid down
the heat-hazed stream. Rapidly they diminished
into the straight vista below, veered around a
bend, and were gone.


CHAPTER IV
THE LEGEND
IN a thinly wooded glade at the junction of the
river and a slow-flowing creek, two small groups
of men squatted on opposite sides of a dying fire.
On the one hand, men of Saxon and Spanish
blood talked and smoked in easy comradeship.
On the other, motionless Indians waited. At the
shore a pair of boats also waited. Whether all
should travel again together, or go their separate
ways, depended on the outcome of the present
conference. -
“We’re up here for a foolish reason,” Knowlton
was saying. “That is, if you call it foolish to do
something just for the sport of it. We three
fellows are the kind who have to cut loose from
civilization once in awhile and see if we can find
something new. Call us adventurers, if you like,
or vagabonds, or just plain fools.”
“Or, perhaps, loco,” put in Loco León, a
twinkle in his eye.
Smiles and a short silence met his reference to
44


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 45
his own sobriquet. Then Knowlton went on as if
he had not spoken.
“Anyhow, we get restless. We’ve knocked
around quite a bit on the upper Amazon, as
Tim said awhile ago, and had about enough of it.
We've traveled into other parts of the world, of
course, but been rather bored by them. South
America seems to be the one region that calls us
back. So here we are, back in South America.
And the reason why we're on your river at present
is this:
“Awhile ago Rod, here, ran across a legend
that down in this region there's a ‘lost white
race'; a bunch of people with white skins, blue
eyes, yellow hair; regular blonds, like you and
me. It seems that this story is two or three
hundred years old, but nobody has ever found out
whether it's fact or fiction. On the face of it,
it's a rather improbable tale, of course; but we
three fellows have been around enough to know
that a story may be absolutely true even if all
the wise boys say it's poppycock. And—well,
here we are, taking a look around.”
León inhaled a lungful of cigarette smoke and
slowly breathed it out.
“I see,” he said. “Your legend said those
blond people were on this Ventuari?”


46 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Well, no. We didn't hear of the Ventuari
until recently. The story was very vague, but
indicated that the blonds were in the mountains a
little north of the Orinoco, near its head. So we
got all the information we could about the
Orinoco, but still we didn’t know much. Then
we decided to travel up the Orinoco and see what-
ever we could. Brought along this speed-boat
for fast travel—we didn’t realize just how rocky
the big river was. If we hadn’t been lucky
enough to get hold of Portonio at Ciudad Bolívar
we probably would have wrecked ourselves in
the rapids higher up.”
“You would.” León nodded emphatically.
“Those raudales kill even experienced rivermen.
San Borje, Caribén—all the rest—are death-holes.
And Atures and Maipures—how did you ever get
so heavy a boat around those long stretches?
The bullock carts there could never carry it.”
“Oh, yes, they did. We had to take her apart,
though: engine had to come out. It was a tough
job to take her down and reassemble twice. But
we made out all right. However, I’m getting
ahead of my story. At Bolívar we asked a lot of
questions about this ‘white race’ up here, and
nobody knew anything about them. Finally one
chap mentioned you. He said you could tell us


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 47
about them if anybody could. So we kept you in
mind—”
“If you please, I should like to know just what
words were used about me. And by whom.”
Again the Northerners looked quizzically at
him. Suppressed smiles twitched the corners of
all three mouths. Through those habitually half-
closed lids the blond Spaniard watched them.
Then Knowlton chuckled.
“Well, if you will have it, old chap, the words
were about like this: “Find Loco León, who
trades in the balata rubber in the Rio Negro
country. He can tell you of more wonders than
are in all the earth.” As to just who said it, I’m
not certain. There were several present at the
time.”
“Ah, yes. And when it was said, all laughed.”
“Well, yes, they did.” -
León smiled again, nonchalant as ever, and
flipped his cigarette stub into the smouldering fire.
“And then?”
“Well, then we asked where to find you, and
Somebody answered: “In the wilds of Guayana,
or the jungles of the Alto Orinoco, or wherever
else the Mad Lion chooses to walk. The Rio
Ventuari is his home—when he is there.” We got
a bit sore then,_thought they were kidding us


48 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
with riddles. But later on Portonio told us that
what those chaps had said was literally true.
“Then at San Fernando we asked more ques-
tions. Rubbermen and others were positive that
no blond Indians were on or near the Orinoco, but
some said they'd heard of such people away up in
the Guayana mountains—where this Ventuari
comes from. So, as I said before, here we are.”
“I see.” The Ventuari man tilted his peaked
sombrero a bit and reflectively rubbed an ear.
“And what do you know about this Ventuari?”
“Nothing, except that it's said to be very rough
in the upper part.”
“S1. Rough indeed. As for these lost white
people, señor—what gave you faith that such
people exist?” -
“Meaning that they don’t exist?” McKay
thrust in. -
The Spaniard smiled, his expression unreadable.
“I have not said so, my friend,” he countered.
“Perhaps they do—perhaps not—quién sabe?
I merely asked a question.”
McKay's eyes narrowed a trifle. But Knowl-
ton answered the question.
“I wouldn't exactly say that we had great
faith in that legend. As I’ve said before, we
were restless; wanted to go somewhere; and this


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 49
t!
W
was a good excuse to come here. At the same
time, such a thing may be possible. For instance,
it's apretty well accepted fact that North America
was visited—long before Columbus’ time—by the
Norsemen; there are even indications that they
made settlements there. They disappeared. It
also may be possible that the Norsemen, or some
other blond people, reached South America, and
haven't died out. If they coasted down North
America and then followed the line of the Indies,
they'd hit South America near the Orinoco mouth.
Then, for some reason or other, they might get
up into the Guayana highlands and, through
force of circumstances, remain there. Nobody
knows to the contrary. In fact, so far as we can
learn, nobody knows anything about what's in
this Guayana territory—a fine large piece of land
full of forests and mountains and rivers, practi.
cally all of it unexplored. In such a place almost
anything's possible!” -
His voice took on a tinge of enthusiasm as he
talked, and under his silky lashes grew the fire
of the dreamer, forever looking beyond the far
horizon for mystic lands: the flame which, cen-
turies before, must have glowed in the souls of
Drake, of Raleigh, of many another adventurer
who journeyed over the rim of the known world


5O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
to seek the unknown—and which still burns, in-
extinguishable, in the heart of many an unsung
rover today. And under the drooping lids of
Loco León, watching him, suddenly kindled an
answering spark. Hitherto he had been weighing
these newcomers, building up his judgment of
them through word and act, through movement
and expression. Now, as he glimpsed the inner
spirit of the other blond and caught its reflection
under the brows of his red- and black-crowned
mates, he ceased to probe; for now he knew
them.
But of this he gave no sign. Coolly he drew
out a roll of tabari bark and stripped from it a
thin sheet; produced a small rubber pouch and
dropped shreds of black tobacco from it to the
bark; rolled the cigarette, licked it, lit it, and
drew a long puff.
“True,” he said then. “In this Guayana
almost anything is possible. I myself have seen
strange things here. How many other strange
things there may be—things which I, living here
for years, have neither seen nor heard—I cannot
guess. It is an amazing land; a land of mystery,
of secrets which no man born outside its hills can
comprehend—yes, of things which even its own
sons do not understand.”


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 5.I
He paused, his glance straying to the four
aborigines. Although they could not hope to
understand the outlandish language with which
he talked to the foreigners, they were listening
intently to his voice, watching him with unwink-
ing attention; four sphinxes, betraying no
thought of their own, but seeking to absorb his.
“There,” he continued, nodding toward them,
“is Guayana. These men are born of Guayana.
I have known them, and their nation has known
me, for years; they are my most trusted men,
and I am the only white man in the world who
is trusted by their race. They will work for me,
fight for me, even die for me, because they know
and trust me so well. Yet they will not tell me
the secrets of their nation. In all the years I
have known them, they have never even told me
their names!
“They have given me names, yes, but they
are Spanish names, every one; not their real
names. You will find it so with all the Indians
you meet here. Few of the Indians of this
Ventuari can speak Spanish; but if by chance
they meet a white man, every one of them has a
Spanish name to give—the few who do know
Spanish give names to all the rest.
“These men are of the Maquiritare nation.


52 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
All this Ventuari country, and the country of the
Rio Caura to the eastward, is the land of the
Maquiritares. All Maquiritares are my friends.
But when I go about in their land, there are some .
places where even I cannot go. The Maquiritares
—these men squatting here, who will do almost
anything for me—will not go into those places
with me. Neither will they let me go there alone.
If I try, accidents happen; my canoe disappears,
my food vanishes, or I fall sick. As soon as I
turn back, the canoe is found again—new food
appears—my sickness leaves me. And I never
learn why I must not go into those spots. My
men will not tell me what is there. They are
utterly dumb.
“That is Guayana. It holds its secrets well.
To us white men—to us who are not of Guayana
blood—it will not give those secrets. And I
know that even to its own sons it does not tell
all. By living among these people I have picked
up a little of their language—not much, for it is a
very queer tongue, but enough to understand
them at times; and I have never let them know
that I did understand it. So I have heard them
talk to one another, and sometimes their talk
º:
º
has shown that there are weird things which ,
they cannot grasp: things dreadful, mysterious,
in
|


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 53
inhuman—I do not know what to call them—
in some parts of this country. Yes, señores,
Guayana is—”
Abruptly he halted, searching the faces of his
auditors. Then he gave a short, hard laugh.
“But these are the ravings of Loco León—
the Crazy Lion—who ‘can tell you of more mar-
vels than are in all the earth’ſ So I shall say no
more.”
The three frowned.
“Oh, say, old chap, that’s not fair,” protested
Knowlton. “What do we care for what those
Bolívar wise-guys said? What we want to know
is—”
“Pardon,” broke in León. “What you want
to know is the truth. Bien. The way to know
the truth is to see it with your own eyes. I may
tell you the truth, but unless you can look on
that truth you may not believe it. Go yourselves
and see what you may. Whatever help I can
give you is yours at command.”
“Thanks,” acknowledged McKay. “You’ve
already helped us out of a rather bad hole, and
we're mighty grateful. If you could get us a
good Indian or two, and give us a little map of
the upper river—”
“If you wish, I will go with you myself.”


54. MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Fine! We certainly do wish it.”
“Bien.” León nodded carelessly. “I am idle
at present—there is nothing to do until the next
wet season approaches and my workers begin
to gather. So —”
“Say, listen, Loco,” begged Tim. “Loosen
up about them blondies, now. Are they real or
jest a yarn?”
“You shall see,” was the noncommittal an-
swer. “Do you know, Señor Ryan, why I am
called Loco León: Because I have told tales of
this land to men who have not seen what I have
seen. They made a joke of my tales, of my name,
—changing my real name of Lucio to Loco. For
the laughter of those town-dwelling fools I care
no more than for the braying of burros. Yet you
men heard that laughter before you met me, and
I have seen that it is still alive in your minds.
And since you are here and may see for your-
selves what is truth, I shall tell no tales to you.”
He smiled again, but his tone was final. The
three probed his face a moment. Knowlton
shrugged.
“So be it,” he acquiesced. “By the way, are
these Indians up above likely to resent our in-
vasion of their country? We’re strangers.”
“I do not know,” the Spaniard admitted.
º
º
8.
* 'll
§


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 55
“Those on the Ventuari itself will make no
trouble, since they will see that you are my
friends. But of those on the side rios and caños
I am not so sure. Some of them are very wild.
And you must understand, señores, that this
country is closed to white men.”
“Oho!” All three sat up a little straighter.
“How's that?”
“Many years ago—perhaps a hundred, per-
haps two hundred—soldiers and Jesuit priests
came up the Caura. They made forts and tried
to ‘civilize’ the Indians. The Indians endured
them for a time. Then, in one night, they de-
stroyed forts, soldiers, everything. And since
that time no men from outside have been allowed
to stay in the Guayana mountains—except
myself.”
“Hm! Sounds interesting,” commented Mc-
Kay, “But we don't want to fight these chaps.”
“Nor do I want you to fight them. That is one
reason why I go with you,” was the candid
response. “The Maquiritares are my best
friends. I want no harm to come to them, or to
you. They are good people when one knows
them, but—they are descendants of the old
Caribs; and, as you may know, when the Caribs
entered a fight it was to the death.”


56 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Tim nodded sagely, again glancing at the four
sphinxes.
“I knowed these gorillas was hard-boiled,” he
asserted. “Missus Ryan's li'l boy ain't goin' to
start nothin’ with 'em, I'll tell the cock-eyed
world.”
León laughed and arose. The others, too,
stood up, the Indians rising as if moved by a
single spring. Portonio gathered up the metal
dishes from which he and his companions had
eaten provisions far more succulent than had
seemed likely that morning. By tacit consent,
all moved to the boats.
A brief bustle of embarkation, a gentle throb-
bing, a subdued swash—and once more the creek-
mouth was empty. The council-fire became a
mere patch of ash. Its work was done, its glow
departed. Yet it was not dead; for its ruddy
warmth had entered now into the red blood of
men, welding those who had been strangers into
a steel-strong band. And that flame was to
burn on, sometimes flaring, sometimes flickering,
but never failing, through many a weird hour to
COIne.
º


CHAPTER V
A STONE IN THE POOL
ANOTHER afternoon sun hurled its javelins of
heat down on the winding Rio Ventuari. Through
its glare glided the incongruously mated pair of
boats.
At the driver's wheel sat Knowlton, peering
steadily ahead through amber goggles, re-
sponding at once to the occasional directions of
Loco León, who lounged beside him. Lolling in
folding chairs behind driver and pilot, McKay
and Tim sleepily watched the passing shores.
Still farther aft, draping his length over the cargo
as loosely as a mere huddle of clothes, Portonio
indulged in the South American's inalienable
fight of drowsing when other occupation lacked.
And at the end of the tow-rope the Indians, their
awe of the devil-boat now somewhat abated,
loafed luxuriously in their master's cabin, en-
joying to the full the miraculous experience of
traveling upstream without work.
As ever, the shores were empty of human life-
or, at least, appeared so. If any spying eyes
57


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 59.
Maquiritares are highlanders, and live always in
the forests. This country along here is more low
and open; there are many sabanas, with forests
along all the streams, and great hills which stand
alone, shooting up and standing like blocks. A
queer land, with queer unknown peoples in it.”
His mouth closed tightly again, as if to hold
back any further information regarding those
mysterious dwellers in a mysterious land. The
Northerners, asking no further questions, covertly
studied him once more. In a way, he was some-
thing of a mystery himself—at least, to his own
countrymen; a man who, though possessing
considerable wealth derived from his balata
business, chose to pass his life in the wilds rather
than in a town. This in itself was so incom-
prehensible to the townsmen of Ciudad Bolívar
(the metropolis of the Orinoco region) that it
was one of the reasons why they called him
"Loco.” To their minds there could be but two
logical reasons for a man to live in this dangerous
hinterland: that he was so keen to make money
from the rubber trade that he was willing to
gamble his life, or that he found it unhealthy to
reside within reach of federal magistrates. To
León neither of these reasons applied; for he was
known to have no great regard for money—


6o MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
though he brought out the best cargoes known in
the entire region—and, since the ousting of the
Castro regime and the assumption of power by
Gomez, he had nothing to fear from the govern-
ment.
Yet, though he was a mystery to Bolívar, it
had been quite apparent that he was well liked
there. At San Fernando de Atabapo, on the
contrary, it had been fully as obvious that the
reverse was true. There, though little had been
said of him, the mention of his name had brought
sinister looks into the eyes of men. In view of
the unsavory reputation of that town, however,
and the recent charges of León himself against
its highest official, its enmity might be con-
sidered almost a compliment to his own char-
acter. The voyagers had already heard that San
Fernando had long borne an evil name; that
recently it had been for years the headquarters
of an army of outlaws; that the rubber-traders
and rubber-workers now composing the bulk of
its population habitually enslaved and mal-
treated Indians in order to get out their balata
crops. With the denizens of such a town Loco
León, honest man and friend of aborigines,
would hardly be popular.
The scrutiny and speculation of the North-


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 61
erners now was not prompted either by distrust
of this self-reliant rover or by failure to under-
stand him. Adventurers themselves, lovers of
the wild places, they felt that here was a kindred
spirit: that the spell of the wilderness held him
inthrall, and that he could no more remain cooped
in a town than could the restless león (puma)
whose name he bore. And, though he refused the
information they asked and was leading them
into unknown dangers, they harbored no sus-
picion of his motives. What they most wished
to know about him was the nature of his ex-
periences in this land where, as he himself ad-
mitted, almost anything was possible. But to
question him further would be worse than use-
less. The set of his jaw made that fact plain.
So they rushed on, covering hourly a distance
which, in a pole-propelled dugout, would have
cost at least half a day of steady toil. Sunset
was at hand when their pilot gave the word to
slow down and prepare to land. As the flow of
power diminished and the up-tilted bow sank
slowly to the surface, a dry creek-mouth became
visible ahead, at the right.
“There,” pointed León, “is the Caño Negro.
On it is my sitio.”
At the designated spot showed no sign of life.


62 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Only the steep-walled gap yawned, like other
dried-up caños seen at intervals farther down.
Yet, as soon as the boats stopped at the opening,
men appeared as if from nowhere: Indians who
emerged from thick brush, grinned at their
patron, and stared at the strange craft and the
strange white men.
“This, señores, is the end of the road for your
gas-boat,” he went on. “A little way above
here are the cataracts, which no boat can pass,
by water or by land. Tomorrow we shall have
your equipment shifted to canoes. Now let us
see what we may find here.”
With that he mounted a slope at one side of
the ravine and led the way inland. Leaving
Portonio to direct the transportation of the
personal kits, the Northerners followed. Along
a narrow foot-track they passed, and across a
flimsy bridge spanning the waterless water-
course, and so to the domicile of their new part-
ner. And there, as the sun plunged below the
horizon and swift night overspread the land, they
made themselves at home.
The wilderness estate of the rover comprised a
small clearing, a half-dozen palm huts, and a
plantation. The houses stood only a hundred
yards from the river, but were as invisible from
^.
*


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 63
W.
º
º
lº!
#
tº'ſ,
j º
A:
(0. :
wº
ſº
}W *
the stream as if they had been miles farther back;
for between them and the Ventuari rose a tall
curtain of trees and brush, pierced only by the
creek-bed and the footpath. The plantation,
farther back, was likewise concealed by a screen
of verdure which seemed mere useless jungle.
Like his Indian friends, Loco León dwelt in
semi-seclusion, leaving at the main stream no
advertisement of his whereabouts. And, like
them, he made his habitation extremely simple.
To the Americans, who had expected a sub-
stantial adobe house, it came as a bit of a sur-
prise to find their host’s quarters no better than
those of an Orinoco peon: a windowless, flimsy
thatch structure, with walls and roof both of
palm-fronds, and only one opening, high up at
the peak, for ventilation and light. In lieu of
doors, burlap curtains hung in the front and
rear portals as partial protection against the
swarming day-mosquitoes. Within, a crude
table and a couple of chairs, with a hammock,
comprised virtually all the furnishings. The
only provision for a night light was a common
kerosene lantern dangling on a palm-fibre cord
above the table.
Externally, four of the other five huts were
identical with that of the master, the walls pro-


64 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
tecting their Indian tenants from the insect
plague. The odd one was without walls: an
open-sided shed, wherein stood a mud fireplace—
useful for baking cassava or roasting game—
and a couple of pole tables on which various
kinds of work could be performed unhindered by
rain. In all, the place was a camp, rather than a
home; a permanent and absolutely masculine
camp. In it was no woman—not even a cook.
The cooking tonight was done by Portonio,
who, at a small clay stove at the rear, concocted
an excellent meal for his señores. When it was
eaten he withdrew, carrying his 'rifle, to the
power-boat, there to sleep as night guard. The
others lounged in their hammocks, slung in
horse-shoe formation from the pole rafters. Save
for the feeble illumination from the lantern, the
room was swathed in shadow. Outside, the
gloom preceding moonrise lay thick.
“A rude, rough place,” León deprecated,
glancing about him, “but one which satisfies all
my needs. If enemies come and destroy it in
my absence—a thing which has happened more
than once—they have burned only a few palm
perreras—dog-houses—which my men can re-
build in a few days.”
“But how about your goods?” inquired


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 65
Knowlton. “You must have quite a bit of trade-
stuff for the Indians when the balata season is
on.”
“Oh, yes. Worth as much as ten thousand
bolívares, sometimes. But you may be sure
that I take good care of that. At a little distance
from here, in three different houses hidden in
thick bush and known only to my trusted men, I
keep all those things. And I keep them under
watch at all times. A few of my boys live in a
small guard-house there, and any stranger who
might blunder into that spot would not be likely
to blunder out again. What is more, I keep here
no Indian who has a woman. There is no such
thing as keeping a secret when a woman has a
way of learning it.”
“So you don’t trust all Maquiritares,” sug-
gested McKay. -
“I trust few men—white, black, or brown—
and no women. Indians are human; some among
them will lie and steal, just as among us whites.
Why not? Should we, the noble white race, who
kill and rob and cheat one another, expect the
simple Indian to be better than ourselves? That
is not sense. Yet the Maquiritare is usually far
more honest than most of the civilized people
who live outside this region. It is against the


66 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
few who are not honest that I keep watch; and
against those other Indians who are not Ma-
quiritares and not my friends; and, most of all,
against thieves and killers from San Fernando.”
“But a woman wouldn’t have much chance to
tell tales here, would she?” quizzed Knowlton.
“You can’t have many visitors in this place.”
“More than you would think, señor. Indians
come and go. Let the father or brother of a
woman living here come to visit, and she would
tell him all she knew. No woman can keep her
mouth shut. And the wilderness has many ears,
my friends. Yes, in this empty land, where there
seem none to hear, a carelessly spoken word may
travel league after league—up the river, along
the caños, across the sabana, over the mountains
—and die only after it has gone north and south
and east and west for hundreds of miles. It is
like a little stone dropped into a quiet pool. It
sinks and is at once forgotten by the one who
dropped it there; but the ripples of that stone
go on and on until they reach the shore.”
There was a silent pause. Then the talk turned
to the affairs of the outer world, and the little
homily on the danger of loose tongues was for-
gotten. Tales of the war began to flow. Tim
had just completed a somewhat indecorous, but


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 67
º
º
sº
º
sº
highly diverting, anecdote of his days in France,
when León's gaze darted to the doorway. Out-
side had sounded a grunting remark and reply.
“Who is there?” demanded the master of the
€State, t
The burlap moved aside. In came a head,
squinting toward the hammocks. A voice
replied:
“Frasco. Men from Caño Tamara are here.
One speaks for all.”
“Bien. Bring him in.” To his companions
León added: “The Caño Tamara is up in the
hills, and its people rather wild.”
The man following the shirted Frasco bore out
his words. Totally unclothed, save for a clout
so tiny as to be scarcely a covering; ear-lobes
thrust through with short sections of cane; hair
hanging to his eyes, which glinted warily at the
lounging conclave; body inclined slightly for-
ward, step stealthy and tense as that of a stalk-
ing jaguar—this fellow was instinct with the
spirit of the wilds.
“I have never seen this man before,” quietly
said León. “He is from far back.” Then, in
Spanish, to Frasco: “He brings no message?”
“No. He and three more travel about. Pepe
met them in the sabana. They stay here tonight.


68 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
They hear three strangers are here. They will
not sleep until you tell this one it is well.”
“Bien. I will talk with him and calm his
mind. He speaks no Spanish?”
“A little. He can understand.”
“It is good.” Aside, in English, he remarked:
“This is one more of the many oddities of this
land: an Indian who, I am sure, has never be-
fore met white men, yet who knows the white
men's tongue. No doubt he has learned it from
some Spanish-speaking Maquiritare.” Address-
ing the newcomer, he declared: “All is well.
These men are of good heart and from a land far
away. Speak now the news of the Caño Tamara
to Loco León.”
The Tamara man made no answer. In his
attitude, however, a slight change was notice-
able—a subtle relaxation from his wary tension,
as the calm voice reassured him. For a moment
he keenly surveyed every face before him. Then
his gaze returned to León.
“I have asked him too big a question,” said
the latter, “in asking for all news. It will take
many small questions and answers to bring it out.
If it wearies you, I will send him out and talk
further in the morning.”
“No. Go ahead,” said McKay.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 69
*
tº
m:
T;
Deliberately León began, making inconse-
quential inquiries. The visitor replied, at first
curtly, then with a little more detail—though
always slowly and haltingly, as his command
of the Spanish language was decidedly limited.
Before long the others lost all interest in the
trivial conversation and let their thoughts go
roving to other matters. McKay and Knowlton
yawned. Tim, on the other hand, grew restless.
Saying nothing, he arose and sauntered door-
ward; drew aside the burlap, looked out, and
found the clearing lit by the moon, which now
was rolling up from behind the trees. He stepped
through the portal and stood a minute con-
templating the clear sky and the shadow-
streaked earth. Then, walking aimlessly, he
strolled away among the other huts.
As he approached the open shed, figures sud-
denly materialized beside the mud furnace;
forms of men who, hitherto squatting almost in-
visible in the shadow, had abruptly started up.
Tim halted short. Then, noting that two of the
five wore shirts, he resumed his easy stride. In a
minute or two he paused again beside a corner-
post, grinning at the silent quintet.
“Hullo,” he greeted. Getting no answer, he
3 53
repeated in Spanish: “Buen' noche’.


7o MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
A grunt answered.
“Tamara?” he pursued, nodding toward the
three unclothed men.
“Sí,” answered one of León's retainers. “These
are of Tamara.”
“Uh-huh. Speak Spanish?”
“One does. A little.”
“Bueno. You can sleep without fear, amigos.
We are friends. Your comrade now gives news
to Loco. All is well.”
One of the three rovers—all of whom, Tim now
perceived, grasped spears or bows—slowly as-
sumed an easier position. The other two, not
understanding, maintained their suspicious readi-
ness until a shirted Maquiritare said something
in monotone. Then they also stood more loosely.
With another grin, Tim strolled onward.
After a few steps, however, he slowed, his
lids narrowing shrewdly. Over his shoulder he
asked in a casual tone:
“How many days to the place of the blancos
puros—the pure whites—the blondos?”
“Twenty days,” replied a voice.
Tim's eyes glistened. A chuckle of exultation
rose to his throat, but he swallowed it. In the
same casual tone he remarked:
º
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MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 71
i;
4.
#
lſº
lº
ſº
“Good. Then we shall be there before an-
other full moon.”
No answer. He walked on, inwardly rejoicing,
and swung around in an apparently unchosen
circle, heading back to the house. He did not
observe that the five aborigines had looked at
one another with widening stares, nor pay any
attention to the fact that they now were talking
in low but excited tones.
As he reentered the house, León glanced at
him, then at his drowsy partners. With a short
smile, he arose and ended the uninteresting talk.
The Indians filed out. León himself walked as
far as the door, where he stood a minute with
head outside, looking over his peaceful domain.
Tim snatched his opportunity.
“Hey, fellers!” he whispered. “I got the low-
down about them blondies. They’re real! I
jest asked an Injun, sort of off-hand, how far it
was to the blanco puro country, and he says
twenty days.” -
A quick look and a swift grin passed between
Knowlton and McKay. Neither spoke. When
León returned he found all three, with faces
expressionless, undressing preparatory to donning
pajamas,
Presently the light was blown out, and within
|


72 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
the house sounded only the breathing of five
resting men. Outside, in the open shed, four
more men—the naked rovers from the Tamara—
hung their hammocks and lay down in them.
The pair of Maquiritares who had kept them
company withdrew to another hut, muttering
as if something troubled them. In all the
clearing of the Caño Negro moved no human
figure. It was the time for sleep.
But, after a time, those four men reclining in
the shed sat up again. They looked and listened;
put their heads together; talked in short
whispers. Then spoke the oldest, in a low tone
of decision.
“The time has come. Loco León has walked
our ways alone. It was well. Now he brings
strange whites. It is not well. The word must
go to the Talking Mountain. It must go fast.
It must go now.”
Swiftly, silently, they took down the light
cotton nets, wadded them tight, slung them on
their shoulders; picked up spears, arrows, bows;
crept out into the moonlight; filed way toward
the dark forest, beyond which lay the open,
rolling savanna; and were gone, noiseless as
flitting ghosts.
Into the vast pool of mystery which men call


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 73
Guayana had dropped a tiny stone: a few care-
less words spoken by a flame-haired stranger.
And now, unseen and unsuspected, the ripple
was stealing away across the silences, creeping
steadily and surely into the shadowy Unknown.


CHAPTER VI
A SNAKE IN THE TRAIL
THUNDERING over a precipice, the river Ventuari
plunged in white fury down a long bowlder-
bordered chute between steep jungled hills.
Then it smoothed out and flowed in a sweeping
curve away around a bend. Beyond that turn
it hissed resentfully as it encountered the blunt
bows of two dugout canoes forging doggedly up-
ward against its strength. Finding its resist-
ance futile, it slid away behind them and let
them go their way.
Within those two slow-moving craft traveled
fourteen men, all light of skin. Ten of these
were at work: eight long-shirted Indians wield-
ing lengthy but light poles, with occasional shifts
to paddles; the other two holding the honored
position of steersman. The pilot of the first
boat was an Indian; of the second, Portonio.
The remaining four were McKay and Knowlton,
Tim and León, paired in separate canoes, and
lounging against cargoes of equal size covered
by tarpaulins. Over them arched no cabins.
º


74


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 75
Until they returned down the river they would
not again see such comforts.
The speed-boat, which recently had kicked
the leagues behind it with such contemptuous
ease, now had vanished from the waterway. Up
a narrow, deep, twisting and almost invisible
caño it lay hidden, half a mile above the settle-
ment of León; and there, moored by a long
chiquechique rope which would allow it to rise or
fall with any change of water-level, it would
await the return of its masters from the fierce
waters where it could not go. Within it, pro-
tected by a snugly tied canvas cover from rain
and any prowling creatures, remained all super-
fluous equipment. Now their outfits consisted
Only of personal kits; a couple of army locker
trunks containing photographic, medical, and
similar supplies; food and matches, arms and
ammunition. Since Loco León had volunteered
his services and those of his men, all other
articles had become unnecessary; and even these
might, at least in part, be cached at some point
higher up. It was a foregone conclusion that the
upland of Guayana was no place for the trans-
portation of excess baggage.
León himself carried only a change of clothing,
a machete, a hammock, a lantern, some smoked


76 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
peccary and cassava, his rifle, and a goodly
supply of .44 cartridges. Of these blunt bullets
he seemed to have a plentiful store despite the
rigid laws of Venezuela, and to Portonio he had
given a couple of boxes as casually as if merely
tendering a cigarette. That stalwart riverman
now sat with his new-found San Fernando gun
between his feet, where he could glance down at
it occasionally in quiet joy of possession. As for
the other rifle—the one taken from dead Tito by
the Indians—that was now reposing in one of
León's secret houses at Caño Negro. He had
coolly taken it from the Maquiritare who first
seized it, and that man had made no protest.
For some reason of his own, the master of the
Ventuari did not allow his retainers to possess
rifles. The only weapons which they now brought
with them were machetes, stiff brazilwood bows,
five-foot cane arrows tipped with steel, and a
long Maquiritare gun—this firearm being a
single-barreled muzzle-loading shotgun of small
gauge, useful only for killing birds at short range.
Steadily the two hollow logs breasted the cur-
rent, crawling upward foot by foot as the polers
swung and pushed and stooped with rhythmic
sway. Around the curve they swam—and the
listless passengers sat up straight, peering at the


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 77
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white water beyond. The newcomers still were
watching its savage rush when their canoes
grounded at a sandy shore and León arose.
“The first of several little obstacles which you
will meet,” he remarked, with a wave of the
hand. “The cataract of Equencua. We now
must take to the broad highway and walk.”
Tim scowled at the dense tangle of timber
blockading both the shores above, while the
Other watched him quizzically.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “I’ve traveled them
broad highways before now. If they're real
broad they're most a foot wide; otherways,
about four inches. We ain't tenderfeet, Loco–
not after muckin’ round in the swamps over east
o' the Andes. We’ve walked where there wasn’t
nothin' to walk on half the time. Let us git one
toe-nail onto that road o' yourn, and ye can't
lose us.”
The rover nodded, looking well pleased by the
red man's sturdy self-reliance, and stepped out
on the sand. All the others debarked, and the
Indians began removing cargo.
“What did you call this place?” asked Knowl-
ton. t
“Equencua. An Indian name. The Indians
of our country, as you perhaps know, make their


78 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
manioc—or cassava—from poisonous roots
which are grated and then squeezed in a long
narrow basket, pressing out most of the poison.
That basket is called ‘equencua'. So, because
the hills here narrow and squeeze the river to-
gether to drop over that cataract, the Indians
have named the place Equencua, or Squeezer.”
“Hm! And yet some folks say Indians have no
imagination.”
“I know. It only shows that they do not know
the Indian. But let us go, friends. We have
spent much of the day in reaching here, and we
had best move on to the upper port. I have there
a shed where we can sleep.”
The Indians, without orders, were already
dividing among themselves the articles to be
portaged, which they laid in cylindrical pack-
baskets with broad bark tump-lines—all except
the two most muscular fellows, who were to
transport the twin trunks on their heads. The
Americans slung on their shoulders small but
heavy-laden rucksacks—containing, among other
things, rolled-up web belts with holstered pistols
attached thereto—and followed their leader,
Portonio, his rifle snuggled in the crook of an
arm, loitered behind, keeping a watchful eye on
the Maquiritares to make sure that nothing was
§
§
§ |


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 79
overlooked or neglected. Tim, glancing back,
chuckled.
“Hey, looey, lookit Tonio,” he prompted.
“Notice how him and that gun are glued to-
gether? Git the way he stands, and the way his
hat's canted over one eye—much as to say: “I’ll
tell the cock-eyed world any gorilla that wants
trouble can come and git it!” The lad can handle
himself, I bet.”
The others looked, smiled, and plodded on.
With the acquisition of that rifle the stalwart
riverman had, indeed, taken on a new air of self-
reliance: an assurance wholly devoid of arro-
gance, yet tinged with that cool confidence
marking the natural gunman when armed. Here-
tofore only a quiet subordinate, now he was
virtually a comrade in arms.
While the leaders trudged away across an
apparently pathless jumble of rocks, sand, and
driftwood, he remained until the canoes were
securely tied up and the pack-baskets and
trunks hoisted into place. Then, as the Indians
lined out toward the cataract, he trailed in the
rear, gun swinging loosely in one brawny fist,
eyes roving in casual but all-seeing surveys of
ground and trees, after the fashion of a veteran
wilderness traveler.


8o MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Before long the loosely joined column had
entered a foot-wide path which squirmed along
the slope among thick timber. At once the air
cooled, and the mosquitoes magically vanished.
With the disappearance of the stinging pests the
Indians halted, unslung packs, stripped off their
shirts, wadded them up as head-cushions; took
up their burdens again, and resumed their
progress. Attired now in nothing but small red
clouts, carrying their jungle weapons with
habitual readiness, planting their ground-grip-
ping feet in true jungle style—one foot directly
before the other in a straight line, instead of with
the slight right-and-left irregularity character-
istic of dwellers in more open lands—they were
metamorphosed as subtly as Portonio; changed
from semi-civilized boatmen to noiseless crea-
tures of the tropic forest. Tim chuckled again
as he viewed them.
“Begorry, this feels like ol' times,” he asserted.
“Marchin’ along in the bush, not knowin' jest
where we're goin’ and not givin' more'n half a
dang, with a gang of Injuns trailin’ us. Boats
are bokoo jolly and all that, but they ain't like
the ol' shanks' mare. Hep! Hep! Git-that.
step! Here comes the Yanks!”
And with that he lifted up a raucous voice that


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 81
!
dominated the tree-muffled roar of the cataract
in a burst of song.
“We're the infantree, the infantree,
With the dirt behind our ears!
The infantree, the infantree,
That laps up all the beers!
The cavalry and artillery
And the bloomin’ engineers—
Say, they couldn't lick the infantry
In a hundred thousand years!”
As that stentorian howl tore through the
rumble of the waters, Loco León and his Indians
stopped dead; the Ventuari man squinting back,
the Maquiritares staring ahead, at the vociferous
songster. Knowlton turned his face skyward and
voiced the long-drawn, lugubrious bays of a
hound. McKay laughed aloud, the sound of his
mirth being drowned, however, by the discords
of the other two.
“Caramba! What is the matter here?”
demanded León, as the uproar ceased.
“Nothing,” was Knowlton's sober response.
"Tim had a bellyache and I had an earache.
It's all over now. Proceed.”
The Spaniard, after catching McKay's twink-
ſing eye, proceeded. His pace now was almost a
double-time, and after a few rods of maintaining
the new gait neither Tim nor his partners had


82 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
breath to spare for vocal efforts. Nothing
further was said—except that Tim muttered
something to himself about “guys that ain't got
no ear for music,” and the Maquiritares passed
back one word which made Portonio snicker.
Had he heard and understood that word, the red-
headed man might have been wroth; for it was
“areguato”—the Indian name for the big red
howling monkey, than which no other tropic
animal voices yells more atrocious. -
The trail, despite windings, and a few sharp
pitches at the beginning, was quite direct and
showed signs of much use. Fallen trees en-
cumbered it at intervals—prone trunks of mora,
ceiba, or other giants so hard or huge that no
attempt to clear them away had been made;
and around these the path detoured through
thicker going, where an occasional macanilla
palm presented fearsome thorns to wound a
carelessly swung hand. Along the narrow aisle
drifted rare and beautiful butterflies. Overhead,
with soft whistles of alarm, a troop of broad-
tailed marimundos—resembling great squirrels—
went leaping away among the branches as the
dreaded humans were spied. All around stood a
labyrinth of tree and bush and woody cables,
through which the blazing sun penetrated so
%
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*:
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 83
weakly that the shadowy air was wondrously
cool.
The muffled thunder of Equencua diminished
to a growl, to a grumble, to a murmur—and died
out. León held to his rapid stride, passing on-
ward without sound save for the rustling of leaves
touching him on either side. The Americans, a
bit short-winded after their recent inactive voy-
aging in boats, were breathing hoarsely now, but
keeping close behind. Suddenly he stopped.
“Cuidado! Culebra!” he warned. “Take
care! Snake!”
His rifle darted to an aim. At the same in-
stant a dark streak shot straight at him from
under a fern, dead ahead. It failed—by inches
only—to reach his feet. With blurring speed it
twisted itself again into coil. During that infini-
tesimal interval the rifle-muzzle jerked down-
ward to a new aim. A shot crashed—León
leaped aside—a writhing form tumbled about in
a whorl of blue smoke.
“Ajo!” he breathed. “That was close!”
Close, indeed; for only his swift, sure shot had
saved him. The big bullet, shattering the reptile
a few inches below the neck, had left the head
intact, and as that head grew motionless its
Venomous flatness testified to its deadliness.


84 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Though the body still squirmed, its approximate
length could be gauged—nearly ten feet. Its
color was a bluish green, with blue-black patches
along its back: a hue blending so closely with the
shadowy forest growth as to make it virtually
invisible to the sharpest eye.
“A daya,” explained its slayer. “The worst
snake in our country, for it is not only poisonous
but vindictive. It always attacks. It will some-
times follow a man in order to attack him.”
“Pleasant little playmate to meet in the dark,”
commented McKay.
“Very.”
León drew his machete, cut off the head, and,
impaling it on the point, cast it far to one side;
then heaved the body after it. As he cleaned
the blade by shoving it repeatedly into the soil,
an Indian called:
“What is it?”
“Traga venado,” coolly lied the Spaniard.
“A small one, asleep by the path.” -
The Americans gave him an odd look. They
knew that the traga venado (deer swallower) was
the land boa, non-venomous and marked much
differently than this deadly reptile. But they
said nothing. León turned away, and the march
was resumed.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 85
Presently they emerged into sunlight. In a
gap amongst the greenery, perhaps ten yards
wide, stood a pole-framed, palm-roofed hut.
Beyond, in what seemed a rocky creek, lay
moored three dugouts. Mosquitoes appeared—
though not in such swarms as below the cataract.
León walked into the hut and waved a hand
toward the rafters in mute invitation to hang
hammocks. The Indians, coming on with in-
creased speed, hastily doffed their pack-baskets
and donned their shirts, through which the short-
jawed insects could not bite. To the stings on
legs, hands, and faces they gave no attention.
Hammocks were triced up, and a fire built out-
side, where Portonio laid aside his rifle and once
more became a camp cook. The Indians, drawn
by the magnet of fire, squatted mute and expres-
sionless around it. Then said León, with a look
toward the canoes:
“You now have passed the first barrier,
friends. Up to Equencua any man can go—with
a good boat and good luck. Beyond this fall no
man can go, unless men of Guayana lead the
way. Here is a maze of islands and rocks and
rushing currents, where a stranger can lose him-
self forever. You will see more of this part
tomorrow.”


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 87
those Tamara fellows. They lit out bright and
early this morning.”
“I have wondered a little myself,” admitted
León. “Usually such visitors like to linger for a
day or more. But one never can tell what those
wild ones are thinking. Perhaps they were un-
easy about remaining near so many white men.
Quién sabe? My own men know only that they
were gone before anyone else arose.”
They smoked on, while the sun climbed the
trees and the little gap became a pool of shadow.
Beyond, the waiting dugouts swung at the ends
of their ropes, nodding to one another as if shar-
ing some secret of the savage old river. Beside
the fire the Indians, who had overheard that name
"Tamara,” glanced cornerwise from face to face;
then, their brown eyes inscrutable, gazed word-
less into the smouldering flame.


CHAPTER VII
THE BLACKENED MEN
FoR two days the oddly assorted expedition
toiled upward through a welter of rocks, reefs,
and rapids, following tortuous channels wherein
snarling white waters fought to hurl it back on
jagged fangs of stone. On every hand stood
islands, varying in size from small bare domes to
sizable expanses heavily jungled; and from all
sides, as the canoes stubbornly nosed their way
onward, new brawling currents lunged in to at-
tack them. As León had said, the river now was
a maze: a wide, bewildering raudal where the
stream divided into a crazy network of tumbling
creeks and brooks and little falls, among which
no stranger could have picked his course.
Progress was attained only by poling in the
brief smooth stretches and by hauling and heav-
ing in others. For much of the time the Indians
were overboard, some bracing themselves on
spurs of stone ahead and tugging at the ropes,
while the others, waist-deep astern, shoved the
ponderous craft upward and forward to clear the
88


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 89
serrated edges of submerged dikes. Meanwhile
the señores picked their way as best they could
along the rubble at the sides, reentering the
canoes wherever it was practicable to ride a few
rods before again disembarking.
As they had done below Equencua, they jour-
neyed with two canoes, the third one available
at the upper port having been left at its mooring.
Those with which they now traveled would in
turn end their voyage below the next cataract,
beyond which still others would be used. All
these boats, and others besides, were the prop-
erty of León, whose balata business and personal
activities along the river necessitated the main-
tenance of a number of floating craft at different
strategic points.
About midafternoon on the second day a
rumble from upstream became gradually louder
as the boats advanced. The second fall was at
hand. Unlike Equencua, however, it was not
visible to river travelers; for between the chan-
nel and the precipice intervened a tall-timbered
point, and the raging white water rushing around
that point would have hurled to destruction any
canoe approaching it. This, León said, was the
cataract of Oso—the Bear.
The two dugouts crawled along near the right


90 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
shore, turned in at a creek-mouth where the
water lay smooth and still, and, a few rods in-
land, grounded on mud. Beyond stretched the
rocky bed of the creek, now dried up: a steep-
banked ravine nearly overarched by the far-
reaching branches of the bordering timber.
“Now we walk again,” announced their guide,
leading the way to a faint footpath angling up the
left bank. After a few minutes of climbing a
stiff grade amid cool shadows, the column
emerged into blinding sunlight and an expanse
of rolling savanna thinly dotted with stunted
trees. So unexpected was the widening of the
view that the Americans, who for weeks had
traveled between the confining walls of river
verdure, exclaimed with pleasure. And when,
reaching the crest of a hillock, they found spread
before them a broad panorama, they halted to
gaze.
Far in the distance towered stark mountains
of sheer rock, veiled by a thin blue heat-haze,
yet unable to conceal their harsh seams and their
saw-toothed outline. Their bases were invisible,
being masked by an intervening expanse of
hills whereon grew a solid sea of trees. Near at
hand lay the open savanna, burnt yellow by the
pitiless heat of the dry time. The river had


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 9I
vanished, flowing somewhere below the eye-
level in its perpetual covert of shore-timber, and
nowhere in all the far-flung countryside showed
the tiniest glint of water, Nor in the snow-white
clouds drifting slowly across the intensely blue
sky was any hint of rain. Harsh and hot lay the
land—yet, with its bold colorings and its masses
of forest and mountain, savagely beautiful under
the sun. And out from the heights blew a lusty
breeze, dry, invigorating, which the men on the
hill-top inhaled in great breaths while they
looked abroad.
For a time they stood wordless, contemplating
the wide land wherein moved no other white
men. Then Knowlton unslung his rucksack,
drew out a camera, adjusted a ray screen to cut
the distant haze, and, with a tiny click, recorded
the scene. When he had rolled the film they
moved on.
As they moved, so moved the clouds, floating
upon their way as the men crept along theirs.
And when, presently, those men entered another
belt of forest and lost sight of the wide reaches,
one of the ever-changing clouds lengthened it-
self into a thumb and smeared out the brilliant
sun. At once the light was gone from the face
of the savanna; the jungled reaches became dull


92 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
green lagoons, harboring nameless creatures of
the shadows; the far mountains turned into the
dark, ugly teeth of a trap lying open, awaiting its
prey. Guayana, the siren, had smiled bewitch-
ingly at the adventurers while they paused to
look upon her. Now that their eyes were blinded
once more, the smile had become a menacing
grin.
Down along a winding path filed the voyagers,
to emerge ere long in a partial clearing where trees
stood untouched by steel or fire, but where all
bush had been cut away. There stood a palm
hut closed on three sides, the fourth open toward
the river, only a stone's throw beyond. There,
too, several dugouts floated at the water's edge.
The muffled thunder of the cataract now sounded
below, instead of above, and the river had be-
come once more a river instead of a maze; a
rock-studded, growling stream, but still a united
body, not a brawling chaos. As the newcomers
stepped to the edge to survey it, the cloud-
thumb overhead swung away from the sun, and
the Ventuari became again a playground for
diamonds of light–dazzling, dancing, luring the
men again to her treacherous bosom, as the land
had just beckoned them onward with its se-
ductive smile.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 93
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“I like this here river, even if it does fight ye
all the time—mebbe that’s why I do like it,”
declared Tim. “D’ye notice, fellers, the skeeters
ain't nowheres near so thick up here? And
Say, lookit them big cherries over in that canoe!
Looks like a whole pail of 'em. Oh boy! If we
only had some Manhattan cocktails to go with
'em, now, we'd be set up right.”
He strode over to the dugout, which, unlike
the others, lay untied, partly hidden by pro-
jecting tree-roots. From its curved bottom he
lifted a big gourd full of luscious-looking blood-
red fruits.
“Cherries?” puzzled McKay. “Never heard
of cherries in Venezuela. León! What are
these? And how did they get here?”
Portonio, lounging near, spoke before the
blond Spaniard; but his word conveyed no
meaning to his employers.
“Sehi,” he said.
León, approaching, gave one glance at the
gourd, another at the canoe, a third at the trees,
as if seeking someone there.
“Sehi,” he echoed. “Fruits of the assehl
palm. But — This curial is not mine.
Frasco! Men are here who left their curial and
sehi. Go and find them.”


94. MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Frasco and his companions came first and
looked at the canoe, at the fruits, and, narrowly,
at the gourd. This large calabash bore near its
rim a wavy line of faded red paint, with a number
of blackish dots,
“Maquirital,” asserted Frasco. “Caño Cer-
batana.”
Without taking their weapons, he and his
mates scattered into the grove, moving like men
sure of what they would find.
“Maquiritares from Caño Cerbatana—the
Creek of Blowguns,” repeated León. “That is
only three days above here. Two or three men
have cruised down on a hunt, perhaps, and,
seeing several white men coming with guns, they
slipped into the woods yonder. They are not
fond of showing themselves.” A peculiar smile
flitted over his face, and his gaze lingered again
on the blood-red palm-fruits, as if they had some
connection with the shyness of the Cerbatana
men. “While we wait for them to come back,”
he went on, in an odd tone, “let me show you
something new in the way of a drink. It is not
the cocktail for which you wished, Señor Tim,
but it will quench thirst much better.”
With that he stepped into his house, took from
some spot overhead a metal basin, came out,
***


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 95
dipped up some water, and, taking from Tim the
gourd, returned to the interior and fell to work.
Rapidly he pulped the fruits in the water, crush-
ing them between his palms with a rolling mo-
tion, then squeezing the bruised mass into the
basin. When he desisted his hands were dyed
red, and so was the water into which he had
pressed the pulps. Then, while Portonio held the
calabash, he strained the sinister-looking liquid
through his crossed fingers, holding back a useless
residue of stones and skins. Casting these back
into the pan, he took the gourd and its crimson
drink. -
“To you, señores—Salud!” He bowed, and
took a swallow from the primitive bowl. Then
he passed it to his fellow blond, Knowlton.
"Drink of the sehi, which is good for many
things: to quench thirst, to purge the body, to
grow hair, to oil guns, to burn in lamps—and,
sometimes, to drive men mad.”
“What?” ejaculated Knowlton, abruptly low-
ering the gourd after nearly tasting from it.
“To drive men mad?”
“Sometimes. But this will not do so. Neither
will it burn—as it is. It can be made to do all
those things when rightly prepared. Now it is
only a harmless drink. Try it.”


96 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Knowlton eyed the stuff dubiously. Then, re-
calling that the host himself had drunk from it,
he raised it again and took a taste; considered
it a few seconds, and imbibed more heartily.
“Not so bad,” he approved. “Rather a queer
taste, but— Try it, Rod?”
McKay, expressionless, downed a capacious
mouthful and passed it on. Tim scowled at it;
then muttered, “Wal, it can’t be no worse than
some o' the hooch I’ve lapped up since prohibi-
tion hit the States,” and gingerly sampled it.
Portonio calmly drained the remainder and licked
his lips.
“Guess you were joking, weren't you, about
the madness in that stuff?” asked Knowlton.
“Or can it be fermented into a murderous form
of booze? I’ve heard of Indians making some
horrible brands of hooch that drove 'em crazy.”
“No. It is neither a joke nor a liquor, señor.
The only intoxicating drink used by these people
—and then only when they have one of those
mysterious dances of theirs—is the yaraqué,
made from fermented cassava and powdered
yaraquero leaves; and it is not violent. But
this sehi-”
He broke off, his head turning toward the
woods, whence now sounded an almost inaudible


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 97
tread of bare feet. His men were returning, and
with them came strangers. León glanced keenly
at the latter, then nodded as if seeing something
he had expected.
“These men of the Creek of Blowguns have
drunk the sehi once too often,” he concluded.
“Look well at them.”
Approaching shyly, yet without the tense wari-
ness of the wild rovers from the Caño Tamara
who had visited the Spaniard's headquarters,
came three unclothed Indians, each carrying a
different weapon: bow and arrows, long lance,
and ten-foot blowgun.
“Huh! Niggers!” remarked Tim.
León made no reply. The eleven aborigines
came on and halted, the light-skinned ones grin-
ning as if their companions were comical, the
three dusky ones smiling slightly at León, whom
they evidently knew. The Northerners scanned
them sharply, seeking signs of the lunacy indi-
cated by León's statements. They detected
none. The brown eyes under the banged black
hair were intelligent, mild, devoid of any hint of
insanity. Their faces were gentle and expressive,
their features remarkably good; their physiques,
too, were slender and graceful, and their stature
above that of León's retainers. In fact, they


98 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
would have been considerably more handsome
than the others but for one all-pervading dis-
figurement—their livid skins.
Those skins were repulsively unnatural. At
first sight they seemed to be, as Tim had said,
those of negroes. Now, however, it was plain
that they were not. The men were blackened,
rather than truly black; their dermal pigmenta-
tion was not a solidly even duskiness bestowed
by heredity, but a fine-grained, faded discolor-
ation which looked filthy—as if they had been
smeared from head to foot with a black paint
which had been weakened, but not removed, by
bathing. Moreover, their features were not in
the least negroid. They were not only truly
Indian, but Maquiritare Indian, in all save their
color.
These points the men from the North observed,
and on their brows gathered thoughtful frowns.
They noted, too, the jeering-grins of the other
Maquiritares, whose skins were so clean and
clear. And they perceived that the blackened
ones were well aware that they were regarded
with derision by their own countrymen, and that
they showed no resentment; rather, they stood’
with the patient air characteristic of unfortu-
nates long accustomed to ridicule.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 99
“What ails these fellows?” demanded McKay.
Instead of replying, the Ventuari man spoke
in Spanish to the dusky ones.
“Why are you so black?”
A long pause. Then, with the weary intona-
tion of a man explaining something well known,
the tallest answered: “Yucut' 'sehi.”
“Ah. And why did you drink the sehif”
No answer. The three livid faces lost their
good humor. The other Maquiritares laughed
aloud. -
“You cannot make yourselves light once
more?”
A short headshake. The three began moving
toward their canoe.
“Do not go,” León added quickly. “I ask no
more questions. Stay and eat good rice and fish.”
They hesitated, then turned back, mollified.
“Bueno. We stay,” acquiesced the spokes-
man. And in token of their trust of León they
leaned their weapons against a tree and squatted
at its base, unwinkingly regarding the newcomers
in their land, who still watched them.
“Now that you have heard from their own
lips, señores, that it was the sehi which made
them what they are,” the Spaniard said, “I will
explain. Among these people it is possible to


IOO MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
blacken a man's skin, as these are blackened, by
giving them sehi to which other things have been
secretly added. The yucuta sehi is a dainty dish
to the Indian—yucuta being manioc in a gourd
with water or other liquid, and yucuta sehi being
the same manioc in the sehi drink. Now observe
that these men once were handsome—and still
would be, if their skins were not spoiled. Any
Indian girl would look at them with admiration.
So their own women have made them hideous for
life by giving them the blood-changing, skin-
changing stuff in a gourd of those palm-fruits.
No other girl will want them now. Indeed, all
Maquiritares laugh at such men; they are jokes,
because they have been trapped and tricked by
women. They do not even live with other Maqui-
ritares, but in a small paragua—a tribe-house—
of their own, on the Caño Cerbatana—which is
a poor creek and full of mosquitoes. Nobody
lives there except these, and the women who,
made them what they are, and their children.”
There was silence for a full minute. The
Americans searched his face, finding there no
levity; studied the branded trio again; and
stared at one another.
“Gee cripes!” blurted Tim. “And they're
like that for life? And—did ye say crazy, too?"
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY IOI
“No. These are not crazy. But—suppose a
man—a white man, say, very handsome and
proud of himself—should be turned black like
these, made unable ever again to mingle with
white people— What would be the effect on his
mind?” -
“Do you mean that such a thing has happened
here?” asked McKay.
León did not answer at once. Thoughtfully
he regarded his questioner, as if debating some-
thing within his mind. When he did reply, it
was with a true Spanish evasion.
“Quién sabe? Who knows what may have
come about in this land of strange things? I was
only asking you what such a trick would do to
such a man.”
“He’d go nutty,” conceded Tim. “He’d have
to live with niggers, and it’d break him. Lots o'
fellers have killed themselves for less’n that.
Urrgh! Nice pleasant ol' river ye’ve got here,
with its nigger poison and— Say, I s'pose that
blowgun there shoots them same poison darts
they use on the Amazon, don’t it? Wurali poison,
that kills ye if it jest scratches yer hand?”
“The same, señor, although we call it curare
here.”
“I knowed it!” The red man's groan was


IO2 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
dismal. “That stuff makes me stummick turn
over. I thought I was through with it for life—
and here I am again, amongst poison cherries and
poison darts and poison everything. The minute
I git into South Ameriky I find somethin' like
that. Do all the Injuns round here use that
shootin’ poison?”
León nodded. Tim turned away. Reckless in
the face of most forms of danger, he yet possessed
an unconquerable aversion to anything poisonous
or insidious, and now he wanted no further reve-
lations for the time. The Spaniard, too, walked
houseward, giving his men orders for various
things to be done before sundown, now close at
hand. McKay and Knowlton remained where
they were, Portonio silently loitering near. And
the black men squatted motionless, wordless,
steadfastly regarding the strange beings from
another world.
“Well, if you see it it's so,” mused Knowlton,
“We see these three black crows sitting all in a
row, and they’re so. But I wonder why our
friend yonder dodged your question about crazy
black-white men?”
“I wonder,” pondered McKay.
And, with little frowns of thought and formless
surmise, they stood gazing up the mysterious river.


CHAPTER VIII
TOLL
THE three black men of the Creek of Blowguns
remained that night at the Oso camp. The next
morning, when the expedition resumed its ascent
of the river, they accompanied it in their own
canoe. And for the ensuing three days—until
the mouth of the Caño Cerbatana was reached—
they traveled always a little behind; silent,
sombre, trailing the invaders of their country
like dusky ghosts of the Carib warriors who,
more than a century ago, had massacred soldier
and priest and closed the land of Guayana to
intruders.
In all the journey they seldom spoke and never
smiled. The patient good nature which had
been theirs when they first emerged from the
Woods seemed to have vanished over night. Not
that they had turned sour or become menacing;
their attitudes were as mild and self-effacing as
before; but they were grave, almost grim, in
their inscrutable quiet and their ceaseless sur-
veillance. *
O- IO3


IO4. MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
On the first evening they squatted until supper-
time—and later—watching every movement of
the Northerners, listening to the sounds of their
voices, reading their faces as best they might.
Then they withdrew to a leaf-roofed lean-to
under which their lighter confreres slept; and
if they asked their countrymen questions about
the newcomers, the latter never knew it. From
that time onward they maintained the same un-
obtrusive but unending watch over the two canoes
ahead. At night they camped at the same spots
as the whites, though always at a respectful dis-
tance. At meal-times they accepted, as a matter
of course, a share of the manioc and dried fish
forming the staple diet of León's men; but they
always ate a little apart from the rest, taking
their common portion in their large gourd and
then squatting a rod away to devour it. And
when the swift darkness deepened they vanished
into it, to be seen no more until morning.
To the few questions of Loco León they an-
swered briefly. They had seen no other men
along the river; the hunting was fair; their
people were well. That was all they had to say—
and that only to León. To the outlanders, who
addressed a few tentative remarks to them on the


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY Ios
first day, they made no response whatever.
Thereafter the visitors left them to themselves.
By contrast with this sable, solemn trio, the
Maquiritares who propelled the two leading
boats seemed all the more fair of skin and light of
heart. They now had become accustomed to the
presence of the new white men; and, in battling
with the river, they were in their element—
fighting against the crafty old torrent which they
had known since childhood, defeating its treach-
ery by greater cunning of their own. The com-
bat seemed to exhilarate them, bringing to the
surface the innate joy of conflict which, in quieter
moments, was hidden beneath their impassive
exteriors. The more wicked the raudal con-
fronting them, the more spirited their attack;
and when it was conquered, they turned shining
eyes on the Northerners and laughed like boys.
Then, with smooth water ahead, they cooled
into their former reserve, exhibiting no more en-
thusiasm until they met the next barrier. If the
blackened men following felt the same joyous
excitement in pitting their strength and strata-
gems against the powerful currents they did not
show it. -
The travel now was deceptively dangerous;
deceptive, because the river was more silent than


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 107
watch of the activities in the water, it was
noticeable that the color of the aborigines virtu-
ally matched that of the Venezuelan riverman—
who, though swarthy, was indubitably white.
“I wonder,” Knowlton suggested once, when
León was not close at hand, “if those fellows
themselves aren’t the legendary “white race’
up here. They're as white as Portonio—almost.
Suppose León's giving us a fine wildgoose chase?”
McKay shook his head.
“Those black fellows down yonder are niggers
—almost,” he countered. “But they’re not
niggers. No more are these chaps white men.”
“And them Tamara guys said there was real
white folks twenty days up,” reminded Tim.
The blond Northerner said no more.
As they mounted, the heavy forest on the
banks became interspersed with open spaces
where stood only stunted, scattered palms along
shore, with no trees of any kind beyond them.
Scaling the steep slopes to look around, they saw,
across this savanna region, mountain masses.
Everywhere rose those barriers, surrounding the
open lands like grim guardians watching over
solitudes wherein, by some mysterious decree, no
man might make his home. And when, presently,
a high bare hill was met and climbed for a broader


Io8 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
sº
view, the sullen opposition of Guayana to white
invasion and settlement became all the more
evident. To east and north and south the
jungled heights stood close-packed, invulnerable,
barring all ingress save by such creatures, animal
or human, as were born to their secret passes,
Only at the west was visible a gap on the sky-
line; and it was through that gap that the river-
following adventurers had come and must re-
turn—if ever they did return from the sombre
labyrinth waiting beyond.
“There ends the sabana,” said León, pointing
toward the dense array of green giants at the east,
“After we reach that point you will see nothing
but the selvas—the forests—and the people of the
shadows.”
The people of the shadows! A peculiarly apt
expression, this, which lingered long in the mem-
ories of his auditors; a descriptive phrase meant,
perhaps, only to indicate that the inhabitants of
those selvas lived in leafy shade, yet suggestive
of some interpretation more ominous, indeed,all
the more sinister because groping fancy was free
to attach to it whatever unpleasant meaning
arose to mind. Too, the silent dogging of those
dusky Cerbatana men gave a foreboding tinge to
the cryptic words. Were there, perhaps, more
º
*:
º :
*
º:
*i;
is
ºl
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY IO9
such black shadows as they in the gloomy depths
of the unexplored forests ahead?
When, on the third day, those funeral trailers
drew aside into the mouth of a caño at the left
and León turned to wave a casual farewell, Tim
quickly asked: “Is this the limit for them guys?”
And when León simply replied: “That is the
Caño Cerbatana,” his canoemate breathed deep,
as if a load had been lifted.
“Faith, now I can set up straight,” he said;
and he did so. In answer to the Spaniard's quiz-
zical glance, he went on: “I dunno why, but I’ve
been feelin' more comfortable when somethin'
solid was against me back, these last three days.
Some way I never feel right when a guy with one
o' them blowguns is behind me. Oh yeah, I know
these ginks are friendly and all that, but jest the
same— I don’t like them poisoned needles for
a cent, Loco. When one of 'em's behind me I
git kind o' clammy betwixt the shoulders.”
León nodded without comment, but appar-
ently with perfect understanding. Quite likely
he, too, had experienced that chill along his spine
more than once in his career.
In the other dugout Knowlton was admitting
a somewhat similar feeling of relief, though his
reason was different.


I IO MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Adios, you tar babies,” he remarked, without
raising his voice. “And I don’t care if you never
come back. Rod, I feel as if we'd ditched a jinx.
Those three chromos of tough luck have been on
our trail so long they were beginning to drag on
my nerves.”
The blackened trio themselves gave no word or
sign of farewell. For a few minutes they held
their boat at the mouth of the forested creek,
watching the white men go their way. When
next those whites glanced back they had van-
ished.
For the rest of that day, and for half the next,
the party toiled onward in open country. Then,
at a sharp angle of the stream, tall forest shot
up on either side. The river still glared with the
intense light of the midday sun, but to right and
left hovered the dimness of the verdant woods.
The wide vistas were gone, and before the roving
eye lay only a short reach of the ever-turning,
ever-narrowing Ventuari, with its next raudal
snarlingly awaiting the approach of the invaders.
And it was here, on the threshold of the land of
perpetual shadows, that a son of that land passed
into the shadows for all time.
So short was the rapid and so slight the drop
of the miniature waterfall that the Indians—who


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY III
gave to such spots the contemptuous name of
“raudalitos”—asserted their ability to slide
canoes and passengers through, instead of land-
ing the latter to walk along shore. At a number
of similar small barriers they had already done
this, and the present obstruction was no worse
than those previously passed. Therefore the
white men retained their seats while the Maqui-
fitares, standing on underwater segments of rock,
essayed the feat. The first dugout, carrying
León and Tim, made good the passage. The
second did not.
Just as it tottered over the verge and the half-
submerged Indians were straining in the final
shove, someone slipped. The boat swung. In-
stantly the current seized its advantage, throw-
ing itself vindictively against the quartering side
of the ponderous craft, which had been meeting
it bow on. Portonio, standing in the stern and
pushing with a pole set against a rock behind,
found the tough wood bending like a reed. Then
it snapped. A simultaneous gasping grunt from
the Maquiritares—a short, hoarse cry of agony
—the dugout was hurled backward.
Three of the Maquiritares, swept away with
it, instinctively retained their holds on the gun-
, Wales. The fourth, crushed against a grim gray


II 2 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
bowlder, collapsed and slid limply down in the
Current.
Bumping, cracking as if about to split asunder,
half swamped by triumphantly leaping waves, the
boat wallowed back through the welter, somehow
refraining from complete capsize. Before it was
fairly free of the white water McKay and
Knowlton leaped overboard, throwing themselves
toward the inert body of the crushed canoeman.
Together they reached him, seized him, and
struck out shoreward.
Swept into smooth water, they swam slant-
ingly across, carried down by the speed of the
flow, but unharmed. Meanwhile Portonio,
thrown headlong into the stream, came up and
battled his way to the bow; seized the long rope,
pulled it overboard, and, with the end in his
teeth, cast himself loose again and swam for the
nearest rock. To him the fate of an Indian was
nothing, the fate of his boat everything. Reach-
ing his objective, he got a firm foothold on the
stone, twisted the rope about his hands, put forth
his vast strength, and halted canoe, baggage, and
Indians in the teeth of the current. And he
remained there, a straining Hercules, until the
Maquiritares drew themselves hand over hand
up the taut rope and joined him. Then they


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY II3
hauled up the water-logged dugout and swung it
in to shore.
A low, smooth stone at the foot of the bank
formed the death-bed of the Indian borne by
Knowlton and McKay. Breathing hard, they
drew themselves and their burden out on the
rock; and there, after one glance, McKay
panted:
“No use. Smashed to pulp. Gone.”
But the victim was not yet gone. His lids
fluttered open. His agonized gaze passed over
his rescuers, fastened on Knowlton. Into his
graying face came a look of supreme effort. From
his mouth burst a red stream. Then, in a gurg-
ling whisper, came words.
“No-montañ’—habl’—no—muert’—”
Another red eruption. A brief struggle. He
was dead. -
“No-mountain—speak—no—death—” me-
chanically translated Knowlton. “Meaning
what?”
McKay shook his head. They turned their
eyes upstream, watching the landing of the
others. Beyond the raudal León had brought his
boat to the bank, and as soon as it was tied he
and the others came cutting their way along the
top. The Maquiritares of the ill-fated canoe also


II 4 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
came as quickly as they could. Only Portonio
remained behind, more concerned with bailing
and setting things to rights than with viewing a
dead man.
Around that lifeless figure the other voyagers
clustered in silence. León, sober-faced, stooped
and made a brief examination; then, rising again,
gestured up the bank. The Indians, unspeaking,
dug footholds and formed a line up the stiff slope,
and from man to man the body was lifted to the
top. There, preceded by a couple of machete-
men and escorted by the rest of his comrades, the
victim of the raudal was borne away into the
forest.
For a little time the four below remained on
the rock, while the sun dried out the wet clothing
of McKay and Knowlton. León said nothing,
but he was manifestly grieved by the fate of his
faithful employe. At length McKay, without
preamble, disclosed the unintelligible warning
voiced by the man now gone.
The Spaniard frowned and stared blankly at
the water, obviously as much in the dark as his
companions. N
“It means nothing to me,” he slowly said,
“We are going into mountains, but I do not
understand— Those words might mean several


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I I5
º
different things, and none of them makes sense
to me. And why should he speak of the moun-
tains? I have not yet told my men that we go
there. They know only that we go to Uaunana–
a tribe-house on the Ventuari, where I am well
known and well liked. Perhaps he was trying to
say montañés, not montañas—people living in
mountains. But all the Maquiritare nation lives
in mountainous country, so that means nothing.
Or perhaps he meant—Oh, quién sabe? There is
no answer to the riddle.”
“Where are those mountains?” quizzed Mc-
Kay.
“Mountains are all about us, friend. But the
ones I mean are at the south; eight days south
on the Rio Periqueta, and some days farther by
land. I have never been there. It is one of the
places where I am not allowed to go.”
“Oho! Forbidden ground!” exclaimed Knowl-
ton.
“Si. But until this moment none but myself
has known that I plan to go there. My men still
do not know it. So why, in the devil's name,
should poor Curro have warned us against
mountains? Bah! It was no warning. His
mind wandered. “Hablo–no—muerte’ meant


1 16 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
‘I cannot talk—death takes me', and the other
words were nonsense.”
Turning, he moodily clambered up the bank.
The others followed. Among the shadows be-
yond, nothing was visible. In single file they
moved up toward the boats. The warning which
was no warning was dismissed from their talk.
But it was not dismissed from their thoughts as
well. Each eyed the river and the sombre depths
beyond with frowning brow. Perhaps, as León
had said, the dying man's mind had been de-
ranged, and the sons of Guayana knew nothing
of the white men's goal. Yet those white men
felt that old Guayana herself knew, and that she
had begun to take toll.


I 18 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
new obstruction with due watchfulness to their
footing. As for Curro, he was dead and there
was an end to him, so there was no use in talking
about one who no longer existed; such was their
philosophy. The white men felt much the same
way, both as to Curro and his last words. Those
words had been once discussed, and no satis-
factory explanation of them had yet occurred
to anyone. Yet they arose time and again in
the minds of Northerners and Southerner alike,
and their effect was not cheering.
“I don’t want to do no croakin', fellers,” Tim
declared at the next night stop, “but them omens
that Loco was talkin’ about, back yonder, don't
look so good. First there's that snake in the
path; and then them three poisoned guys
trailin' us like Ol' Man Hard Luck; and then
this thing today, and that warnin’—ye can't tell
me it don't mean nothin', Loco. A feller busted
as bad as he was don’t talk jest for exercise;
unless he's got somethin’ mighty important on
his mind he don’t say a word. But gittin' back
to omens, d'ye mind how many of us there is now?
Thirteen!”
Slow nods concurred. Knowlton, however,
laughed shortly.
“Feet getting chilly?” he derided.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I 19
“Not much. When ye see li'l Timmy Ryan
droppin' out with frozen toes it'll be in a colder
place than this. I’m jest sayin’ the same things
that all you guys are thinkin’.”
“True enough,” agreed León. “We all are
thinking of those things. And if you would like
to turn back—”
“Rot!” snapped McKay, his back stiffening.
So decisive was his tone that the Spaniard
chuckled softly and said no more. The next day
the thirteen resumed their dogged journeying.
As ever, their course was obstructed by rauda-
litos; and steadily, imperceptibly, the forest on
either hand crept nearer, as if the banks were
gradually closing on prey which they would
presently crush to nothing. Yet no further mis-
fortune befell. And now Guayana dangled be-
fore the seekers of the lost white race a lure to
draw them on; for the seemingly empty wilder-
ness began to show infrequent indications that
behind its baffling curtain lived men. Caught
among snags lay a cracked, useless shell which
once had been a good curial. At a creek-mouth
stood a small pole hut roofed with withered
plantain leaves—a ranchería, or landing spot for
Indians during the low-water stage when the
caño itself was unnavigable. On a large low rock


I2O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
where the travelers lunched were found fish-
bones, feathers, and dead embers of a cook-fire.
Of the men who had used these things there
was neither sight nor sound along the waterway.
And, though it was quite apparent that on some
of the creeks were human habitations, the canoes
held to their course, León stating briefly that
side trips here were not worth while.
Two days after leaving the savanna, however,
the boats turned into a caño at the left, stopping
at an ancient-looking ranchería, from which a
thread-like path led away into the jungle. Above
that caño and beyond a big bend in the river, the
Spaniard explained, was a long and absolutely
impassable raudal, named Monoblanco; and
around that death-hole all men must detour by a
forest trail. -
“Good enough!” yawned Knowlton. “I’m
sick of riding. I want to stretch my legs again.”
“The legs will be stretched, never fear,”
smiled the Ventuari veteran. “This is no stroll
like that around Equencua. It is a hard day's
march.” Casting a reflective eye at the laby-
rinth around, he added: “This is the place where
I had it in my mind to leave everything we can
spare. We must come by this way when we re-
--
§
*


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I2 I
#.
gº
gº
t!".
turn. And beyond here we must carry no use-
less weights.”
The Americans, after studying the heap of
duffle put ashore by the Indians, acquiesced.
“Good idea to have a general overhauling
here,” said McKay, “and find out whether that
crack-up in the raudal damaged anything by
water. If so, we’ll chuck it. Better boil down the
outfit to absolute essentials, anyway.”
They went to work, sorting over the contents
of trunks and pack-sacks; and almost immedi-
ately they made a discovery which evoked wrath-
ful remarks. The top of a supposedly air-tight
tin, containing all the spare batteries for their
electric flashlights, had worked open somewhere
between the Caño Negro and the man-killing
raudalito, and enough water had sneaked into the
can to ruin all its contents. A test of the torches
themselves showed the light remaining in them
to be very weak; another day or two would finish
them. So, perforce, they abandoned the nickeled
cases here, to rely henceforth on the single weak
lantern of the Spaniard. With considerable
anxiety they inspected their supply of matches
and the ammunition, and it was with vast relief
that they found these well-nigh vital reserves to
be unharmed.


122 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
*
While his comrades proceeded with their work
of inspection and selection, León superintended
the construction of the cache. A short distance
from the path, atop a little hillock, the Indians
built a stout pole table. On this finally were set
the trunks, half the remaining cans of food, and
whatever else could be dispensed with for a time.
Within the trunks were left all the photographic
chemicals, as León suggested that pictorial
opportunities would be comparatively few during
the succeeding days, and the films exposed could
be kept undeveloped for some time without appre-
ciable deterioration. As for food, a new supply of
cassava could be laid in at the Uaunana settle-
ment above here, and sufficient game would un-
doubtedly be met to furnish necessary meat. He
himself left most of his rice, which seemed to be
his mainstay as travel provender. Over all was
fastened a poncho; bushes were bent down and
cunningly tied to conceal the table more thor.
oughly; and on the ground were strewn sections
of bristling macanilla bark, its myriad black
thorns lying point upward, as a discouragement
to prowlers. -
This done, the travelers slept in the old ranche-
ría; and the next morning they were off on their
march. Before it was done, León had more than


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I23
º
kept his promise to stretch the legs of his boat-
weary companions. -
At the start, the Indians took the lead, the
Spaniard trailing behind them at the head of the
civilized contingent. As they progressed, the
wisdom of this became increasingly apparent;
for not only was the trail so dim as to be hardly
visible, but it was beset by traps. Not actual
traps in the usual sense of steel or logs or pits,
were these, but cunning false trails, the deadli-
ness of which speedily became evident to the
jungle-wise eyes of the former Amazon rovers.
The land was a maze of steep hills, dense forest
and bush, and myriad streams flowing crazily
along the snaky ravines; and it was at these
streams that the snares were laid. No bridges
crossed them; the path invariably led straight
to them, broke off abruptly, and, actually or
seemingly, recommenced directly opposite, on
the farther shore; but fully half of these con-
tinuations were blind leads which faded out a
few yards beyond—all the more deceptive be-
cause of the fact that other such openings were
real. No eye unfamiliar with the entire route—
not even that of a jungle Indian, if he was a
stranger to this secticn—could have followed it


I24 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
without confusion; and confusion meant com-
plete and hopeless loss of all bearings.
The Maquiritares, however, picked unerringly
the false from the true. Where those deceitful
lures lay so invitingly plain, they turned sharp
to right or left, wading up or down the crooked
watercourses until they passed around an abrupt
turn; then they went ashore at some spot where
the trail hid behind a bush, or where a rock or an
old blow-down revealed no trail at all. In-
variably a couple of strides beyond the bank
revealed the true path once more, but at the edge
itself was visible no sign.
“By cripes!” panted Tim, after struggling up
over a bleached snag at the tenth such con-
cealed entrance. “These guys ain't sociable!
With all them man-killin' places down river to
buck against, ye’d think they might leave a
decent path along here for fellers that lived to
git this far. But this lay-out would trip up the
divil himself.”
“That is the desire of these people,” responded
León. “To trip up any devil of a white man who
may chance to come so far—or any brown devil
of a Guaharibo. Those Guaharibos are savage
beasts from the south who come northward at
times to kill and rob. And as for white men—l


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I25
have told you that this country is closed to
them.
“Once, for instance, a man from San Fernando
came here, trying to reach the Rio Caura and so
go to the lower Orinoco. He was fleeing to escape
enemies who were hunting him in the San Fer-
nando region. He reached this spot—and van-
ished. Indians coming overland by this path
heard him screaming in the forest, lost and mad.
They did not go near him. They left him to
scream and rave and die, because they knew he
must be some white man. We may be within
ten feet of his bones at this minute.”
The others glanced with narrowing eyes at the
bewildering thicket hemming them in. Truly,
those bones might be even nearer than León
suggested, and still be unseen. So might their
own lie for centuries if they should meet with
mishap here. Among these steep slopes, sinuous
streams, tangled growths and deluding paths, a
whole party could disappear as irrevocably as
one man, without the slightest hostility by the
Maquiritares themselves. The menacing jungle
itself was their ally. About it hung the dank-
ness, the clammy chill, of a tomb. Rain had
passed in the night, and now, though the eastern
sun was spraying its beams through all the leafy


126 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
interstices, from the high branches still fell a
monotonous drip, drip, drip of cold moisture.
The tongue-like foliage brushing against them
as they walked, the squirming vines, the long
dangling lianas, seemed merciless creatures
stealthily reaching to enmesh them and suck
their life-blood. Inscrutable, implacable, the
forest brooded and waited for its invaders to
slip, to stray, to fall and perish in its clutch,
It waited in vain, for the moving chain crept
on—up slimy clay hills where hands seized trees
and feet dug for holds, down precipitous slants
where the bare-heeled Indians slid and stumbled,
along the sides of other sharp grades—climbing,
dropping, wading, winding, but never losing a
link, never going astray. At noon it halted a
little while beside a cool, clear cañito—a little
creek—to rest, eat, drink, smoke. Then onward
it wound until late afternoon. In all the trav-
erse was heard no sound of beast or bird save
one heavy rush among the bushes—a tapir, per-
haps—and a toucan yelping somewhere in "the
branches like a scared, miserable puppy calling
for protection from nameless horrors.
At last, abruptly, the party debouched into a
tiny opening where a dilapidated ranchería
leaned awry. Beyond seemed to lie another


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 127
i
ravine—a wide one, densely timbered on the
farther side. On approaching the edge of the
drop, however, the Northerners found below
them a smooth but swift stream, at the edge of
which floated a cracked dugout. At first sight it
appeared to be only a broad caño. But the speed
and power of its flow, coupled with the presence
of the canoe, prompted the conclusion that it was
the river itself, grown much narrower above the
long raudal. And so it was.
“Are your legs sufficiently stretched, señor?”
asked León, himself hollow-eyed from the
strenuous march. -
“Quite,” admitted Knowlton. “In fact, nearly
wrenched loose from the hinges. That con-
founded boat-riding made 'em soft.”
“Just so. Mine are much the same way, and
for the same reason. But we shall all be stiff
enough tomorrow.” With which satiric comfort
he eyed the old boat, then added: “As it hap-
pens, we must rest for a day or two here. That
curial is useless for our purpose, and there is no
other nearer than Uaunana. So we shall lie here
while four of my boys go to Uaunana for better
canoes.” - -
“How long will that take?” asked McKay.


128 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Not more than a day and a half to go and
return. We shall be at Uaunana in three days.”
The others looked askance at the unattractive
hole in the forest where they now stood, but made
no comment—except Tim, who vouchsafed the
declaration that he was game to lie in his ham-
mock a week without a kick, and forthwith pro-
ceeded to have that hammock hung within the
ranchería. The others likewise made their pre-
parations for the night. Followed a bath at the
edge of the water and a donning of dry clothes; a
patching of the roof by some of the Indians,
while the others slipped away into the bush on a
hunting trip; a cooking by Portonio of the best
food remaining for his señores, and a broiling by
the Indians of the meat they brought in for them-
selves—a spidery yellow monoblanco monkey,
an agouti, and a number of small black tree-
toads; then darkness, silence, and sleep.
At daybreak the Indians were up, and, after a
quick breakfast, four of them bailed the suicidal-
looking canoe and nonchalantly started away,
stroking rapidly with the banjo-shaped paddles
brought overland from the lower port. The
message they carried was succinct and imperative:
that Loco León and three other white men, his
friends, came to visit Uaunana; that these men


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I29
were of good heart; that the best canoes must be
sent at once for their use, and a house made ready
for them. º
After the departure of the paddlers, the rest
gave themselves up to a lazy day which, after
their recent toil, was far from unwelcome; for
the muscles of the white men were as stiff and
lame as the Spaniard had predicted, and the
work-hardened Maquiritares themselves seemed
sluggish. In the afternoon, however, inactivity
became monotonous, and all except Portonio—
who remained as camp guard—went hunting.
The resulting bag was small; but the stiff legs
were limbered up and the dull languor replaced
by healthy fatigue. Then again came night.
“The men have reached Uaunana before now,”
said León, thoughtfully, “and perhaps they have
started back, for I told them to travel with all
speed. It is not likely that they will try to come
on after dark; the moon now is very late and
weak. Yet perhaps we had best hang the
lantern near the edge and let it burn.”
Two or three hours slipped past, the lantern
shining bright amid the dense gloom enshrouding
forest and shore. High over the river, thousands
of stars gleamed in a marvelously clear sky,
dropping a faint radiance to the water; but be-


I 30 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
neath the trees lay only blackness. At their end
of the dusky ranchería the Indians slept, two in a
hammock, deriving mutual warmth from each
other's body. At the other end, the men of the
superior race lay wakeful, Tim yarning away
about the war—a topic which always interested
León. But all at once both Venezuelans turned
their heads riverward. Tim hushed and listened.
For a moment all was still. Then came faint
sounds as of guarded voices, a muffled bump of
wood on wood, a slight swashing noise, a rustle
among bushes—all vague, and all from the other
side of the stream.
“A curial. But not our men,” León said softly.
“They would have shouted and come to the
light. Make no moves. We are out of sight,
53
and
He paused, listening again. McKay, holding a
lighted pipe, covered its red coal with one hand.
The rest lay motionless. From across the river
came no further sound.
Minutes snailed away, the listeners hardly
breathing. Then the stillness was shattered by a
harsh yell that made every man jump.
“Loco León!”
León made no answer for a moment. The
voice rasped again—loud, impatient, ugly.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I31
“Loco León!”
“Sí,” acknowledged Leon, speaking calmly and
clearly, “Quién es?”
The reply sent a chill shuddering up the spines
of the tense men in the hut. It came in tones
frightful with madness and a howl of horrible
laughter.
... “Death! Death! Black death! A dead man
walking in the night! A dead man without a
face! A corpse crawling on the water! Yah-ha-
ha-ha-ha-ha!”


y
CHAPTER X
A DEAD MAN walks
IN the momentary hush following that ghastly
yell from the dark, Tim Ryan and Portonio
Mariño involuntarily made an odd movement.
Veterans, both of them, of many a weird ex-
perience in mysterious jungles, hard-headed and
irreligious, fearing few things known or un-
known, yet they now crossed themselves as if
confronted by a fiend.
, McKay and Knowlton, born to a different
creed, gave no such acknowledgment of faith in
powers celestial or infernal; but they, too, be-
trayed misgiving, for they started up, muttering:
“Good God! What is it?” The Indians, roused
from slumber, shrank against each other at the
sound of the maniacal laughter. Only León
remained apparently unmoved.
Into the minds of all—except, perhaps, the
blond Spaniard—had leaped the thought of the
lost man who, with mind wrecked by despair, had
wandered screaming through this grim forest
until silenced by some unknown doom. Æid
I32


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I33
*:
now—“a dead man walking in the night! A
dead man without a face!” Cold sweat broke
out on drawn brows, and dilated eyes stared to-
ward the mockingly useless lantern beyond which
nothing was visible,
León spoke again—and, in speaking, revealed
that he was not immune to the nerve-strain
gripping the rest of the company; for in his voice
was a slight quiver. His words, however, were
as calm as before. ,
“Good evening, White,” he called, in English.
“Come to this side and talk. Here are country-
men of yours—three men from North America.”
A silence. Then a harsh, chuckling laugh.
“Huh-huh-huh! Fools! More fools coming to
lose their faces! And you too, Loco–you're
gonel Right now, you fool—you're as dead as
I am! Your time's up! You're through, like
those idiots with you! Five dead men now—
Black White and Loco León and three more!
Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
The wild mirth rang loud and high, then ceased
abruptly. Dead silence hung heavy along both
the unseen shores. Even the tree-toads, which
had twittered and cheeped ever since sundown,
were stricken voiceless. At length León replied,
his tones cool and controlled.


136 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Bunk!” scoffed McKay. “You, there! White!
Will you come over here, or do we have to come
and get you?”
A wild shriek of laughter was the retort—a jeer.
ing ululation that rang eerily among the trees.
“Come and get me?” howled the voice. “Hah,
yes! Come and get me! Ya-ha!”
“Blah-blah! Ye yeller-bellied fish!” erupted
Tim, his previous dread giving way to anger at
the sneering tone. “Show yer ugly mug in the
light if ye’ve got any guts, instead o' yowlin'
there like a banshee! What ye scairt of? We
won't hurt ye. Come acrost like a man, even if
ye ain't one!”
An instant of ominous silence. Then—
Smash! Crack!
The lantern shattered. A gunshot snapped—
the keen report of a high-powered rifle. Instant
darkness fell. And from that darkness roared the
voice, savage now with rage.
“Man? I’m a better man than you and all
your gang! I'll fight the whole damned pack of
you! Come on, all of you! Shoot it out with a
dead man! A dead man walking in the night!
Yah! Hah! Fight, you yapping puppies! Show
your faces! Fight, you—”
A torrent of epithets and taunts followed, ter-


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 137
|W.
[[][...]
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tſ:
"#.
ſº
º
f
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pº
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minating in a screech and another shot. The
bullet smacked into a tree beside the hut. With
muttered exclamations, the Northerners—and
Portonio as well—groped for their rifles. But
León intervened.
"Señores!” he warned. “If you fight that man
you are no longer my compañeros. He is mad
-loco-twisted in the brain. Let me handle
him.” Raising his voice, he went on: “White!
Go your way. We go ours. There is no fighting
between us. Do no more shooting, unless you
wish to throw away bullets. We are behind
trees.”
A wordless, mumbling growl floated back.
After a minute or two came another chuckle—
°ntemptuous, sneering, more biting than a curse.
"All right. Lie there on your bellies and hug
the ground. Mouth-fighters! Huh huh huh!
You'll get yours! You'll get plenty! Arrrgh!”
Not another sound drifted across the water.
Time dragged past. Within the hut passed mut-
*red remarks among the whites, hoarse whispers
*mong the Indians. Without, the toads resumed
their bird-like twittering. At length León sank
back in his hammock, deftly made a cigarette,
*nd, without attempt at concealment, lit it. The
'gnited match seemed to cast a wide illumination,


138 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
and its flare could hardly have failed to catch
any watching eye. Yet it evoked neither shot
nor voice from over the river.
“Cut it out!” admonished Tim, his old army
inhibitions instinctively hostile to the telltale
light. “Want to make us targets?”
The Spaniard, with mocking deliberation, held
the tiny torch a second longer, then carelessly
dropped it. After a long inhalation of smoke-
which he drew deep into his lungs as if his nerves
clamored for it—he coolly replied:
“There is no longer anyone over there. Our
friend has gone.”
“Yeah? Jest flew away, huh, without flappin'
his wings or nothin’? Fat chance! If he's human
he's got to go back up river, and he can’t do that
without some thumpin’ and splashin’—”
León arose; walked to the edge of the bank,
where the star-sheen now made the water visible;
lit another match, and held it until it burned out.
From the farther side came no noises. Obvi-
ously the river now was empty.
“They have simply floated away downstream,”
he said, returning. “The raudal is half a mile
below here. They can go ashore before reaching
it.” -
“They?” echoed Knowlton.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I39
#.
t #
º
º
ſº
tiſſ
1.
tº
"Yes. He has paddlers, of course. And if they
are his regular men, they have rifles. And Black
White's men can shoot.”
"So can we,” retorted the ex-lieutenant. “But
who and what is this Black White? Evidently
he's an American, and crazy as a coot. But how
- What do you know about him?”
The Ventuari man did not answer at once. He
smoked awhile, the repeated glow of his cigarette
dimly reflecting from his narrow-lidded eyes. At
length he replied:
"Much. And yet little. He came here, some
years ago, from your United States, to explore
along the Rio Caura and learn its resources for
some North American company. He strayed over
into this Ventuari country, and—he was not wise.
He was a very handsome man, señores, and accus-
tomed to trifling with women. He trifled with a
gid of the Maquiritares, and— Do you remem-
her those black men of the Caño Cerbatana?”
A pause.
"Good Lord! You mean— The girl turned
him black?”
"Just so, señor. And, as I have said, he was
Very handsome, and very proud of it. When he
fºund himself repulsive his brain cracked. He
has never left these hills, and never will. He


I4O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
allows none but Indians to see him. When he
told you that it was death to look at him, he
meant exactly that. He will kill any white man
who sees him. And when you told him to come
and be looked at—when you jeered at his ‘ugly
mug'and called him no man—señores, you might
better slap a tigre in the face than use such
words to Black White. It was more cruel than
to taunt a blind man about his blindness, and
also much more dangerous: a blind man cannot
strike you, while Black White can and will.”
“All of which you might have told us before
we met him,” countered McKay. “As for strik-
ing, let him strike. He'll get a come-back.”
“And as for telling him to come over here, the
first one of us who did that was one Loco León,”
reminded Knowlton.
“That is true, señor. But I did not tell him
to come into the light. He could have talked
to us from the bush, unseen. He knew what I
meant. I have talked with him in that way
before.”
With that he turned away as if a bit nettled
And not another word would he speak concerning
Black White.
“Wal, as far as that ‘ugly mug” stuff o' mine
goes, the guy had it comin' to him,” rumbled


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I4I
#!
§:
sº
Tim. “He said he didn’t have no face at all.
Cripes! D'ye s'pose that's so! S'pose he's
clawed his face off in one o’ his spells? Or —”
“Oh, for God’s sake, shut up!” protested
Knowlton. “I’ll be crazy myself if you keep up
that line of talk. Pipe down! Let's talk sense or
nothing. Better nothing. For all we know, that
nut is ashore on this side and sneaking up on us.
The less talk the better.”
“Right!” McKay agreed. “We’ll stand guard
the rest of the night. It's now —” He peered
at his luminous-numeraled watch. “– It's
nine-thirty. I’ll take first trick. Merry, second.
Tim, third. Now dry up, everybody, and sleep
with your mouths shut.”
He found his rifle and took post at a corner.
The others, with weapons close at hand, lay
down; but it was long before any of the white
men slept, for through each mind kept racing
facts and fancies not conducive to rest. Portonio,
least imaginative of the five, was first to sink
into slumber. The rest dropped off one by one.
As for the Indians, they had given no sign of
wakefulness after their master's match-lighting
had proved there was no further immediate cause
for alarm.
For three monotonous hours McKay stood his


I42 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
watch, motionless save for an occasional change
of posture. To his ears came only the usual
scattered sounds of the tropic night—sometimes
weird and unexplainable, always unhuman.
Half an hour after midnight he stepped to
Knowlton, prodded him lightly, muttered “All
well,” and relaxed in his hammock. Three
hours later Knowlton woke Tim in the same
manner, and the Irishman took up the futile
vigil. In all those long hours no sight or sound
of lurking danger came to any of the three,
Dawn. Tim yawned, turned his back on the
forest taking shape in the half-light, and voiced a
'stentorian bellow.
“Ro-o-oll out! Rise and shine, ye hammick-
huggin' galliwampuses! Day's here, and yer
scalps are still on yer cocos. Shake a leg and
make some coffee for the poor ol' soldier!”
At the impact of his voice every man started
awake; stared blankly an instant; then relaxed,
or arose and stretched.
“I hope, señores, that you spent a pleasant and
amusing night?” twitted León, grinning at the
three sentinels. “I slept most soundly.”
“Glad to hear it,” was McKay's dry retort.
“I had an interesting time thinking about things,
One thing I thought about was this: I'm tired of
*- :


I44. MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
loosened up, we may as well tell you in return
that we've known for some time that there are
such people.”
“How did you learn?” The Spaniard's eyes
were suddenly sharp.
“Easy,” Tim boasted. “I jest asked them
Tamara guys down at yer headquarters. Twenty
days travel, they said.”
León stood very still, a startled expression on
his face.
“The Tamara men,” he repeated, slowly.
“You asked them! And they went —” He
paused, a frown furrowing his brow. Then he
shrugged. “Bien. It is done. So we go on and
see what we may see.”
“Yeah! And we’re goin’ to see the whole
works while we’re here, feller. Turn this here
country wrong side out and look at its gizzard.
That's us. And that there warblin’ cuckoo of a
Black White—we might see him yet, too. Here's
hopin'. I want to git close to that guy once.”
Before anyone could answer, the shadowy
forest itself gave a startling reply. Came a rapid
series of soft impacts—the sound of something
darting through air and striking leaf-tips in its
flight—then a small but solid thump. Tim


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I45
§:
§
r #!
|
started; then sprang around. Something had
dealt him a stinging blow between the shoulders.
“What the divil’s that?” he gasped, throwing
a hand behind him to feel the smitten spot.
Then his eyes dropped, and he grunted in
mingled amazement and relief. On the ground
lay a rifle cartridge.
“Gee cripes! Somebody's heavin' whole cart-
ridges. And, begorry, it's a thirty, or I never
handled a Springfield!”, .
He pounced on the conical cylinder of brass
and nickeled lead, glanced at it, threw it behind
him to the others, and crouched with rifle up and
eyes searching the misty maze beyond. A barely
audible rustle sounded; but no sway of bush-
branches was visible. The faint sound died.
McKay, catching the cartridge, gave it one
look and held it toward Knowlton and León.
As Tim had said, it was of .30 caliber.
“The guns of Black White and his gang,”
León said, in a quiet tone, “are thirties. While
you have watched all night for him without seeing
him, he has come here and stood almost beside
you; stayed as long as he liked, heard what he
waited to hear—and now has gone again. It is
his way.” >
He had hardly finished speaking when the


146 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
jungle corroborated his words. From some point
not far off, yet some distance from the spot where
the thrower of that missile must have stood,
broke a shriek of receding, blood-chilling laughter.
“Yah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Blind! Blind! Fools!
Yee-he-he-ha-ha-hah!”
º: t
*


m:
M i.
wn
h;
|
CHAPTER XI
THE HIGHLANDERS
TIM, eyes glimmering and jaw pugnacious,
tramped with wrathful stride into the forest. The
flying cartridge had struck him with its sharp
point first, dealing so keen a twinge that his first
shocked thought had been of the attack he most
dreaded—a poisoned dart in the back; and now
he was aflame with red rage. McKay, Knowlton,
and Portonio seized their weapons and followed
him. León, smiling sarcastically, remained where
he was, and so did the Indians.
Half an hour's floundering in the pathless
tangle resulted only in a grudging abandonment
of the search. Not even a footprint was found.
Not another human sound was heard. So the
hunters returned to camp, ate breakfast, and
spent the next few hours in lolling about.
Near noon, a sudden chorus of wild yells from
upstream startled the drowsy camp into a swift
reach for guns. Hands quickly relaxed, however,
after the first momentary start of surprise; for
it was self-evident that no hostile party would
I47 -


148 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
thus announce its approach. A few minutes
later two canoes came sliding along close to shore
and stopped at the mouth of the little gap. From
them debarked the four Maquiritares sent away
yesterday by León. -
No other Indians accompanied them. The men
of Uaunana obviously were not in the habit of
sending representatives to welcome visitors. Yet
the dugouts which they had furnished were excel-
lent, one being so new that its interior still re.
tained the char of the fires by which it had been
hollowed out; and the paddlers announced that
the hut ordered by León was being constructed
for the use of the white men. Thus it was evi-
dent that the up-river people were not opposed
to the coming of the travelers. Preparations for
the noonday meal and for subsequent embarka-
tion were begun at once.
“Are any blondos now at Uaunana?” asked
León.
The eyes of the Maquiritares narrowed. After
a minute Frasco, their leader, answered in the
negative.
“Bien. Where did you meet El Blanco Negro
—the black white man?”
Silence. The four looked blank. At length
Frasco replied:


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I49
“We have not seen him.”
León gave each a piercing gaze, then turned
away. They gravitated toward their mates who
had remained at the camp, and a murmur of un-
intelligible conversation began. From the ges-
tures of one of the latter toward the river, then
toward the spot where that last frightful peal of
mirth had been heard at dawn, it was apparent
that the visit of Black White was under discus-
sion; and the exclamations and expressions of the
others bore out their assertion that they had
known nothing of that wild man's presence on
the Ventuari.
“Queer,” commented Knowlton. “They went
upstream, and White came downstream, and yet
these fellows don’t know anything about him.
If he didn't meet them, how did he know you
were here? And where did he come from, and
why?” -
“Quién sabe?” shrugged the Spaniard, who had
been covertly listening to the Maquiritare jargon.
“I am sure that these boys speak truth. Perhaps
he saw them without their seeing him, while they
paused somewhere to eat, and listened to their
talk as he listened to ours this morning. He
might have come from anywhere. He is a tigre:
here today, there tomorrow—”
•


15O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Huh!” broke in Tim, smitten by a sudden
thought. “A black tigre! Talk about omens!
D'ye mind that night down below, when we slept
on the sand and a tigre swum over to mop us up?
'Twas a black one! And he sure was hostile.
There’s an omen for ye.”
Knowlton laughed shortly.
“Yes, and you remember what happened to
Señor Tigre, don't you?” he jeered. “His black
hide is stretched in one of León's houses at Caño
Negro. Three pooh-poohs and a loud bah for
omens! Let's eat and travel.”
And eat and travel they did. As the canoes
swung out into the stream, the voyagers took a
long look backward, half expecting to spy an-
other dugout lying half concealed at some spot
farther down, or a weird face peering at them
from the bush. But they saw only empty water
sweeping away around a bend and blank jungle
glooming along the shores. Facing forward, they
left the mysterious forest of Monoblanco to brood
upon its sinister secrets.
Steadily the paddles chunked against the gun-
wales, the rhythm ceasing only when some rau-
dalito was met. Though now very narrow, the
stream made up in depth what it lacked in width,
and no poling was possible. The shores, at first


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I5I
rising into steep hillsides on either hand, gradu-
ally sank to lower levels, but at no place revealed
anythinning of the rank growth. The only open-
ings were the mouths of little creeks.
At length, however, a wider gap appeared at
the right: a waterway as wide as the Ventuari
itself, and as wild. No ranchería, no cooking
frame, no other sign of man stood at its junction
with the master stream, and to all appearances
it was utterly uninhabited. Yet this, León said,
was the Rio Periqueta.
With pulses quickening, the three trailers of the
centuries-old legend gazed up the flowing road to
the land of the lost whites. For only a short way
its water gleamed under the westering sun; be-
yond, where it disappeared behind a curve, the
forest seemed to close together, jealously hiding
it from spying eyes. In its emptiness, its silence,
and its aloof concealment, the Periqueta seemed
sullen and forbidding, yet grimly tempting.
Until it had vanished into the receding shore the
Northerners watched it without words. And,
without words, the Indians exchanged glances and
put another ounce of power into the strokes with
which they left it behind.
Night found the party ensconced in another
dilapidated ranchería—the first one seen since


152 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
their departure that noon, and the last they were
to find on this river. As the darkness deepened,
Tim inched back the breechbolt of his rifle,
assured himself that the top cartridge lay ready,
and shut the piece with an emphatic click,
“That there shell’s the one Old Calamity
throwed at me this mornin’,” he declared, “and
as sure as he comes round here spoilin’ me sleep
tonight I’ll hand it back to him, hot. Nut or
no nut, he ain't goin’ to git gay with Timmy
Ryan no more without a come-back. Once is
plenty.”
“He will not disturb us,” León replied, easily.
“He is too wily. If ever we hear him again, it
will be at a time most unexpected. It will not
be tonight.”
The prediction proved truth. Not once that
night was their rest disturbed.
Another noon, and they were struggling up over
a five-foot barrier where white cascades fought
them with vindictive rage. It was the last fierce,
futile attempt of the Ventuari to hurl them back.
A little way beyond, at the left, opened the
mouth of a seemingly empty caño; and into
this the boats turned. A hundred yards inland
they stopped at a muddy landing-place where
floated a couple of other dugouts. Up a stiff


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I53
slope led a well-trodden path, climbing until lost
to sight beyond the heavy-leaved branches of the
nearer trees.
“So we come to Uaunana,” announced León.
“The paragua is at the top of the hill. You will
find its people friendly, but watchful; good-
humored, but resolute and merciless if angered.
Let no misunderstandings come about.”
Leaving the paddlers and Portonio to unload
and transport the duffle, he led the way up the
hillside. For the first forty or fifty feet the climb
was arduous. Then, emerging from the timber
into a big clearing, the visitors found the slant
less precipitous. Before them lay a chaos of
prone, bleached trunks—the big trees laboriously
felled by fire when the settlement had been made,
and since then bereft of their branches—among
which the path wormed its way upward to the
summit; and, on that crest, stood a wide mud
house whose palm-thatch roof rose in a broad
cone. Beside that house stood three or four
dwarfish-looking figures, watching the approach
of the strangers. Nobody else was in sight, and
the place was very still.
León called no greeting, waved no hand.
Reaching the top, he paused, looking at the wait-
ing Indians, who had not once moved. Deliber-


I54. MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
ately one of them now sauntered forward: a
short, well-muscled man of mature years and in-
telligent face, about whom hung an air of quiet
authority. No plumes or other regalia indicated
rank; he wore nothing but a short red clout and
a pair of bead armlets, just below the shoulders;
but the Northerners felt that this was the chief.
And so he was.
“This is Juancito, capitän of the tribe of
Uaunana,” said León. “Juancit’, cómo está
uste'? How are you?”
“Bien,” Juancito replied shortly. His brown
eyes traveled slowly from face to face, searching
each answering gaze.
“These blancos are my friends and men of good
heart,” the Spaniard told him.
The chief's steady scrutiny continued: calm,
cool, dispassionate, revealing neither cordiality
nor hostility. Not until he had formed his own
judgment of each man facing him did he speak.
Then, satisfied, he quietly said: “Es bueno. It
is good.” With a slow gesture he designated a
new ranchería, a stone's throw from the big house,
as the quarters of his guests.
Toward this the four proceeded, throwing a
glance toward the other Uaunana men, who still
stood where they had been. These, like their


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I55
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ruler, appeared totally unarmed. But at their
feet, lying close against the clay wall of the house,
lay a couple of brazilwood bows and a number
of long arrows. And now, among the jumbled
trunks and stumps flanking the path by which
the white men had just come, appeared half a
score of other aborigines of whose presence there
had been no sign; and every man of them had
his bow and steel-tipped shafts. Scattered about
fanwise at the backs of the visitors, concealed and
protected by bulletproof bulwarks, they could, at
the first indication of treachery, have loosed at
those strangers a silent blast of death.
With their ruler's acceptance of the Spaniard’s
companions as “men of good heart,” these am-
bushed archers moved from left and right to the
sinuous path and climbed it in file; walked into
a small doorway in the tribe-house, and quickly
emerged again, empty-handed. Thereafter they
stood surveying León and his friends; remaining
at some distance from the hut, silent, aloof, yet
pleasant-faced. And out through the doorway,
and from around the house, others came drifting
noiselessly to join them.
León, with a glance at his comrades, put his
rifle up overhead in a corner of the roof, conceal-
ing it from view. The Americans took the hint


156 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
z
and placed their guns beside his. Among the
Indians passed a slight smile of approval. Mutual
disarmament betokened mutual friendliness, even
though the weapons of both races lay where they
could be seized and used with speed. And when
the Maquiritares of León came up the hill and
set about hanging their hammocks and placing
their goods as directed, the sight of their non-
chalant familiarity with the outlanders reassured
the Uaunanans still more. Although they had
been told once by the messengers, and again by
Loco León, that the Northerners were good men,
so deep-rooted was their ancient distrust of white
invaders that words were not sufficient. They
must see those white men act like good men, see
them treated as such by members of their own
nation, before accepting the fact. Now they were
seeing, and so, in part, believing.
The Northerners, studying them with like in-
terest, observed a marked variance of stature and
feature, but an equally noticeable uniformity of
color. Some few were hardly more than five feet
in height; others rose a good two yards from
their bare soles. The majority were fairly tall.
So, too, with expressions: some were heavy of
face and patently slow of mentality, but more-
in fact, most—had alert countenances betokening


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I57
quick perceptions. One and all were strongly
built, well shaped, and remarkably light-skinned
—lighter, indeed, than the Maquiritares of León;
for these forest-dwellers were less exposed to the
scorching sun than the Spaniard's boatmen. All,
too, wore the short red clouts and the bead arm-
lets, and nothing else. The barbarian appen-
dages through the ear-lobes, which had char-
acterized the rovers from the Caño Tamara,
were not to be seen among these men of Uaunana.
Into the minds of the legend-hunters came
again the thought that, except for their uniform
darkness of hair and eye, these light, dignified,
intelligent-looking men might well be the tradi-
tional “white race” of Guayana. There could
be no question that they were as white as many
an Orinoco mestizo, and far whiter than some
halfbreeds in whose veins flowed the blood of
Indians of the western and northern plains.
“A bright-lookin’ bunch, and not so homely,
neither,” declared Tim. “I’ll take a look at their
women any time they git over bein’ shy. Where
do they keep ’em f°
“Inside. They will come out when their men
allow them,” replied León. Then, to Juancito:
“No blondos are here?”
The little chief's face tightened a trifle. Al-


158 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
though he apparently knew little Spanish, it was
plain that he understood this simple question.
Yet, for a moment, it seemed that he would
feign non-comprehension. At length, however,
he curtly answered: “No.”
“No?” echoed the Spaniard. “Have any been
here of late?”
No answer came. After a steady stare, Juan-
cito turned coolly away, grunting a word to the
others. To the paragua he walked, and into it;
and after him went all his clansmen. The in-
quisitive newcomers were left alone.
“In other words,” quoth McKay, “it’s none
of our business.”
“That is the general idea, capitán,” acknowl-
edged León, with a wry smile. “It is not a sub-
ject for talk between Maquiritares and white
men. But there shall be talk, and soon. Let us
eat, and then—we shall see.”
And he sat in his hammock and speculatively
eyed the tribe-house.


CHAPTER XII
THE MESSENGER
WITH appetites satisfied by the contents of a
couple of cans, the five sauntered around the
paragua on a casual tour of inspection. They
found its adobe wall to be perfectly circular,
about eight feet in height, and pierced at eight
equidistant points by openings—four doors and
four windows. Two of these doors, León ex-
plained, were exclusively for men, leading to a
central room where all bachelors must sleep; the
other two, which gave entrance to family quar-
ters, could be entered by the women, children,
and fathers. The point of the conical roof stood
perhaps thirty feet above ground, and the cir-
cumference of the house—according to the esti-
mate of McKay, who counted his paces—was
somewhat over two hundred feet.
At intervals around it stood several smaller
structures, all without walls, which seemed to be
work-places; for within them were log troughs,
pole tables, and, in the largest, a mud fireplace
where the cassava-cooking evidently was done.
I59


I6O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
From overhead hung large baskets, varying from
pack size to long cylinders wherein the shredded
yuca roots were squeezed. In a couple of pack-
baskets resting on the dirt floor of the cassava-
house were big chunks of fresh yuca, as yet un-
grated; and near by lay several graters—hand-
cut boards, about two feet long, whereon had
been cemented myriad tiny pebbles and points
of steel. These obviously had been hastily aban-
doned by the woman workers as soon as word
had come from some sentinel that the strangers
were approaching. No such sentry had been ob-
served by the whites, but the laying of the am-
bush among the tree-trunks, as well as the evan-
ishment of all women and children, made it quite
manifest that some such watch of the river had
been kept.
On their walk around the house, the visitors
found the stout plank doors shut, and no face
showed at any of the tiny windows. The portal
opposite their own hut, however, had not been
closed; and, on returning to their starting point,
they found that their own Maquiritares had gone
inside to visit the Uaunanans. The ranchería was
deserted. After a glance around, León coolly
entered the paragua, signing to the others to
follow. They did so—but not until McKay had


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I61
given Portonio a gesture toward the hut, where
the rifles lay unguarded. The riverman, with a
grin of understanding, lounged away and lay
down in a hammock. -
Through a short passage-way, walled on either
side by tall partitions of bark, the four others
walked. Then they emerged into a circular room
surrounded by similar bark slabs, a good ten feet
in height, and so cunningly joined that no open-
ing was visible save another corridor directly op-
posite the one by which they had entered: the
other passage used by the males. The room was
shadowy, yet well lighted from a large smoke-
hole at one side of the roof. It was well filled
with men: some standing, some sitting on dimin-
utive carved stools, some lying in cotton ham-
mocks; all giving their attention to some utter-
ance by one of León's boatmen, who, catching
sight of his patron, now fell silent. With one
accord the Uaunanans turned their eyes to the
intruders, remaining motionless, and giving no
indication of displeasure at the entrance of the
uninvited guests.
“Juancito,” spoke León.
The chief did not appear. One of the men,
however, moved to the partition; grasped some
projection invisible to the whites, pulled, and dis-


162 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
closed a narrow opening between the slabs.
Through this he sidled, the bark closing behind
him so tightly that the wall again seemed solid.
Apparently the family quarters were beyond that
partition, ranged around in a ring between it and
the outer wall; and the chief was at present in
his own private domicile.
Again the Northerners looked over the habi-
tants, who returned their gaze with cool com-
posure. Then came a slight sound at the bark,
and Juancito entered, advancing with question-
ing gaze fixed on León.
“Frasco!” called the latter. Frasco came, and
the rest of León's men with him. León himself
sat down in a vacant hammock, as if preparing
to talk for some time. Juancito took another
one, facing him. Behind their ruler the men of
Uaunana gathered into a compact group. The
Americans stood where they were.
“Frasco, say these words to the capitán,”
began the trader, in slow Spanish. “For many
moons now the Maquiritares have known Loco
León to be their friend. They know that Loco
León is not a friend to men of San Fernando or
to any other men of evil heart. So they must
know that when Loco León brings here men who


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 163
are his friends, those friends must be men of good
heart.”
He paused. Frasco, in short gutturals, trans-
lated. Juancito seemed, however, to have fol-
lowed the sense, if not all the words, of this
preamble.
“Bien,” he replied, without hesitation.
“Bien. Now Loco León and his friends go to
the south to meet new people of Guayana. They
go to see the blondos. They go with good in
their hearts. They wish only to visit the blondos
and then to come away.”
Frasco stood silent so long that León gave him
a stern look. When he spoke, it was reluctantly.
And when he finished Juancito made no answer.
His face seemed to harden.
“Once before now Loco León has seen a
blondo,” resumed the Spaniard. “That man was
here at this paragua. Now Loco León has come
to see if another blondo is here. There is none.
But the men of Uaunana know the way up the
Periqueta to the place where the white ones are.
So León will take with him two men of Uaunana
to show the way. Let Juancito pick those men.”
Histone throughout was as casual as if he were
proposing merely to cut down a balata tree. The
expression which grew on the faces of Frasco and


164 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
his mates, however, was not so calm. They
looked perturbed. And Frasco, instead of trans-
lating, jerked out a warning reply.
“Capitán! Es maluc'ſ It is bad!”
“Speak my words to Juancito,” tranquilly
commanded León.
The interpreter seemed about to refuse. But
his employer held him with steady, steely gaze;
and presently the gutturals fell again from his
tongue. As he concluded, a perceptible start ran
among the Uaunanans. The group seemed to
shrink together. Their chief's visage became
stony.
“No,” he curtly refused. “Maluc'.”
His tone was final. Yet the Ventuari veteran
seemed in no wise disconcerted. He talked again,
mentioning the fine presents which he would give
the lucky men who went with them; speaking
again of his long friendship with the Maquiri-
tares; dwelling on the fact that the Northerners
came from far away and were not bad whites
with evil in their hearts toward the people of
Guayana. Frasco kept translating, although his
unwillingness was plain to all. Juancito made no
further replies, but his expression remained
obdurate.
This went on for some time, León never raising


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 165
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histone, never pleading, never arguing, but stating
and restating the same proposition as if it were
unanswerable and the outcome inevitable; Juan-
cito giving not the slightest indication of yielding.
The others, civilized and primitive alike, began
to weary of it. Tim quietly moved away along
the curving wall, looking at various articles upon
or along it: long lances, new-made paddles dry-
ing into shape, a small drum covered with mon-
key-hide, and similar things. Knowlton pres-
ently followed him, and after them drifted a
number of Indians, watching them with interest.
Reaching the darkened passage where the door
still was closed, Tim turned a questioning look
to the nearest Uaunanan and waved toward the
portal. The Indian stepped over and opened it.
From outside came voices. Tim accelerated his
gait; and Knowlton, suddenly seeing through the
red man's nonchalant maneuvers, laughed sil-
ently and followed on. The voices were those
of women. 2.
At that moment a boy came through the bark,
walked straight to Juancito, and spoke one word.
The chief, without change of expression, rose at
once and disappeared through the wall. The
remaining Indians glanced at one another, but
voiced not a single grunt. León and McKay,


166 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
thus unceremoniously deserted, exchanged wry
smiles and moved doorward.
“Looks as if we'd paddle our own canoe, for
all the help we'll get here,” said the Scot.
“It does,” admitted the Spaniard. “But I
shall try again. Ah! Your comrade Tim has
found his women, I think. Let us see.”
Outside, Tim and Knowlton stood surveying a
number of short, chubby young women, wearing
only small aprons, who apparently had decided
that the presence of strange men must no longer
be allowed to interfere with their daily duties,
and who, therefore, had returned to the cassava
work. At the appearance of those strangers, how-
ever, they had halted every movement and stood
like statues. For the moment they held their
positions like figures in a tableau, viewing the
whites with the same unreadable expressions
first shown by their men. Then one of them made
a brief remark, and their faces brightened with
quick laughter. Their tense poise relaxed, and
they resumed their motions—though they kept
darting looks at the Northerners.
“Gee! Not so bad!” admired Tim. “Not—
so—bad! Bobbed hair, begorry! Git it, looey?
And one of 'em has rouged her face! Talk about
lost white folks—these girls have got the Broad.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 167
*
way make-up! And short skirts—oh boy!
They've got everything beat that I ever saw up
home, even when the girls only wore 'em to their
knees. These only go half-way round. Beads,
too; solid beads; nothin’ ordinary, like cloth, for
these janes. Class, I’ll say!”
True enough, the aprons were of solid bead-
work, strung in striking geometric designs of con-
trasting colors, the figures being as regular as if
formed by machines, and the whole garment de-
pending from a girdle of more beads. Bead arm-
lets similar to those of the men also were notice-
able, and two of the girls wore bead necklaces.
Otherwise they were unclothed; and the prevail-
ing dark shades of the ornaments served to accen-
tuate the fairness of their clear, clean skins. So,
too, did the thick black hair, cut straight across
the forehead and then at a slant which half con-
cealed the ears. And one of them, as Tim had
detected, was rouged quite becomingly with the
scarlet paint derived from the pods of the an-
natto tree. With the light smiles still lingering
on their faces, they were far from bad-looking.
And, smiling or serious, they were by no means
such uncouth, unkempt creatures as might per-
haps be expected to exist in Indian lands.
“Yeah, I’ve seen lots worse than these girlies,”


168 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Tim went on. “D'ye know, looey, I'm beginnin'
to like this place. Folks are nice and friendly
after ye git acquainted, I bet; and they're
thawin’ out already. I ain't in no hurry about
movin’ on.”
“That, señor,” dryly spoke León, behind him,
“is what Black White once thought.”
The red man started.
“Cripes! D'ye mean—’twas here that they
fixed him?”
“Here. The girl was of Uaunana.”
“Umph!” Tim eyed the girls again, not so
admiringly now; indeed, he looked as if he had
suddenly discovered that they possessed, instead
of fingers, the claws of cats. And for some time
he said not another word.
Having looked over McKay with the same at-
tention they had previously given to Knowlton
and Tim, the women affected to ignore them and
went on with their work. For a while the men
stood and watched them; there was nothing else
to do, and the sun-slant was such that they were
in comfortable shade. The Indian men loitered
near at hand, conversing briefly among them-
selves, watching their guests carelessly, awaiting
whatever move might come next. A few children
appeared; then more women, moving about as
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 169
if no visitors were present. Apparently Uaunana
had decided that these friends of Loco León truly
were “men of good heart” and need no longer
be regarded with alert wariness.
At length the Northerners yawned and began
moving along the wall. But Just then the same
boy who had summoned Juancito—perhaps his
son—emerged from the house and spoke to
Frasco. The latter informed León:
“The capitän wants you.”
“Bien.” The Spaniard quickly reentered the
paragua, followed by the Americans. They
found the chief standing in the middle of the
room. Without preamble he spoke. Frasco
showed astonishment. For a long minute he
stood wordless, staring at the ruler of the place.
Not until the latter spoke again, with a touch
of harshness, did he repeat the words in Spanish.
“Two men will go on the Periqueta with León.”
León's lashes flickered; but he gave no other
indication of amazement at this unexplained
about-face. He answered only with a quiet
“Bueno,” and, after a pause, asked who those
two would be. This question caused consider-
able stir among the Uaunanans themselves, and
it was quite manifest that none wished to go.
Juancito, however, quieted the commotion with


17o MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
a few cryptic words which had marked effect,
The opposition seemed to fade out, and when the
chief called two names a couple of tall fellows
came forward—although with noticeable reluc-
tance. All the others regarded the white men
with an odd intensity.
“It is good,” said León. “Tomorrow we go.”
Nobody answered. The Spaniard strolled out,
his comrades trailing him with the same assump-
tion of insouciance. As they went, the Maqui-
ritares of León scowled at Juancito. Frasco, in-
deed, glared at the chief as if ablaze with wrath.
The latter met their eyes with stony expression
and inflexible gaze.
“Well! That was sudden and complete,” de-
clared Knowlton, outside. “What do you make
of it?”
“Only that we have what we want,” shrugged
León. “I have known him to change as sud-
denly before now, and for no reason that I could
see. Now that he has made his promise, though,
he will not change again.”
The door by which they came out was the one
where they had first gone in, and before them
stood their hut, with Portonio lying languid in
his hammock. Toward him they walked to give
him the news.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 171
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“Sure takes life easy, that feller,” chuckled
Tim. “Bet ye he's been sleepin’ all the time
we've been gone.”
But Portonio soon proved that he had not.
He listened, with his usual easy smile, to McKay's
brief statement that on the morrow they would
start up the Periqueta with two guides from this
place. Then he drawled:
“Sí. The blondo went to tell his people that
we come?”
A silence, broken by Knowlton.
“What blondo?”
“The one who just came and went, señor.”
“A blond? Here?” demanded León.
“Sí. While you were in the paragua. An
Indio came from the caño. I lay still, as if sleep-
ing. He went around behind the house. Just
now he ran down the hill to the caño. I thought
you had talked with him inside. And you did
not know he was here? Cra! I would have
caught him if I had known that.”
“A blondo!” repeated León.
“Sí. Tall and strong, with hair of gold.”
The four stood speechless. While they had
stood idly watching women work at the other
side of the house, a mysterious courier of the
white ones had been within speaking distance,


I72 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
unseen and unsuspected. And now he had War
ished. It would be useless, they knew, to dash
to the creek after him. By this time he and his
canoe must be out on the Ventuari and speeding
away.
And Juancito, summoned to conference with
that man in some secret nook between the walls,
had then made his abrupt change of front. Ap-
parently the ban on white strangers to the Peri-
queta had been lifted. Yet why, in that case,
had not the blondo remained here to guide"
strangers? Why had he fled—aided by Juancito,
who had given him a clear field by recalling the
explorers to the interior? What was afoot now?
“Fellers,” growled Tim, “I smell somethin'
fishy on that there Periqueta. And the minute
we start up that river I’m goin' to strap * all
the artillery I’ve got!”


I 74 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
into the central room, where the Maquiritares of
León had slept with the others.
A little later the rear door was opened, and out
through it filed six Indians. Keeping the house
between them and the ranchería, they followed a
foot-track winding away amid the stumps and
trunks; reached the edge of the forest, and van-
ished into it. All were men of León.
Coffee, cassava, and cigarettes finished, the
white men glanced again at the loitering Uauna-
nans, than beyond them at the house.
“Where's all our gang?” wondered Knowlton.
“Eating with their own crowd for once? First
time I’ve known them to miss morning mess.”
To the silent spectators León spoke, with a
gesture doorward.
“Frasco,” he said.
Two men departed. Soon they returned, and,
with them, Frasco and one other of the Spaniard's
crew, named Gil. Both the latter walked with
lagging step, and their faces were gloomy.
“Capitán,” jerked Frasco, “the others are
gone.” He moved his chin toward the forest.
The Spaniard's face darkened; but he an-
swered as if he had half expected this desertion,
“Bien. You two come with us?”
The Maquiritare, whose intelligent face was


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I75
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unusually expressive, seemed to struggle with
himself. Gil, more phlegmatic, watched him
intently.
“Capitán! Do not go on the Periqueta!” broke
from Frasco.
“Why?”
“Muy maluc'ſ Very bad!”
“And why?”
“Diablos! Devils!”
“Ah! So? Devils of what sort?”
The Indian seemed to writhe again. Then his
jaw set and his countenance went blank. Only
his brown eyes, dumbly expressive as those of a
fine dog, still pleaded with his master not to go.
León laughed lightly, turning his amused gaze
to the other Indians. More of these had come
out now, and several of them were watching
Frasco with eyes narrowed. As the Spaniard
studied their ominous looks his smile vanished.
“Go and get your weapons,” he crisply directed.
“Bring the two men who are to go with us. Let
the cassava and other things be carried to a good
curial. We shall use only one boat. Let nine
paddles also be brought. Waya!”
Frasco, following his gaze, swept the faces
around him; walked away, and, in so doing,
made two of those who seemed unfriendly get out


176 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
of his path. In his stride was a grim readiness
which boded ill for anyone obstructing him. Gil
followed after, giving no indication of any feeling
whatsoever.
“Squall brewing,” suggested McKay.
“Brewing, but it will not break,” judged León.
“There has been some bad disagreement be-
tween these two and the rest. Frasco remains
faithful, and Gil. The others—perhaps they wish
us to go to the devils on the Periqueta, perhaps
not. But it is not good for Frasco to warn us of
those devils, especially where these others can
hear him. I am much surprised that he did so.
You remember how dumb he was last night.”
Nods answered. At that time León had made
it known to all his crew that he was aware of the
visit of the blond Indian, and had demanded an
explanation. Not one word had come in answer.
Frasco and all his fellows had remained absolutely
tongueless, and finally had gone in a body to the
paragua and remained there.
“Ye ain't got yer men under very good control,
Loco,” Tim had grumbled then. To which the
rover had countered: “They are not my men, but
their own men: free men. They stay with me
because they will, and leave me when they will
One cannot drive these people.”
§


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 177
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The truth of this assertion was even more ap-
parent now than it had been then. Six out of the
eight had willed to quit the expedition and were
gone; the other two could not be driven, either
by León or by their own people; they were stay-
ing because they willed to do so. What talk had
passed in the paragua during the night the white
men could never know, but it evidently had been
heated. Now they felt a whole-souled admira-
tion for the loyal Frasco, who not only was forcing
himself to enter a region obviously awful to him,
but had fought to overcome some powerful in-
hibition in revealing to his Spanish friend diaboli-
cal horrors.
His warning, though outwardly disregarded by
the inflexible adventurers, was not without effect.
The manner of its delivery—the visible struggle
to speak when every instinct commanded silence
—made it doubly ominous. Too, it recalled
forcibly the two previous warnings: the frag-
mentary admonition of the dying Curro, trying
with his last breath to tell something to the white
men who had leaped to rescue him, and the grisly
prophecy of the madman who walked by night.
And Juancito, with his first flat refusal and his
laconic “Maluc”—the palpable dread of the
Periqueta shown by the other Uaunanans—the


178 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
desertion of the paddlers who hitherto had
flinched from nothing—all these were portents
of evil.
Now, unspeaking, Tim reached into his pack,
brought forth his heavy ammunition-belt and
holstered hand-gun, and buckled them on; then
picked his rifle from the hammock—where it had
lain all night beside him—and tested the action.
Nobody laughed at him. Instead, McKay and
Knowlton in turn produced belts and pistols and
donned them. And Portonio and León looked
toward their repeaters, then at each other.
The two loyal Maquiritares were gone hardly a
minute. Reappearing, they brought with them
the guides. All four now were heavily armed; for
they bore bows, basket quivers containing numer-
ous long shafts, and machetes. Behind them
came all the adult males who had not already ap-
peared outside. Frasco evidently had given suc-
cinct commands which Juancito chose to obey,
for everyone now became busy. Some disap-
peared down the hill, going to get a nine-man
canoe; others gathered up loads of cassava, yams,
and plantains, which they carried to the creek;
still others volunteered to transport the personal
goods of the explorers. Whatever might be their


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I79
reasons, the men of Uaunana were exhibiting
marked readiness to speed the departing guests.
In less than half an hour camp was broken and
the campers wending their way down through
the tree-debris. At the top of the hill Juancito
stood just as on the previous day: cool, impassive,
his eyes on the white men. To him, in departing,
each of those whites had given a straight look and
abrief “Adios.” He had not answered by word or
sign. But now, as he saw the last of them turn
at the edge of the tree-fringe and wave an ironical
farewell, into his face came a brooding expression
akin to sorrow.
That last man was Tim, and his parting flourish
was not to Juancito but to any girl who might,
unseen, be looking her last at him. Nor was the
chief's misgiving—if he felt any—for Tim or his
American partners; rather, it was for the blond
Spaniard who had gone with them. To the chief
and the people of Uaunana, Loco León had been
a friend.
Down the last abrupt declivity the voyagers
dropped, and the tribe-house and the clearing
were blotted out. Once more they were among
trees, with water and canoes lying before them
and the unknown awaiting them. Into a long
dugout they stepped, taking their respective


18O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
places: the Indians in the bow paddling seats,
Portonio at the stern with a shovel-shaped steer.
ing blade, the señores amidships, with rifles and
paddles laid ready to hand. And without a part-
ing word to the Maquiritares grouped on the
shore they slid away down the caño and out into
the Ventuari.
“Well,” said Knowlton, as they cruised easily
down with the current, “we are no longer thir.
teen, if that indicates anything. Thirteen of us
came up, and nine go down. Let's see, isn't nine
a sort of mystic number—three times three-
proof against spells and so on? Anyway, the
thirteen of us didn't meet any horrible fate while
we were together. That knocks one of your
omens in the head, Tim.”
“Mebbe,” granted the Celt. “And then again,
mebbe an egg got laid while there was thirteen
of us that'll hatch out yet for the nine of us.”
“Let her hatch,” quoth McKay.
León said nothing. He sat watching the two
new men, who stroked steadily without a word
or a look for the Caño Negro pair behind them.
For some hours nobody spoke again, save for a
curt direction or two in passing a raudal.
Then, near noon, at their left yawned the
\ mouth of the Periqueta. So strong had been the


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 181
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push of the current that, with only four paddles
swinging in effortless rhythm, the distance which
the Americans remembered as a full day's jour-
ney had been covered in less than half that time.
At sight of that dreaded water, Frasco and Gil
halted their paddles as if paralyzed. The
Uaunana men, too, slowed their regular sway,
though they did not cease entirely. Portonio,
imperturbable, swung the boat into the flow of
the new stream. And the three Americans and
the Spaniard simultaneously reached for paddles,
dipped them overside, and drove their craft south-
ward with determined power.
For a couple of hundred yards they forced
their way into the teeth of the current, the
Indians turning surprised faces as they felt the
sudden surge of strength behind them, then pick-
ing up the stroke. In that concerted drive, in
the set lips and level eyes of their superiors, the
aborigines sensed a united, inexorable will, which
they could but obey. The die was cast. The
Periqueta was invaded—its waters flung aside,
impotent to stem the irresistible rush of the white
men. There would be no turning back. All this,
and more, was driven into the Maquiritares more
forcefully by that initial onslaught than by any


182 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
\
words known to men. And they mutely bent
their backs once more to the toil of carrying on.
“Now let's land and eat,” said McKay.
“We’ve tapped the Periqueta on the nose with-
out a come-back. Don't see any devils making
faces along shore, either. Portonioſ Derecha!”
The steersman turned the prow to the right,
as directed. At a wooded spot free from under-
growth they berthed and went ashore. There,
undisturbed by any menacing sight or sound,
they lunched in leisurely fashion, cool and com-
fortable in the shade.
“The river of demons,” mused León, smiling
reflectively as he gazed along the stream. “More
than once I have thought to travel this river, but
always something arose to turn me elsewhere.
And now I am on it at last. I hope the demons
have not tired of waiting for me and gone to some
other place. I should much like to see one of
them.”
McKay's eyes twinkled approvingly. His only
reply, however, was a question.
“What's your idea—if any—as to the nature
of the demons?”
“Only this: I know that all the people of this
Guayana believe high mountains to be the homes
of demons, because around such mountains some-
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MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 183
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times rage terrible storms; and this Periqueta
comes from mountains at the south, some of
which may be tall and stormy. Yet I never have
known the Maquiritares to fear a river because
mountains were near it; it is only the mountains
themselves which they dread. So-” He
shrugged, hinting at the folly of wasting breath
on surmises, and arose. They reentered the
canoe, settled themselves for steady work, and
pushed out.
“Wamos con Dios, patrón,” the Spaniard jest-
ingly voiced the old formula of departing boat-
men. “Let us go with God.”
“Y con la Virgen. And with the Virgin,”
Portonio smilingly gave back the steersman's
requisite response.
“And the divil fly away with the guy that lays
down first,” contributed Tim. Which conclusion
was so contrary to the one prescribed by custom
that a chorus of chuckles swept the boat.
So, reckless of powers celestial or infernal, they
paddled away: four silent Maquiritares settin
the short, rapid stroke; McKay and Knowlton,
Tim and León, swaying in unison—the first three
with pistols hitched over to hang between their
Portonio lounging astern with paddle trailing and


184 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
gun leaning against gunwale. Around the first
curve they crawled, and so out of sight from the
Ventuari: nine men in a boat, paddling up the
river of the evil name, who never were to paddle
down it.
Beyond, they found only a continuation of the
same empty water, the same blank jungle shores,
the same occasional raudales, which had become
so familiar on the river they left behind. And for
the rest of that day—until sundown approached
—they journeyed on without seeing any sign of
man. The first indication that any human being
had ever traveled here before them was discov-
ered when, following the directions of the guides,
they turned in at the mouth of a little caño-
hardly more than a brook—and found a good
camp-site where lay old fish-bones, rain-spattered
feathers, and a few long-dead coals. No hut
stood there, and it was apparent that the spot
was seldom visited.
In less than half an hour a ranchería had been
created and the hammocks hung. The Indians,
still in pairs, went into the forest hunting. Pres-
ently they returned heavily laden, the Uaunanans
bringing in a curassow turkey each, while Frasco
and Gil proudly bore a peccary. When darkness
settled down the birds had become nothing but


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 185
*
bones, while the pig was roasting in sections on a
pole griddle over a steady fire.
“Where are your demonios, Frasco’” gibed
Portonio, glancing into the peaceful night.
“Where do they hide from us?”
Frasco, squatting beside the cook-fire, met his
mocking eye with sombre gaze. Then he moved
his head southward.
“Why do you carry so many arrows?” quizzed
Knowlton. “Can a demon be slain by them?”
Frasco made no reply. But, after a moment,
Gil spoke.
“Guaharibos.”
León, listening, lifted his brows.
“Guaharibos?” he echoed. “Guaharibos live
here?”
“No. They come. They go.”
“And the demonios do not harm them?”
No response. The subject of demonios was
one on which not even Frasco would speak
more.
When the Indians sought their hammocks—as
they soon did—they showed no sign of expecting
attack by man or spirit that night. True, they
set their weapons close beside them; but then
they curled up and closed their eyes without hesi-
tation. The others followed their example, keep-


186 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
ing no watch. And throughout the night reigned
unbroken peace.
So it went for six more days and nights, Day
after day the dugout forged on, its men spying no
others. Night after night it lay at some spot
selected by the Uaunana guides, while the pad-
dlers slept the sleep of healthy fatigue. Yet,
despite the absence of any visible or audible
danger, despite the gibes and jeers voiced nightly,
among the voyagers a growing tenseness made
itself felt. It emanated, perhaps, from the
Maquiritares; but every man in the party sensed
it: a feeling that, blank though the jungle
seemed to be, it had eyes, and that it was con-
stantly watching—and waiting.
Now and then, as the shores crept past, an
unexplainable movement of a bush caught their
roving gaze: a clump of plantain dipping as if
smitten by a breeze, when no breeze blew; a long
fern bowing suddenly and remaining in that posi-
tion; palm-fronds quivering for no reason. And
when they went ashore, near at hand sounded
faint rustlings which seemed too stealthy to be
made by hastily retreating animals or birds.
Indeed, after that first day there was a dearth of
wild life in the vicinity of the camps. The
Maquiritares found little meat. It was notice.


/ MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 187
able, too, that now they hunted together instead
of in pairs, as if whatever division had previously
existed were obliterated by the need of a united
front against some lurking peril. Still no actual,
definite menace could be discerned by day or by
dark. And when night closed down the mysteri-
ous movement round about them ceased, to be
heard no more until morning.
Yet there remained always that sensation of
being watched—even in the night. And, though
they kept no counter-watch—feeling that night
vigils would be useless—they slept ready for
sudden action. Every weapon was within instant
reach. The Americans, in fact, slept with pistols
still belted on, where they could be seized with-
out groping. No fire was allowed to burn after
dark. Nightly the sky became obscured by heavy
clouds; and when the gloom thickened under
trees and roof the camp became invisible. Only
the prescience of unhuman creatures, it seemed,
could locate the hut and its occupants amid
the moonless murk.
It was the seventh night when the demons
struck.
The journeying that day had been hard, be-
cause of raudales; and on making camp—beside a
noisy brook and below another brawling rapid—


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 189.
the men had vanished as if seized and swallowed
by some gigantic ogre.
León whirled, stepped to the slanting stone
beside which the dugout had been moored, and
struck another match. As he dropped its charred
stub and darkness swooped over him again, the
tumbling waters beyond seemed to roar with
malicious mirth.
The canoe. too. had disappeared.


CHAPTER XIV
THE DART
“WHAT's doin', cap”
The guarded voice came from Tim's hammock.
In the gloom McKay made out three shapes
which had silently risen in their nets and now sat
rigid and ready. The camp was wide awake.
“We’re marooned again. Boat and Indians
gone. All the guns here?” -
Affirmative grunts answered, followed by Tim's
sour growl:
“Made a sneak, hey? The low-down, yeller
quitters
“I would not say that, Señor Tim,” interrupted
León, a touch of asperity in his tone. “Men who
mean to desert do not go unarmed. All their
weapons are here. Neither would those boys
try to pass through the raudales below here at
night. It would be death to attempt it.”
A silence ensued. Eyes vainly searched the
density; ears strained for some suspicious noise
After a time Knowlton queried:
“Any blood in the hammocks?”
I90


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I91
León moved to the untenanted nets, but struck
no more lights. Instead, he passed a hand slowly
along each one, his fingers seeking wet spots.
“None.”
From that time until daybreak only two words
were voiced. McKay, after peering at his phos-
phorescent watch-dial, announced: “One-forty.”
After a period of tense alertness, all slowly re-
laxed in their hammocks, rifles held loosely across
their bodies; but not an eye closed.
As they hung there, every mind reviewed the
last known words and movements of the Maquiri-
tares, probing for some indication that they might
have planned a desertion here. There was none.
The Uaunana men had said that the raudal above
was long and hard, and that there would not be
time to traverse it before night. So the halt had
been made at this spot, which, though a natural
site for a camp, showed no sign of previous use.
The Indians had made no attempt to hunt; they
had caught a few small pampano fish, and, with
these and the inevitable cassava, had made their
meal while the señores opened the last of their
cans. Thereafter their behavior had been in no
way different from that of the previous evening;
they had repeatedly eyed the surroundings, show-
ing some signs of the nervousness which seemed


192 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
habitual of late, but none of incipient panic;
they had carefully set their weapons close by the
hammocks, and then had turned in. No, there
had been no evidence of any intent to quit. Nor
was there reason, even now, to accuse them of
doing so.
To suppose that they would abandon arms and
beds and fare down the reef-torn river in black-
ness—this was well-nigh preposterous. Even if
driven by insane terror, it was hardly conceivable
that, in springing from sleep, they would have
failed to snatch up machetes—arrows—something
with which to defend themselves. Still less was
it imaginable that, if they did make a frenzied
exodus, it would be so noiseless as to leave the
white men undisturbed. Nor, for that matter,
was it at all likely that anything which could
rouse them and drive them thence would not
wake everyone in camp. And neither McKay
nor León could recall the slightest disturbance.
Neither of them knew why he had started from
sleep, every nerve alert to some dire thing to
which he could not put a name.
So they waited in silence, half expecting a re-
currence of the uncanny visitation which had
obliterated four men; half hoping that they might
delude the marauding Thing—whatever it was—


I94 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
loosed to drift to ruin, was caught among
raudales below. Even if it could be found there,
virtually all of their equipment was lost; for
they had taken from the dugout only the articles
they desired for use in camp over night, and
everything else would be thrown overboard
when the masterless craft capsized in the writh-
ing waters on the reefs. And the boat itself was
irrevocably gone, they felt. Since no other was
available, and since any raft which they might
build would be broken up in the rapids, the way
out was closed. Well might the river gloat now
over its trapped prey!
But to this question—the problem of getting
out again—they gave but little thought. Time
enough to worry over that when they were ready
to go. Now, after rapidly running over these
points, their minds reached ahead: on into the
mysterious land of the blancos, toward which
they had turned their faces and to which they
were not disposed to turn their backs. That
land must be near. Twenty days’ journey from
Caño Negro it lay, if the Tamara men had
spoken truly; and the expedition now had
traveled for seventeen days, excluding both the
stops at Monoblanco and Uaunana and the time
consumed in detouring to the latter place.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY I95
Thus they must be on the border of that land.
And they would go on.
Were those blancos, perhaps, responsible for
the disappearance of the four Indian members of
this party? Was this region, by some occult
decree, forbidden to Indians, however light of
skin, but open to real white men? Knowlton
nearly voiced an exclamation as this thought
struck him. All the white men here had been
unmolested by the Thing which had snatched
the Maquiritares from their hammocks. Yet
how could human beings have entered this hut
and killed or captured and borne away four
strong Maquiritares without struggle or noise?
It was unthinkable.
So, too, was the surmise that it could have been
done by those Guaharibos of whose possible
presence Frasco had given a hint. In fact, this
hypothesis was even more untenable than the
other; for the Guaharibos were lethal savages
with a centuries-old hatred for white men. Only
last night León had talked about them, and the
main facts concerning them were fresh in all
minds. Their home land was more than a hun-
dred miles to the south, at the sources of the
Orinoco. During the dry season, however, they
roved for great distances, marauding, killing,


196 MoUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
looting, forever on the move. More than once
they had come to the Alto Ventuari region on
raids. They were utter barbarians, at odds with
all other Indians, and intensely ferocious toward
men of white or part-white ancestry. Had they
come upon this camp, they would have bent,
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Thus all the mental groping of the vigilant y H.
five got them nowhere. They could only lie and s
listen, meanwhile wrestling vainly with the
mystery, until something new should come about
or dawn should bring light. Portonio, probably,
had the easiest time of all; for he was one who
took things as they came and devoted little
mental effort to whys and wherefores. The curial
and the Indios were gone; he and the rest were
here; they had good guns; the hammock was
comfortable, even though one did not sleep;
tomorrow the señores would decide on something;
then he would do what they did. So why need a
man fight his head? He did not. He lay tran-
quil, though alert, and let the things of mafiana
shape themselves as they might.
Rain came, battered the leaf roof for an hour,
and passed on. The sky cleared, but the hour
was past moonset, and no light dissolved the
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198 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
power could move the ponderous dugout up
through that death-trap in the night.
“It looks, friend Tim, as if your blessing down
below had come true in a way you did not mean,”
said León, with a tight smile, “and the devil had
flown away with some of us.”
“You said somethin', feller,” morosely agreed
Tim. “And the boat's spurlos versenkt, as the
Heinies used to say: sunk without a trace.
Lookit here. We tied her to this here tree. Ain't
even a piece o’ rope left.”
True enough, there was not so much as a wisp
of the piassava fibre. A close examination of the
bark revealed only a rubbed spot where the
painter had chafed. There was no knife-scratch
or other mark.
McKay turned away, his gray gaze again
plumbing the depths of the surrounding woods,
“Any coffee left?” he calmly asked. “Por-
tonio, hay café?”
“Pocito. A little,” responded the erstwhile
pilot. With alacrity he returned to the interior.
and kindled a fire. The others, hollow-eyed from
their useless vigil, moved after him and waited
hungrily, all at once aware that their nerves de-
manded the usual hot stimulant. When it was
ready they drank with avidity.


MoUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 199
***
$47,
tº
“It is the last,” added Portonio, expressively
up-ending the small can wherein the daily supply
had been habitually kept. Nobody answered
orally; but simultaneous scowls spoke volumes.
“Are we out o' smokes, too?” croaked Tim,
after a vain search of pockets.
“I’ve got a full pouch of cube-cut,” assured
McKay. Knowlton and León, too, had tobacco
of different grades—a fragrant, golden American
mixture, and an ink-black Brazilian cigarette-
brand of terrific strength. The red man's lugu-
brious face brightened again.
“Wal, we ain’t so bad off, then,” he rejoiced.
"Gimme the makin's, looey. Tobaccer and bul-
lets, we've got—good thing we’ve been bringin'
our belts ashore every night—but that’s about
all. No grub, after this breakfast. No boat.
No nothin', but guns and knives and what we
stand in and sleep in. But we can go quite a
ways with them. Where do we go from here,
capf”
McKay's eyes met those of León. Of late the
Spaniard had, by virtue of his position as com-
rade and guide, been practically in command of
the party. Now he knew little, if anything, more
about their environment than did the rest. It
was essential that someone act as head of the


200 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
expedition; the tall Scot had been that head
until León began to pilot it; and the leadership
now was tacitly reverting to him. The blue-eyed
Venezuelan grasped the situation evoked by Tim's
careless question, and those blue eyes smiled into
the gray ones. The two understood each other.
“Every man has his own say,” was McKay's
tactful reply. “But if you put it up to me, I'll
say: first, take a look at the raudal below here
and see if the curial or anything else is caught
there; then, whether it is or not, carry on.
We've all got legs.”
“Attaboy!” approved Tim. “Me, I want to
git to the bottom o' this funny business that's
goin’ on round here.”
Vigorous nods by both Knowlton and León ex-
pressed their full agreement with this sentiment.
Breakfast, comprising whatever scraps remained
from the night meal, was eaten. Then said
McKay:
“I’ll go to the raudal. If anything's there I'll
yell. The rest of you snoop around and see if you
can find any sign. Stick together.”
“You’re not going alone, Rod!” disputed
Knowlton.
“I am. I want you fellows to scout around
camp. Anything that wanted to get me—or all


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 2OI
of us—could have done it in the night. Any
devil that tries flying away with me in daylight
will have his hands full. No argument, Merry!”
He picked up his rifle and a machete and
turned downstream. But he was not to go alone,
in spite of his decision; for Portonio, without a
word, grasped his own gun and bush-knife,
caught up with him in two strides, elbowed him
aside, and took the lead. McKay growled; then
grinned, and let the determined fellow have his
way. The Venezuelan's first sweep of the long
blade evinced a dexterity such as the Northerner
did not possess, and the trip could obviously be
made in much less time by his path-making
skill.
Across the brook they passed, and on through
the bush, now lit up by the fast-rising sun. In
the morning breeze the foliage around and above
them rustled like A long sigh, and from it fell a
miniature shower of drops remaining from the
bygone rain. Yet, despite that night deluge and
the present wetness of the forest, the ground felt
firm, not muddy. Subconsciously the pair no-
ticed this, and Portonio formed a conclusion
which he was soon to voice. At present, how-
ever, he was too busy with his steel and his
watchfulness of the forest to propound any


2O2 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
theories. Steadily they kept on, finding no
danger, until they reached the next raudal.
That reef, hidden from the camp by a turn of
the stream, was perhaps a third of a mile below
it. It was short, but full of rocks, and unlikely
to allow an unmanned boat to pass through. Yet
it held no dugout in its clutch. Nor was any
unnatural object lodged on its stones. The rocks
were bare. And the short river vista below it
was empty.
After one survey which missed nothing, they
turned back. They were half-way to camp when
Portonio, studying the ground more closely now,
spoke.
“Capitán. I think we are near open country.
This ground is hard. It is like that of sabana.
And an Indian on the Alto Orinoco once told me
there are high sabanas and mountains here.”
“Bueno. We shall see.”
They pressed on a little faster. Recrossing the
brook, they found the hut vacant; but a rod or
two behind it the blue shirt of León was vaguely
visible amid the greenery, and as they spied him
he turned, as if sensing their presence. He beck-
oned. As they walked to him they mentally
braced themselves for some grisly sight—the
bodies of the Indians, perhaps, fearfully mangled.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 2O3
Instead, they found their comrades clustered
beside a small tree on which was affixed a cryptic
object. It was at once an enigma and, at first
sight, a menace; a silent messenger of jungle
death: a blowgun dart.
It was not, however, a spent missile caught by
its point and lost or forgotten by hunter or
prowler. It had been deliberately and carefully
placed: bound to the trunk by a slanting liga-
ture of vine—fresh vine. And it was such a dart
as no man here—all of whom had some famili-
arity with such sinister weapons—had ever before
seen. In size and shape, to be sure, it was typ-
ical: a miniature javelin, a foot and a half long,
a sixteenth of an inch thick, needle-sharp at the
point, wrapped with a short conical plug of cotton
near the butt. But it was dyed. From tip to
mid-section it was jet black; from there to the
dull end, blood red.
“A token and a guide,” said León:
“Token of what?” puzzled McKay. “Death?”
“I do not know. But I do not think it is a
threat. See, it points away from our camp, not
toward it. What the colors mean I cannot say,
though I know what made them. The black is
curame—not curare, the poison, but curame,
which the Indians use as black paint; and the


CHAPTER XV
GHOST LAND
ALONG an elusive thread of a trail, through tall
forest which still shook down chill drops of
moisture as the breezes swept its crown, marched
the five remaining from the fourteen who had
left the Caño Negro.
Once more the guidance of their course had
swung to the lot of the Spanish-born; for,
though neither of the Venezuelans was ac-
quainted with the terrain now to be traversed,
each of them was a veteran of similar selvas, and
thus a shade more at home here than the out-
landers. As McKay had put it: “You chaps
have the feel of this region. We haven't. So
you pick the way for awhile.” And now León
and Portonio walked in file at the head of the
short column.
On each man's back hung a small pack: the
meagre possessions remaining from the outfit
carried by the canoe. The Americans, who habi-
tually brought their rucksacks ashore at night,
carried them now, with various small belongings
2O5


2O6 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
therein. Portonio and León portaged the ham-
mocks, tightly rolled and hitched on by bark
thongs. Under each Venezuelan's left arm hung
his bullet bag, and in either fist swung rifle and
machete. The Americans carried their ammu-
nition in army web belts, heavy laden; their
machetes—or, rather, those of the Indians who
had failed to use them—thrust under those same
belts, unguarded by any scabbards; their rifles
in their right hands, and pistols swinging at their
thighs. The hammocks, bows, and arrows of the
Maquiritares had been left behind, stowed out of
sight on an overhead shelf formed by a few small
poles laid crosswise of the hut.
“We cannot use them,” León had pointed out,
“and it may be that the Indios will reappear here
at some time in desperate need of them. I can-
not feel that they have left us because they
wished to do so; not Frasco, at any rate. If they
still live they will return here—sometime. We
shall take the machetes.”
Before starting, they had taken careful stock
of their cartridge supply, finding that it totaled
about four hundred rounds. The .30's and .45's
of the Americans aggregated about three hun-
dred, while the .44's of the Spaniards (who car-
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 2O7
ried no revolvers) came to approximately a
hundred.
“Enough to carry us a long distance,” asserted
Knowlton, “unless we get into a jam with a
hostile gang or two. A stiff scrap would eat up
these yellow babies in jig-time. Moral: don’t
start anything.”
And now they were on the march, following
the direction indicated by that strange red-and-
black pointer on the tree. What lay before them
none could guess, but each of the Northerners
walked in half hope of meeting at last some mem-
ber of that blond race for which they had so
unswervingly sought. With a pang Knowlton
thought of the camera and films, now lost, which
could have recorded in indisputable form the
existence of such a people, if actually it did exist.
He had left the machine under the tarpaulin last
night, and now it was forever gone. Gone, too,
were all snapshots taken along the route above
Monoblanco—snatched away as if grim old
Guayana were determined to let no views of her
secret places go forth to the world of white men.
So dimly marked was the path beneath their
feet that they could advance only at a slow pace,
constantly watchful against its total evanishment.
It was damp, yet hard; nowhere on it could be


2O8 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
discerned the recent mark of a human foot. It
veered and wound as if aimless, yet steadily led
on to the westward. At no point was affixed
any dart similar to the one which had first
directed them, and which still led them—
for León, in whimsical jest, had stabbed the
cryptic token through the peak of his sombrero,
and there it rode at the head of the party, its
black tip foremost and its sanguinary butt
cockily protruding behind.
For more than two hours they trudged on,
feeling all the time that the ground was gradually
rising. No living thing, alow or aloft, moved or
called. The forest seemed intensely quiet; and
so shadowy was it that over the marchers crept
the feeling that they were traversing a ghost-
land, wherein dwelt no live man or beast or bird.
When they spoke—which was seldom—they un-
consciously hushed their tones. At length the
ascending grade became more steep, and for
another half hour they climbed at an angle
which taxed legs and lungs. Then the light grew
rapidly stronger; the trees thinned out; and be.
yond the branches became visible spaces of low
sky.
“Sabana!” called León, quickening his pace.
Portonio, chuckling at this vindication of his


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 209
judgment, pressed after him. Then, abruptly,
both slowed.
“Carambal What is this?” ejaculated the
leader.
The open savanna now was plainly visible
through the trees, and there the forest trail must
end. Here, at the terminus of that path, a gro-
tesque shape hung from an overhead branch; a
black, sombre thing, dangling by a length of
stout vine, and still with the absolute stillness of
death. It resembled a bird—but monstrous and
misshapen.
Approaching gingerly, they stared at it; then,
at closer range, chuckled in relief, even while
they shot mystified glances about them. The
weird thing was a pair of pauji turkeys, hanging
by the necks from the same loop, so that they
had appeared to be one creature bloated beyond
recognition. A tentative sniff, followed by a
practiced handling by both the Venezuelans, dis-
closed the fact that the birds were freshly killed.
“Wha'd'ye know!” marveled Tim. “A hand-
out from the spooks!”
They stared around them again. No peering
face, no flitting form met their gaze. A long
sigh of wind overhead accentuated the loneliness
of the place. Once more they eyed the birds.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 2 II
of the Caura—hulking creatures with malignant
eyes in their chests. And the five men confront-
ing it, who had faced and fought many a fero-
cious thing in other days, unconsciously set
their jaws and gave it back scowl for scowl.
Presently, however, they recalled their atten-
tion to their nearer surroundings. There was
nothing to see but the gravelly savanna and its
dwarf trees, but these were weird: some thick-
trunked, yet crowned only by a few miserable
stubs of branches; others warped, gnarled, con-
torted like tortured gnomes twisted out of all
semblance to human form. One might fancy
that they were ghastly wrecks of once healthy
beings, fiendishly crippled by brutalities inflicted
by that monster at the south, then doomed to
stand here forever while the giant gloated on
their misery. -
“Cripes!” muttered Tim. “This is a hell of
a place!”
It truly was: a desolate inferno of diabolical
shapes, grilling under the heat of a molten ball
high overhead. The next moment the speaker
made a discovery which did not tend to lighten
his spirits. His glance happened to linger on the
nearest dwarfed trunk, and there he spied a
spot of red.


2 I2 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Lookit!” he pointed. “There's the divil's
traffic sign again!”
Knowlton squinted at the tree, then walked
over to it.
“True enough,” he announced. “It’s another
of those red-and-black darts. Points straight to
that mountain. Well, we owe the highway de-
partment hereabouts a vote of thanks, fellows.
Route markers—free air—turkey dinners gratis.”
After narrowly inspecting the missile and finding
no poison on the point, he plucked it from its
binding vine and slid it under the cloth button
crowning his topi.
“Yeah,” rumbled Tim. “But before I eat any
o' that turk I want to know is it poisoned. These
here blowgun needles sort o’ take away me
appetite.” º
Knowlton's lids narrowed, and so did McKay's,
as they eyed the two fine birds on Portonio's
shoulder. As Tim suggested, those curassows
probably had been slain by darts dipped in the
deadly curare; and, although they knew that
weird venom to be innocuous to the stomach, the
thought of devouring the flesh of poisoned crea-
tures was unattractive. But León calmly
pointed Out:


2I4. MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
even Tim. So intent were they on the cooking
that they did not notice the departure of Por-
tonio, who, after a long look around, quietly took
the camp kettle from his pack and, rifle in hand,
walked away into the woods. By the time they
discovered his absence and started up in anxiety
to look for him, he was emerging again from the
obscurity, carrying the kettle as carefully as if it
held eggs. -
“Agua, señores,” he grinned. “Water—a
little. I found water vines and squeezed them.
There is no other.” He showed a small quantity
of water in his kettle—enough for a few swallows
each.
McKay's lips opened to reprimand him for
departing alone, but he bit back the reproof; for
it occurred to him that he himself had set a bad
example that morning by starting alone to the
raudal. The big riverman, however, read his
frown, and, with a cheerful grin, added:
“Nobody is here. The ghosts walk only at
night.”
“True for ye, feller,” agreed Tim. “The only
bad crack that's come in daylight was Curro
gittin' killed in that there rowdydow, or what ye
call it—raudal? all right—and that was acci.
{


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 215
:
.
dental. Night's the time when we’ve got to
watch ourselves.”
“I don't believe we’ve got to watch ourselves
at all,” declared Knowlton, an odd light in his
eyes. “I’ve been doping on this thing while we
marched, and I believe we're in right. Certainly
everything indicates it. We weren't touched last
night. We find guide-posts along the way. We
even have our grub hung up and waiting for us.
A queer way for these “spooks’ to act if they
don't want us in here!
“I believe this white crowd in here has made
this section taboo for Indians; but real white
men, like us, can come right in. They’ve heard,
about us and they want us to come on. That
blond chap who came to Uaunana gave Juancito
orders to help us along. That’s why the old boy
did a mental back-flip after refusing to give us a
hand. They watched us come up the Periqueta;
remember the mysterious movements we used to
See? And they were around our camps. They're
at the bottom of last night's doings—although I
can't imagine why or how they pulled off that
stunt. And they’re helping us along now.”
“Mebbe. But what for?” demanded Tim.
"If they're so chummy why don't they come out


216 MoUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
and lay down a door-mat with ‘Welcome’ on it?
We're knockin’ on the door now.”
“Because they’re wary. We're the first whites
who ever came in here. We're packing guns.
They’re shy. By and by they'll come out in the
open and be friendly. They're friendly now, but
too uncertain of us to take chances.”
He drew back his roasting-stick, inspected his
meat, and held it aside to cool. León, already
chewing at his own tough portion, munched
meditatively, then slowly nodded.
“You may have it right, señor,” he conceded.
“It sounds probable. They know of our coming,
beyond a doubt. Señor Tim spoke to the men of
the Caño Tamara at my sitio, he has told me.
That Caño Tamara is to the west of here, and
those men must have come back to give the
word. And Black White, at Monoblanco, heard
our plans. He must know these people. He may
have told them. But yet 33
He paused, frowning, and took another bite.
Knowlton tore off a tentative mouthful and fell
to masticating it.
“Yet what?” queried McKay.
“He came to warn us, capitän. There is be-
tween him and me a queer sort of friendship; that
is to say, we would help each other in time of


, MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 217
need, if we could; and, in his crazy way, he was
trying to help me then. And you remember what
he said.”
"Yeah. Said these gorillas would claw the
faces offen us.” Tim twitched his heavy shoul-
ders as if chilled by the memory. “I think we’re
* bunch o' come-ons. They're kiddin' us along
till they git us to the right place, and then—”
“And then what'll we do?” challenged Knowl-
ton. “Lie down and let 'em claw? Not with four
hundred rounds and five machetes and ten fists
and feet among us. As for Black White's yap, it
*mounts to about as much as the yelps of a
cuckoo-clock. Come on, eat your poison and
let's go. Mine tastes good.”
With which he crushed another mouthful of
turkey-breast between his teeth. McKay, his
jaws working with the regularity of machinery,
* chewing away with no visible interest in the
*ories propounded. The red man, who had
*n cooking his meat almost to a crisp—as if
*reby he could neutralize the curare in its
*ues-scowled at it, drew his face into a knot,
and began to gnaw. Its unsalted flavor was
*Ppetizing, but, once started, he ground away
without a word.


218 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Presently Knowlton, with a wink at León, said
soberly to McKay:
“Maybe Tim's right, though, Rod. 'Perhaps
we'd better hit straight west and try to get out of
here. We can find some creek and get back to
the Ventuari 33
“Huh?” Tim bristled. “Quit? Ye poor
fish 33
Then he spied the twinkle in the blue eyes and
caught his tongue.
“Hark to the Great American Doughboy,”
laughed Knowlton. “We had about a million
like him in the army, León. Growl and grouch
about going ahead—but try to turn 'em back and
they'd knock your face in.”
“Grrrumph!” growled Tim, gnawing again,
León snickered.
When the birds were reduced to bones they
emptied the kettle of its water—a careful ration
to each man, until it was gone. It was not
enough to sate their thirst, but it had to suffice.
Then, settling hats more firmly on heads and
picking up packs and arms, they tramped out
into the blazing savanna. There they turned to
the left and began their dogged march toward
the brute of a mountain. -
Now, with open land about them and that


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 219
§:
}
§:
º
towering landmark ahead, they journeyed in a
different formation: instead of a file, they made
a straggling skirmish line, each man walking as
he pleased, yet keeping approximately abreast of
the others. No orders were given; they adopted
this line of march instinctively, as giving them a
wider range of view. Up over the crest of a
low rolling ridge they trudged, and down its easy
slant beyond; along the sides of a bumpy boil
of gravel, passing around it on right and left and
drawing together again; converging on a higher
bump farther along, clustering on its summit
for a brief survey in all directions, then scattering
below. As they went, the forest at their left
kept gradually receding, leaving them farther
and farther out in the land of the ghost-trees.
Hour by hour they walked, meeting only the
same weird dwarf growth, the same uneven
swells and troughs of land. And, hour by hour,
the giant ahead remained where it was, ap-
Proaching no nearer for all their steady tramping.
At length Knowlton called to León:
“How far off is that miserable rock, anyway?
We can't reach it by tonight, can we’”
“Hardly, señor,” the rover answered, repress-
. a smile. “Perhaps three days—perhaps
our.”


22O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Sufferin’ camels!” croaked Tim. “And no
water!”
Yet water did come. Late in the afternoon,
when the thirsty band gathered once more on a
hill-top to seek sign of the moisture which their
sun-parched bodies now fiercely demanded, a
sizable cluster of tall green palms caught their
eyes.
“Un morichal!” rasped Portonio. “Agual
Carne!”
“A water-hole where grows the moriche palm.
Water and meat,” echoed León. “At such spots
gather animals to drink at sunset.”
They swung into a jog trot. In less than half
an hour they were almost at the edge of the oasis.
And there they met their meat—alive and
coming to them.
From the greenery sprang a tawny creature,
dashing toward them as if pressed hard by pur-
suers. Abruptly it halted, staring at the on-
coming men; then swerved as if to flee westward.
Three rifles spoke almost as one. The quarry
pitched headlong and was still. Running to it,
the marchers gloated down at a beautiful dwarf
deer.
“Supper and breakfast!” exulted Tim. “And
now for about forty gallons o' that wet water!"
* *.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 22 I
º
}:
º
#:
He began trotting toward the trees.
“As you were!” barked McKay. “Some-
thing drove that deer out. Watch yourself!”
The band closed in. Guardedly they ad-
Vanced—reached the trees—walked to the water.
No man or animal opposed them; no sight or
sound of lurking life came to them. Two by two
they sank and drank, rose, stood on guard while
the others imbibed the precious liquid and
bathed their hot heads. Yet there seemed abso-
lutely nothing to guard against.
Portonio strode forth, heaved the deer to his
shoulders, brought it in. While he cut it up,
the rest built a makeshift camp. A fire bloomed,
and the odor of broiling venison tantalized their
nostrils. -
All were too tired for talk. But, as the sun
touched the horizon, throwing a queer pinkish
light over the wilderness of ghost-trees, the
seldom-speaking Portonio voiced something
which still puzzled all. In his river Spanish he
drawled:
“I wonder what thing drove that animal to us.”
Then from somewhere sounded a strange noise
as if invisible demons laughed: an eerie chuckle
that made the hair stir and hands reach for guns.
It died, and came no more. The men looked at


222 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
one another speechlessly. The hissing of the
flames was the only sound in the darkening
morichal.
The sun vanished. The stars sprang out. The
stunted trees became black monstrosities leering
at the camp. Once more, under his breath, Tim
muttered:
“This is a hell of a place!”


CHAPTER XVI
THE TALKING MOUNTAIN
THROUGHout that night every man lay with his
rifle tied to his arm. And throughout the sunless
hours the fire was kept burning.
The fact that the guns had been undisturbed
in the ghostly raid at the Periqueta did not, as
McKay pointed out, prove that no attempt to
take them would be made at this or some future
camp. The invisible, inaudible demons who had
spirited away four Indians and a canoe might
again steal into the sleeping quarters, this time
to sneak away the weapons. . Wherefore the
Northerners extracted from their knee-boots the
rawhide thongs and knotted them to the rifles
and to their left wrists, holding the weapons in
inescapable leash while leaving their right hands
free. Then they took the guns to bed with
them. Even a demon would find extreme
difficulty in abstracting those firearms without
arousing their owners.
As for the fire, it was replenished from time to
time by whoever happened to awake. No watch
223


224 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
was kept, or even considered; for sleep was too
badly needed. Yet nobody—except, possibly,
Portonio—slumbered steadily through the dark
hours. At different times each roused, looked
about and listened, and presently lapsed back
into unconsciousness. At no time was any
figure, human or otherwise, seen in the vague
light cast by the smouldering flame. Nor did
any tug come at any of the rifle-thongs.
Once, and once only, came a noise which made
those who heard it sit up and swing their guns
out of the hammocks. Somewhere in the gloomy
depths beyond the little pool sounded a sudden
rush, a gasping, struggling commotion, and
then a low, ferocious growl. Followed a vague
sound suggestive of powerful jaws rending a
bloody repast. Silence ensued. The listeners
lay back. It was merely one of the nocturnal
tragedies of the drinking-hole. Some animal had
torn the life from another.
Dawn found them astir; untying their guns,
relacing boots, freshening the fire, drinking and
bathing at the pool. The broiled remnants of
the deer—hung high above the fire, that no
prowling animal might snatch them in the
night—were taken down and eaten. The last
rites of breaking camp were another long drink
*


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 225
and a futile attempt to devise some means of
carrying water unspilled in the lidless kettle—
the only vessel available. Had plantain leaves
been at hand, a passable cover might have been
constructed and lashed on; but there were none.
“This is one time when we traveled too light,”
complained Tim. “If we’d only brought along
that empty coffee-can and the coffee-pot, in-
stead o' leavin' 'em because we didn’t have no
more coffee —”
“And if we’d sat awake all night and pre-
vented our canoe from giving us the slip 33
ridiculed Knowlton. “What's the good of “if”?
We'll find some more water when we need it.
The spooks are taking good care of us.”
“Yeah. Same as a farmer takes good care o'
the turk jest before Thanksgivin'.”
“Crape-hanger! Come on, let's go.”
They went. Out among the ghost-trees they
marched, and, circuiting the morichal, on toward
the mountain.
As before, they walked in a loose-flung skir-
mish-line which expanded or contracted in con-
formity with the ground-surface. And, as be-
fore, the terrain varied yard by yard, remaining
constant only in two particulars—the presence
of the malformed trees and the absence of water.


226 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Not even the bottoms of the occasional ravines
showed any trace of moisture.
Toward noon, however, Knowlton's faith in the
beneficence of the “spooks” justified itself. An-
other clump of the water-loving moriche palms
thrust their plumes above the stunted growth,
and, on reaching it, the trampers discovered an-
other “hand-out.” At the edge of the small
central pool stood a slender but long pole, shoved
deep into the wet soil and slanting outward; and
at its top, hanging high above the water and thus
inaccessible to any leaping jaguar or other beast
of prey, swung a cluster of four agoutis—rabbit-
like animals whose succulent flesh formed a wel-
come change from the dry meats hitherto eaten.
“Better and better!” exulted Knowlton. “Next
thing we know, we'll find our camps all built for
us when we arrive, and grub cooked and smoking
hot on a table. Lord! Rod, doesn't it remind
you of the fairy-tales we used to hear when we
were kids? An enchanted land with invisible
people, and everything furnished just when it
was needed, and so on. Maybe we’ll find a sleep-
ing beauty in a marble hall waiting for Tim to
kiss her back to life.”
“Huh! She's out o' luck, then,” grunted Tim,
|


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 229
yet clear of tone. On the ears of the men who
for many hours had heard only the empty flut-
terings of parched leaves and the slither of their
own feet, they fell like muted trumpet-calls.
They halted short, gaping southward.
“Ah-ho-o-o! Ah-ho-o-o-o!”
“Ajo!” echoed León, his tones rasping in his
dried-up throat. “What is that?”
As one man, they right-faced and pushed
southward again. On the crest of another knoll
they stopped and peered toward the point
whence seemed to rise those calls. And then the
voices died out.
While they still strained eyes and ears, from
among the dwarfs began to rise a dark, shapeless
form, like a djinnee conjured up by some magi-
clan to perform the tasks of men. Wavering,
then leaning off to the westward and fading out
as the breeze sifted its upper portions into noth-
ingness, still it held its foot fixed in the same spot:
a gray-black spirit of smoke, marking the place
toward which the wilderness wayfarers should
hold their course.
That place was less than half a mile away.
And without question or argument the five forth-
with struck off through the stumpy growth, head-
ing toward the beacon with resolute strides. No


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 23I
“Yah ho-o-o-o! Wah ho-o-o-o!”
Half a minute crawled away before any reply
sounded. Then, faint yet clear, seemingly far off
yet curiously near, back floated the ghost voices.
“Ah ho-o-o-o!”
Once only came that strange harmony of
tones. Then—only the tiny sigh of drooping
leaves on starveling branches, swept by hot wind.
The bloated red sun slid below the horizon. A
furnace glare flamed on a few skinny clouds, died
to pink, faded out. Night strode over the waste.
Again the five slept on their arms. This time
they hung no hammocks, but lay on the ground,
protected from any chance rain by the outcrop of
stone. No rain came, though, and for once the
night sky remained clear, a lop-sided moon flood-
ing the wilderness with silvery radiance. If any
creature came near the camp in the night it stole
away again undetected, leaving behind it no
trace of its presence. -
Dawn had not yet come when Portonio was
up and rebuilding the fire. By sunrise every man
had worried down his share of the monkey-meat,
and the jars had been drained of their water. In
the first rays of the new sun they clustered upon
the rock which had sheltered them, studying the
huge block at the southward which, all felt,


232 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
marked the final goal of their march. Massive
and menacing, it now seemed to hang almost over
them, biding its time to topple forward and crush
to nothingness the puny human insects who
dared approach its base. Yet it still was miles
away.
“We should reach it this afternoon,” judged
León, “unless our demon friends fail us now and
make us hunt for our food. And that does not
seem likely. It seems that they wish us to reach
them as soon as we can.”
“About time for them to take visible form, if
they're going to,” said McKay. “Unless we
see something human soon I shall be getting
superstitious.”
His face relaxed as he spoke, but his words
were only half a jest. The uncanny attendance
of unseen beings, the bodiless voices heard at
sundown, the unnatural trees, the mute yet pal-
pable threat of the stone giant ever before them—
these things, combined with the soul-searing
sun and the unbalanced diet and infrequent
allaying of thirst, had drawn taut even his iron
nerves. The pinched faces and restless eyes of
his comrades betrayed a strain worse than his
own. If only something—anything—even a


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 233
&
horde of murderous savages—would take shape
and move!
“Well, they were within shouting distance
last night,” recalled Knowlton. “Today we
ought to come into sight of them.”
“Within shouting distance,” echoed León.
“Yet not within shooting distance. I have
been thinking that perhaps that deer which we
shot was driven out to make us show what we
could do with our guns; and we did a little too
well. But they are slowly drawing a little nearer,
as you say. Bien. Let us walk to them.”
They tramped away.
Midday found them toiling up a gradual as-
cent, lifting toward the mountain. The trees
were becoming somewhat more dense, and the
small hills which had afforded occasional ele-
wated views seemed to have ended, giving way to
a sloping plain whereon nothing could be made
out save the nearer trunks. Again their dried-
out bodies cried for water; but no water was in
sight. The mountain wall, however, seemed now
to stand almost within gunshot. Toward it they
plodded; on and up, step by step, yard by yard,
rod by rod, climbing that tilted surface which
must lead at last to the cliff.
All at once the land fell away. Before they


234 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
were aware of it, they stood on the rolling verge
of a steep down-grade, at the bottom of which
stretched a long valley green with trees: no
starveling dwarf trees, but tall, full-bodied
growths betokening the presence of water. On
the farther side, that green mantle seemed almost
to meet the base of the towering precipice itself.
One swift, sweeping survey they took, seeking
huts, plantations, smokes, moving figures—any
signs of man. Not one did they find.
Portonio, a little distance from the others,
swallowed, pointed to the trees, and hoarsely
called:
“Agua!”
Without reply, his companions pressed for-
ward, licking their cracked lips with sticky
tongues. Then all halted as if shot. From
across the valley a hoarse voice croaked:
“Agua!”
It was a loud voice; louder than Portonio's,
yet strangely like it; withal, a harder, stonier
tone, as if the stark cliff itself spoke. Staring,
the men searched all along the line for the source
of that startling answer. Nothing showed.
Tim, clearing his parched throat, demanded:
“Grrup! What the divil’s that?”


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 235
Seconds passed. Then, abrupt as a blow,
Something bellowed:
“Grrup! What the divil’s that?”
After a stunned instant, the five broke into
wild laughter as the explanation struck them.
Their mirth was brief and harsh, but a relief from
the sudden nerve tension. When the echo
hurtled back at them, however, they scowled
and ceased grinning. As before, the noise was
startlingly loud; every tone was magnified; and
the wild peals, with that stony harshness behind
them, seemed horrible as the roars of exultant
fiends. Indeed, for the moment it was hard to
realize that the monstrous rock was not voicing
its own savage delight at having lured the legend-
hunters into its clutch, to break and twist them
into such haggard cripples as those distorted
growths among which they had marched so long.
It was too much for Tim. Fiercely he yelled
back at the mocking voices:
“Shut up, damn ye!”
To which the maligant rock retorted with
thundering ferocity:
“SHUT UP, DAMN YE!”
Tim gulped and glared, his eyes snapping.
Knowlton chuckled dryly and adjured him:
"Come on. You're crazy.” With that he and


236 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
the others resumed their movements. Within
three steps they heard a low, hideous chortle from
the giant, and the satiric invitation:
“Come on! You're crazy!”
Tim clamped his lips tight. But, as he swung
on down the slope, he told himself: “Begorry,
that ain't no lie, neither. Everything's crazy
round here, and we’re crazy to ever come here.”
They had nearly reached the timber when,
from a point some distance to the westward, came
a long shout. -
“Ah-ho-o-o-o-o!”
The mountain promptly repeated it, but failed
to confuse the listening men. Again and again it
rang from the west and rebounded from the wall.
After looking at one another, they shook their
heads and marched on, straight into the forest.
Water must be nearer than the place where those
calls rose; and water they must have. All else
could wait.
, León and Portonio, with machetes swinging,
led the way through the tangle, holding their
course true toward the now unseen wall. But
no water could they discover. They crossed the
depression, found the ground rising again, and
turned back; scouted a little way up and down
the bottom of the hollow; and failed to detect $0


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 237
much as a drop of moisture. The soil was rather
soft, but nowhere wet. It became evident to all
that whatever water nourished the luxuriant
tree-growth was below the surface; and they had
neither the tools nor the inclination to dig for it.
Abandoning the search, they squatted for a time
in the shade, finding a partial relief in rest and
refuge from the grilling sun. No voices came to
them now. The calls at the west had died out
soon after they entered the woods.
“I think we have strayed,” said León, speak-
ing low, “and have missed some sign left for us.
The people of this place look for us where they
were calling. No doubt we shall find food and
drink there, or be led to where those things wait.”
For a moment all held their breath, awaiting
the echo. None came. The thick growth, ap-
parently, so deadened the Spaniard's quiet words
as to prevent any reverberation.
“Well, let's go and see what the bill of fare is,”
prompted McKay. “I’m hungry.”
“Me tool” loudly affirmed Tim, too loudly;
for, as they began to back-track, the sinister
Wall behind them responded in a muffled tone:
“Me, too!”
Once more in the open, they paused, looking
for any figures moving about in search of them.


238 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
Instead, over at the west had risen another spirit
of smoke, which stood up and waveringly sum-
moned them to–what? The long-expected
meeting with the white men of Guayana? They
swung forward to find out.
Unlike the djinnee of the desert rock, this
phantom did not withdraw into the ground as
they approached. It did, however, grow thinner,
paling from black to gray, as if the fresh leaves
on which its fire fed were becoming exhausted.
And when the rovers reached it they found only
flames and charred foliage. There was no food.
Nor were any men
“Mira! Look!” exclaimed Portonio, pointing
In advancing toward the signal they had
obliqued upward to a point above the tree-tops,
Now they looked across at the wall—and found
there something not visible from their previous
viewpoint. In the stark rock was a shallow fold;
and in that depression showed a black hole—a
cavern mouth. But it was not that cavity which
held the gaze of the wanderers. Before the open-
ing stood rocks, and on the tallest was a human
figure. Voiceless, it was moving its arms slowly
up and down. -
As the riverman's ejaculation bounded back
across the little gulf, León added another.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 239
“A woman!”
Whether his assertion was a certainty based on
his keen sight, or merely a guess, the others could
not tell; for, though the figure seemed nude,
their heat-fatigued vision could not distinguish
feminine contours at that distance. The one
thing plain to all was that the signaler was alive
and,-as seen against the dusky cavern, white.
Now, as the second echo resounded, the waving
arms moved overhead and beckoned.
“Ah-ho-o-o!” called León. “Amigos!”
As ever, the stony mimicry returned. But
then followed a voice more strange, more weird.
From the cave behind the silent figure rolled a
deep, hollow, sepulchral tone, totally unlike the
resonant reverberations from the outer wall.
"Loco León! Blancos! Aquí! (White men!
Come here!)”
The giant, tiring of empty mockery, had
spoken of its own accord.


242 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
threw every energy into reaching shelter before a
drowning deluge should roar down on them,
The irresistible force was already in combat with
the immovable body. Amid such cataclysmic
conflict as was breaking, no mere mortal could
hope to stand.
Between two tall stones the track led by short,
sharp twists. Then the mouth of the cave seemed
to snap open before them—a gaping maw of
gloom. The laboring five slowed to a halt, stab-
bing that murk with rapid glances which revealed
no human form. As they stood there, overhead
burst a terrific crash. They leaped forward again,
Into the yawning gap they plunged in a compact
body. As the rock roof slid out above them, at
their backs sounded a solid slap of rain. Every-
thing vanished in a roaring smother of water.
“Begorry, here’s a drink, anyways!” yelled
Tim. “Tonio ! La caldera! The kettle!”
Portonio, with another look around, swiftly
divested himself not only of his pack, but of his
clothing. Smiling, he ducked forth into the cata-
ract of rain; set down the kettle, and, throwing
his arms over his head, stood a minute reveling in
the deluge, though staggering under its impact.
The sight was too much for the rest. As he came


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 243
scrambling back in, gasping but grinning, he
found his señores peeling their garments.
Two by two, while the others maintained vigi-
lance, they jumped out into the elemental chaos;
stood as long as they could, while every heat-
expanded pore of their bodies sucked up the flail-
ing drops; and bounded back, reinvigorated as
by a plunge into an icy pool. Tim, last to return,
brought in the kettle, now nearly half full. It
afforded only a few swallows to each man, but
between these and the absorption from their
impromptu bath the tormenting thirst seemed
magically appeased.
As they rapidly dressed again, the fury of the
assaulting cloud giant became a paroxysm. The
deluge was shot athwart by blinding glares of
lightning; the rain-roar overwhelmed by stun- .
ning shocks of thunder. Flash upon flash, crash
upon crash, flared and pounded earth and rock
and air in frightful fulminations. So violent were
the concussions that, though partly protected
from the full force of the abysmal attack, the men
within the cave-mouth found their sensibilities
growing numb. Almost without conscious im-
pulse they drifted back from it, moving farther
and farther in, peering about them with lids


244 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
nearly closed as a defense against the searing
bursts of light.
The flickering flares revealed only an empty gap
in the stone, receding into unbroken gloom. No
human figure was there. But for the evidence
of the path, the adventurers might well believe
that all beings in this land were unearthly. Voices
and smokes, and one view of a distant human
form which soon had faded into nothing—these
had been all their guides. And now they became
again aware of a voice, stealing from that dark-
some region beyond. At another time, when the
outer world was at peace, that tone might have
been sonorous. Now, amid the thundering
tumult, it seemed a mere whisper.
“Aquí! Adentrol” it urged. “Come here!
Come in!”
All faced toward the inner recesses, but none
advanced. They had followed unseen guides long
enough. Against this demand that they make
themselves sightless moles in a subterranean tum.
nel both common sense and temper rebelled.
“Come out!” bellowed Tim. “Show your
!”
selves
If any reply came, it was obliterated by another
thunderclap outside. But his command was ſok
lowed by involuntary compliance from an untº
*


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 245
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pected quarter. In the welter of rain and spray
at the threshold, two blurred forms took shape.
Slipping, scrambling, clawing for holds on the
streaming slant, they lunged through the torren-
tial downpour and reeled in under the protecting
rock.
Something prompted León to turn his head.
Instantly he whirled on his heels, rifle half lifted.
The others, catching his startled movement, like-
wise spun about. The five confronted the two.
For breathless seconds they stood rigid. Then
they relaxed, their fingers leaving the triggers of
their weapons. i
At last they were looking at men indubitably
human, mortal, and alive—or, at least, half alive.
The pair stood now as if little life were left in
them: stooped, with hands braced on knees,
heads hanging, bodies wavering on legs which
seemed about to sink under them; naked men
battered into exhaustion by the tempest.
Whether they were the hitherto invisible escort,
or other men who had been trailing behind the
advancing explorers; whether they had been
lying hidden just outside with the intention of
following the strangers toward the inner gloom
and thus blocking their retreat; or whether they
were merely habitants caught at some distance


246 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
outside by the deluge and forced to run for shelter
—this the explorers never learned. It was quite
apparent, however, that they now had no weapons
and that they were pounded nearly senseless,
Sorry creatures, indeed, for five heavily armed
men to hold at bay.
In the recurrent glare and dimness nothing else
could be made of them. Against the flashes they
were black; in the alternating dull light they
seemed white; their proportions were those of
tall men. That was all that could be discerned.
McKay, with rifle dangling beside him, muzzle
down, walked toward them. Knowlton shot a
glance backward, seeking other naked people
who might be stealing out from the invisible in-
terior; found none, and moved after the captain,
as did his companions. As they approached, the
pair straightened up, with evident effort, and fell
back a pace.
McKay halted at once, giving them a slow
smile. Then he passed his rifle to Portonio, 0°-
tentatiously spread his empty hands, walked
toward and past them, then turned to face them.
They watchfully followed his moves, but took no
step toward or away from him. For a moment
he stood quiet. Then a wicked flash shot across
the rain-sheet, followed by a concussion like that


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 247
†
º
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);
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#!
19
of an exploding shell. Every man staggered.
But, as McKay walked inward again, an exultant
smile quirked his mouth. He had seen what he
sought.
“Blue!” he yelled, gesturing toward his own
eyes.
The rest nodded dully. They felt little sur-
prise or pleasure. Indeed, they were more numb
than ever from the effects of that latest electrical
discharge. McKay himself stepped stiffly, as if
his feet dragged. All felt a desire to go farther
in and evade some of the violence of that shock-
ing bombardment. But to walk in blackness,
unaware of what lurked beyond—no, that they
would not do. The unknown fate of Frasco and
his mates was still too well remembered.
Now León took a hand. Without attempting
speech, he gave the newcomers a brief, eloquent
talk by signs. First pointing inward, he made
motions as if groping, squinted as if peering
blindly about, and decisively shook his head.
Then he raised a hand as if carrying a torch;
held up his head confidently, moved his body as
if walking boldly along, and nodded. His mean-
ing was plain to all: that they would come in if
lights were carried before them, but that other-
wise they would not budge.


248 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
\
In return, one of the naked men motioned
toward the Spaniard's rifle, then to the ground,
indicating that guns must be left there. A curt
negative was the reply. For a minute or two the
pair stood motionless; then, slowly, began walk-
ing toward the rear of the place. The whites let
them pass. They faded into the dark and were
gone.
Another flash from without revealed them
again for an instant, plodding steadily away
along an apparently level and straight tunnel.
When the glare was gone, the wanderers moved
after them for a little distance; then, feeling
their way to the wall at one side, sat down with
their backs against it. The floor of the place
was perfectly dry, indicating a slight upward
slope from the water-swept threshold. And
there, woefully hungry and dull-nerved from the
electric shocks, they rested and awaited what-
ever might come.
Speech was impossible. Outside, the stupen-
dous duel raged on with undiminished fury. At
times a slight tremor in the solid rock was per-
ceptible to the lounging quintet; the grim giant
which had glowered at them across the waste
land was quivering under the terrible blows of
that other giant which had rushed westward to
$º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 249
assail it. Within, no repetition of that hollow
voice came through the darkness. It, too, was
overwhelmed by the elemental uproar.
Time dragged away. At length, seemingly far
within the mountain, dawned a vague spot of
light; a mere ghost of illumination, bodiless as
an ignis fatuus; vanishing at each flare of light-
ning, but reappearing in the succeeding rush of
black. Then appeared a dot of real flame, appar-
ently descending a gradual slope, along which its
sheen had preceded it. Steadily it grew into blaz-
ing torches advancing at good speed. The wait-
ing men arose and walked to meet them.
The lights stopped, waiting, as the bearers
made out the advancing forms against the cavern-
mouth. They were two, and two only; the same
men who had come from the storm. The out-
landers, reaching them, gave them a quick survey,
then glanced triumphantly at one another. No
longer could there be any question in their minds
as to the existence of such people as they sought.
The bright lights revealed to all the blue eyes
which McKay had already detected. In the
bushy hair, still dark with water, they struck
brownish glints. They showed, too, that the
skins of these twain were, though tanned, lighter


25O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
even than those of the Maquiritares of Uaunana.
The blond men of Guayana were found.
Without a word, one of them turned and led
the way. The other waited to follow the strang-
ers. McKay unhesitatingly took up the step.
The file moved inward, Portonio, walking near
the end, first giving the final torch-bearer a look
of warning against any tricks.
For some distance they walked in a straight
line, the footing remaining so nearly level that
no grade was perceptible. The walls, McKay
observed, were uniformly smooth and concave,
arching into a roof not far overhead; the tunnel
looked as if hollowed out by the scouring action
of water. Presently it began to pitch upward,
gradually at first, then more steeply, until the
booted Northerners found it hard to maintain a
grip on the smooth path. Thereafter it veered
in irregular turnings, ever ascending. As the line
forged on, the crashing of the storm diminished
to blunt buffetings, then to dull rumbles, and at
length to virtual silence.
“Where do you lead us?” abruptly demanded
McKay.
His voice broke into the vaulted hush with the
suddenness of a gunshot. The leader jumped,
head jerking over shoulder, startled eyes staring,


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 25I
*
After a stumble, he recovered both equilibrium
and equanimity. But he made no answer. In-
stead, he pressed on at an increased pace. McKay
said no more.
Then the leader slowed, swinging his torch
higher aloft. Before them rose a long ladder-like
stair. The slope of ascent now had become so
steep that even the habitants of the place could
not maintain foot-holds without artificial aids.
After giving the party a view of the work ahead,
the pilot ascended at a pace which the others
could not match. It took a wrathful yell to
make him slow down.
“Wonder how the boneheads expected us to
navigate this place in the dark,” grumbled
Knowlton. “It’s bad enough with lights.”
“That is the Indian way,” replied León.
“They know every inch of their road, and it
never occurs to their minds that their visitors
cannot follow it as easily as they. Caramba!
My legs have no lifting power in them!”
His complaint evoked a chorus of concurring
grunts. It now was more than eight hours since
they had eaten; and the last meal had comprised
only monkey-fragments and water. For that
matter, they had tasted nothing but unbalanced,
unsalted meat rations for the past three days,


252 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
while their vitality had been sapped by constant
exposure to the murderous sun. Now their
stamina was low. But they clamped their jaws
and mounted the crude staircase—only to find
that it went on and on. To the first length an-
other was joined, and to that a third, the whole
structure climbing like an inclined railway upside
down—the ties above the rails. Up and up and
up it led, until the knees of the ill-nourished five
seemed powerless to make the one step more
which always waited beyond. When at last they
reached a level where the lifting ended, they
stopped and leaned against the nearest wall.
A slow grin passed over the face of the blue-
eyed mountain man as he paused to view them.
In that grin was something cruel, in those azure
orbs something cold and crafty, that made
McKay and León regard him with faces hard-
ening. Then he turned away and went on.
Breathing hard, they resumed their way.
All at once they found themselves in a larger
space where a vague light filtered in from the
right. A few more steps, and the right wall van-
ished. The light became a trifle stronger, coming
from what seemed another cavern at one side.
From that direction, too, came a steady plash
of water.


!
MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 253
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The leader extinguished his torch. His mate
at the rear did the same. Both walked aside,
leaving the gun-bearing party to itself. That
little band looked rapidly around a low-roofed
natural room, in the center of which squatted a
single figure.
“Aquí!” spoke that hunched form.
The voice was husky, yet penetrating. The
shape was nondescript, the creature being
wrapped in some sort of garment. Toward it the
outlanders walked, and before it they stopped.
They met the unwinking gaze of a pair of keen
blue eyes, peering at them from a face of myriad
wrinkles: the visage of a man of great age, ut-
terly hairless, huddled in a dingy, coarse-woven
cotton cloth. With his bare skull, sharp nose,
and humpy body, he looked vulturine.
“Quién es?” demanded the ancient.
“Loco León, of the Ventuari,” answered León
himself, speaking slowly. “And friends of Loco
León from far away. We are friends to all people
of Guayana. We come in peace to see the white
ones who are white like ourselves.”
As he concluded, he took off his sombrero,
exhibiting his fair hair. Knowlton followed his
cue, and, after a minute, Tim likewise exposed


254 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
his flaming mop. McKay and Portonio, the
black-haired, kept their headgear in place.
The bald patriarch, motionless, studied the
two blonds, his puckered visage unreadable. As
his gaze fastened on Tim, a faintly puzzled ex-
pression dawned; and for some time he fixedly
regarded the red hair. At length his eyes moved
again, passing slowly over each of the strangers,
noting all details of physique and dress. As he
spied the two darts still sticking in the hats of
the blond pair, a shadowy smile seemed to steal
across his wizened visage. Then he appeared to
recall the Spaniard's words. He voiced a single
guttural. In response, the two who had led the
way through the mountain came and stood
beside him.
“To see white ones,” he echoed. “You see
them.”
“You mean— There are no more?” asked
McKay. *
The bald head wagged from side to side.
“A woman. No others. All dead,” he
croaked.
A silence. The legend-hunters regarded him
fixedly, then stared at the mute pair beside him,
then once more looked around. The place was
bare. Nowhere was visible any sign of other life.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 255
No sound came, save the beat of water without.
The air seemed burdened with chill desolation.
“Wal, for the love o’ Mike!” groaned Tim.
“We come all this ways and stand here starvin',
jest to look at two dummies and a mummy!”


CHAPTER XVIII
THE PEOPLE OF THE SHADOWS
“I THINK,” quietly remarked Knowlton, “that
this old buzzard is a cheerful liar. There must
be more of these people. But the most pressing
now before the house is: When do we eat?”
The old one's sharp eyes watched him as he
spoke, striving to read his face. They shifted to
León as the latter translated the need of the
moment into language intelligible to him.
“Tenemos mucho hambre,” declared the
Spaniard. “We are very hungry.”
“Eat your guns,” sarcastically responded the
ancient.
“Meaning that we'll get no grub until we act
more friendly,” surmised McKay. “Our man-
ners are rather poor, at that. But still—” He
paused, studying the trio before them. “I don't
quite like their looks, and I’m giving no gun to
them.”
The faces turned toward him were not pre-
possessing. That of the oldster seemed more and
more that of a cunning bird of prey. Those of
256


258 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
strode ahead of him and passed beyond sight.
His visitors, uninvited, moved after, León re-
trieving his rifle as he started.
Around a rough corner of the cavern they
passed, entering a smaller room. Light darted
to meet them; light pouring through a big gap
in the farther wall, but subdued by a slanting,
awning-like structure of palm outside, which cut
off all view of what lay beyond. The lower edge
of this screen was on a line with the floor-level
of the rock cavity, but as the party moved in-
ward they glimpsed sheets of rain below it. The
reason for the watery noise became clear. While
they were in the bowels of the mountain the
thunderstorm had ceased as abruptly as it had
begun, but the clouds still were belching rain.
After one glance, however, the hungry men
gave no further attention to outer conditions, for
their gaze riveted on something far more perti.
nent. On the floor at one side lay a veritable
banquet—or so it appeared to them. Cooked
meats; a basket of manioc, luscious, melon-like
lechosa fruits; boiled sweet yuca; and, in a large
bowl, a dark drink, with small gourds lying close
at hand—these viands waited, on a spread of
fresh plantain leaves, for the men who now eyed
them in astonished delight. At sight of their sur-
ſº
| |


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 259
prised faces, a chuckle shook the satiric old fellow
whose inhospitable reception had led them to
expect scant fare or none. -
“Bastant’?” he snickered. “Enough?”
“Oh boy!” gurgled Tim. “Lookit the lay-out
he's had waitin’ while he kidded us! I'd hug the
ol’ mummy, only I know I’d crack him.”
The wide grin he gave the host was mirrored
in the drawn faces of his companions. The old
man of the mountain chuckled again; moved to
the wall beside the repast, and stiffly essayed to
squat. Portonio, smiling, gave him a hand,
easing him down. As the clutching fingers re-
laxed from his big palm, though, the riverman
ceased smiling and involuntarily rubbed that
hand on his breeches. Those wrinkled talons
were cold and clammy as the grip of Death.
Dropping packs and standing guns and ma-
chetes along the wall, the guests squatted and
fell to the welcome work of appeasing ravenous
appetites. Having recently drunk of the rain-
water, they gave no attention at first to the
liquid. Nor did they eat much meat; their
palates craved the other things, which would off-
set the uncompensated meat diet of the overland
traverse. While they busily masticated the
fruit and starch, the wordless pair who had


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 261
Up the backs of his companions crept a slow
chill. Their thoughts darted back to the Oso
camp, the gourd of cherry-like fruits—and the
men of the Caño Cerbatana. None spoke. But
across their faces swept a simultaneous repulsion.
The piercing old eyes watching them narrowed
by a hair's breadth. -
León lit the new roll of tobacco—that fright-
fully strong black tobacco to which he was habit-
uated—and extended it to their sinister host. He
eyed it; slowly accepted it; squinted at it again;
put it awkwardly to his lips, and puffed. After
a moment he drew the smoke into his throat and
exhaled, as he had seen his guests do. His lash-
less lids began to blink rapidly. He coughed.
“Ol' King Tut, gittin’ his first smoke,” mut-
tered Tim. “And that tobaccer's strong enough
to knock an elephant cock-eyed. Look out he
don't fall in the soup.”
The momentary tension vanished in sudden
grins. Somewhat to their surprise, the aged
novice grinned also: a toothless grin betokening
enjoyment of a new sensation. He took another
long puff, blew it out with gusto, and did not
cough over it. But he swayed a little against
the wall.
“Game old sport,” chuckled McKay.


262 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Yeah. And in about two minutes he'll be
seasick on our table. Send these two gorillas to
fetch a bucket and a mop.”
The pessimistic prediction, however, failed.
The narcotic made the oldster unsteady, but
seemed also to exhilarate him. His grin stayed
on his face, and he stared at his guests as if
comfortably and amiably intoxicated.
McKay, observing him shrewdly, shot a ques-
tion that caught him off guard.
“Where are all the other blondos?”
“At the houses,” came the unwary reply.
McKay nodded, as if the location of the houses
were quite well known to him. Casually he
suggested:
“Send for them and let us give them smoke."
The old brain, half drugged, seemed to struggle,
Various vague expressions flitted across the
hatchet face. Another inhalation, deep-drawn,
visibly unsettled his mental processes still
further.
“Smoke would make them more foolish,” he
giggled. “Their heads are weak.”
McKay nodded again, in the same casual way.
“Bring them here,” he repeated. “We would
see them again.”
Then the befogged mind awoke. The blurry


264 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“How many years have you, father?”
“How many stars has the sky?” droned the
ancient. “How many trees has the forest?”
“Ah. And so many years have brought much
wisdom. No others here are as wise as you.”
The bald flattery brought a tickled grin and a
prompt assertion:
“None! All are fools. So they die.”
“Fools must die,” assented the Spaniard.
“Guayana is no land for fools. Yet why are so
many fools here, and only one wise man?”
“Because the new ones are not born wise,
Each young one is more of a fool. Fools cannot
live long.”
“Ah. And how did the older ones die—those
not so foolish?”
“Guaharibos. Fever. Age.”
“Sí? So the Guaharibos come here and fight
you? They are bad. Why do you not go to some
other place, where Guaharibos will not reach
you?”
The other stared, as if he thought the ques-
tioner mad. -
“This is our place,” he said.
“Ah. And so you never leave it. But from
where did the first blondos come to this place?”
“Guayana.”


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 265
“Guayana. But this is Guayana. So you
came from nowhere else? What is your nation?”
“Maquiritare.”
There was a long pause. The Americans
frowned in puzzlement. These blonds were
Maquiritares? Impossible! León studied his
new-made cigarette, giving it unnecessary care;
then lit it and held it out.
“This is better, father. Drop the old one.
You say you are Maquiritare? But I know
many Maquiritares, and none like you. None
are so white.”
The claw-like hand wavered uncertainly as it
reached for the new smoke, and the hairless lids
drooped. But he did not lose his hold on the
subject of conversation.
“None are pure white,” he agreed. “None but
us. We live apart. We first ones were born
white from brown fathers. We do not know why.
Our mothers were brown. Our brothers were
brown. Mine were so. All the brown ones
laughed. They called me 'Spañol. Ahk!” He
spat the hated name as if “Spaniard” were a
worse epithet than “snake”; and, among the
aborigines who had exterminated the Spaniards
of the Caura, perhaps it was. “So I left them.
I came here. Here were others like myself. We


266 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
made all brown ones afraid. None come now to
the Talking Mountain.”
His head drooped, and he swayed a little for-
ward from the wall. He essayed another inhal.
ation; but the bark roll slipped from his fingers
and fell. After a half-motion toward it he let it
lie and settled himself back against the stone.
His auditors cast away their own charred
stubs and resumed eating, meanwhile revolving
in their minds the disjointed revelations which
left so much unrevealed. Portonio, at last full-
fed, picked up one of the small gourds and
moved it toward the bowl. The low-voiced cau-
tion previously voiced by León apparently had
escaped him. But Tim intervened—with his
usual directness. He shot out a big hand,
knocked the calabash from the riverman's grasp,
and growled:
“Watch yerself, ye big boob! Cuidado!”
Portonio looked blank. A look at the others,
however, gave him ample warning. Every eye
backed the Irishman's command. Every eye,
that is, except the old man's. The abrupt move.
ment, the words, roused him from lethargy, and
his gaze became keen and compelling.
“Drink!” he rasped. “It is good. It is strong,
Drink it!”
*


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 267
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“We do not like the sehi,” quietly returned
Knowlton. “We are not used to it. It makes
us sick.”
“Drink!” A shriveled hand pointed to the
bowl. The cold eyes glittered.
“We drink what we like and when we please,”
snapped McKay. “Why do you try to make us
drink this? What is in it?”
Slowly the hand sank. Over the blue orbs
seemed to draw a snaky film. The bald head
settled down on the wrinkled neck, huddling back
into the dingy wrap. No answer came.
“M-hm,” Knowlton murmured softly. “Looks
as if your hunch was good, León. When we want
a drink we'll catch some rain. Meanwhile let’s
eat everything in sight.”
They attacked the remainder of the meal with
new vigor; for every man of them felt that no
further repasts would be forthcoming—at least,
not at the bidding of that wizened creature who
seemed to be master here. As they ate, they
glanced now and then at the white savage behind
them—who made no move—and listened for the
shuffle of other feet. No such sound came to
them. But, at length, another sound did: a
muttering of subdued voices, drifting from the
direction of the tunnel. Swiftly they arose.


268 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
More mutterings. Then around the corner
strode the messenger who had gone to bring the
rest of his people. He grunted something. The
vulturine figure stirred, the head rising, the beak
turning toward the outer room. In rasping
tones, it spoke.
Slowly, from the shadows beyond, came a
strange company. Man after man, each garbed
in a short clout, each light of hair and blue of eye,
—and each carrying some weapon in a half-
defensive position—stepped in and sidled along
the farther wall. None was as tall or as muscular
as the two who first had come within the ken of
the visitors, but all looked sinewy and strong,
Then came women, and more women; a few
wearing bead aprons like those of the girls of
Uaunana, but more with mere squares of hand-
woven, red-dyed cotton cloth; all with blond
hair cut across at the back of the neck. Like a
herd of sheep they pressed in and backed up
against their men; and with sheep-like eyes and
faces they stared at the bearded, travel-stained,
sun-scorched foreigners clustered around the
squatting patriarch and the sinister bowl.
When all had entered, the room held some two-
score blue-eyed Indians, yellow-white of skin,
yellow of hair, the great majority of whom were
§


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 269
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women. Silent they stood, first running their
eyes over each of the strangers, then concentrat-
ing their attention on the pair of blonds and the
red-maned Tim. As they stared, their faces took
on gaping expressions, devoid of any emotion
save the most primitive wonder: ...a peculiarly
blank look which recalled the old man's con-
temptuous summary of them. Physically strong,
but mentally weak, if not actually defective—
such was the story told by those vacuous visages.
Mature or adolescent, all bore that stamp of
inferiority, rendered the more palpable by the
universal heaviness of feature. As for beauty,
not even Tim's hopeful eye could discern any
trace of it among the female faces fronting him.
“Huh! A herd o' half-wits!” he muttered.
“How do they git that way?”
Knowlton, studying them as impersonally as
if they were wax figures, answered:
“Inbreeding.”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“People in the same family mating, and their
children mating—brother with sister—and so on.
It always results in mental dullness. If it goes
on long enough the children either die young or
become idiots. It's common among isolated
peoples. These people have been doing that.


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MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 271
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“Nor me neither,” seconded Tim. “These
dish-faced idjuts? Nix!”
The gimlet eyes below them, reading their
faces in a flash, narrowed wickedly. Swift words
rattled from the wrinkled lips.
The women sprang forward. Chattering,
screaming, they threw themselves at the strangers
who had refused them. Some laughed; others
cried out as if enraged; all clutched at the recal-
citrant bridegrooms, apparently determined to
carry them off by force.
“Hot dog!” snorted Tim, hastily retreating.
“This is bargain day and we're the bargains!
Hey! Back up, ye squallin’ she-cats!”
Half amused, half angered by the assault, he
and his companions gave ground before the rush-
ing females. The remnants of the meal were
trodden under foot, the bowl upset, the old man
trampled, the rifles knocked down. Resistance
seemed only to fan the flame of feminine deter-
mination. They crowded in harder than ever.
And behind them, unnoticed, their men shoved
at their backs, pushing them on the outlanders.
Before the united impetus of forty, the five were
swept back to the opening beyond which fell the
rain.
“Look out!” suddenly roared McKay. “It’s


272 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
a frame-up! We’re on the edge—they're showing
us over! Fight 'em! Hard!”
Too late, they began battling in earnest. The
creatures swarming at them, women though they
were by sex, were men now in their attack:
strong, merciless, vindictive men. They had
ceased the deceptive clutching; they were strik-
ing, butting, shoving. And through their mass
now came boring the men who had pushed them
on. These carried spears—and the white men's
own rifles.
Braced on the very verge of the outer drop, the
five fought furiously to win more foot-room.
They attacked with bare hands only; no other
weapons could be used under the circumstances;
but with those fists they struck ruthlessly. It
was useless. Against odds of eight to one, with
no space for movement, they could not gain.
A spear-shaft, swung over the women's heads,
struck solidly on Tim's crown. He staggered—
and a woman kicked him over the edge. Other
women, knocked down by fist-blows, clutched
Knowlton and León by the ankles and yanked;
others butted them in the body. Overbalanced,
they pitched backward into nothingness. McKay
battered his way into the jam, only to fall sense-
less from a blow by a rifle barrel. Portonio, grap-


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 273
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pling with three antagonists—two virulent women
and one of the tallest men—received a similar
blow on his unprotected head and collapsed.
A shrill screech of triumph rang through the
hollows of the mountain. The prostrate captain
and the huddled riverman were shoved vindic-
tively over the brink. Down they fell—and only
the people of the shadows, battered and bloody,
remained in the caverns.
Among the shattered fragments of the bowl and
the red slop thrown from it, the human vulture
crawled stiffly to his feet and laughed like a
ghoul.


CHAPTER XIX
THE PIT
THROUGH three fathoms of rain-soaked air the
overthrown fighters fell headlong. Then they hit
earth: steep, slimy clay, slippery as wet soap,
dropping at a precipitous grade for a hundred feet
or more. Down this they slid and rolled, those
still conscious clawing vainly for holds, those
whose senses had fled tumbling like dead men.
At the bottom they slewed out over a watery
waste of the same greasy soil, coming at last to
a jolting stop against a hummock.
Dazed, dizzied, gasping for breath and spitting
out blobs of clay, Knowlton and Tim and León
sat up and glowered at the slide down which they
had sped. McKay and Portonio still were in
motion, scooting lifelessly toward them. The
captain's course ended in a rain-pool, where he
lay face down; the riverman's in another puddle,
With a simultaneous scrambling lunge, their com-
rades reached them and hauled them away from
danger of drowning. Then they glared up through
the rain at the projecting yellow hood whence
they had been forced.
274


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 275
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Dimly they saw, in the black-mouthed gap
behind that awning, white figures flinging their
arms about in exultation; and through the slash
of the rain came taunting yells and screams.
With smothered growls, Tim and Knowlton drew
their pistols and opened a vengeful fire, hurling
bullet after bullet at the treacherous gang.
Whether any of those bullets found a mark they
never knew, for no form pitched over the edge.
With the rain beating into their eyes, the raging
assailants probably missed their targets. But
they put a stop to the jeering. The screams
became a screech of fear, and the white figures
vanished as by magic.
“Yah! Ye yeller-bellied hellions, that ain’t so
funny, hey?” howled Tim. “And as quick as
this rain quits ye’ll see us climbin’ back at ye!
Jest as quick as we can git a toe-hold on that
toboggan-slide— Huh? What say, looey?”
“I said we’d better hunt cover before they
start potting at us with our own guns.” Knowl-
ton fumbled another clip from his belt and jam-
med it into the butt of his side-arm; squinted
upward again, then glanced around—and looked
blank. There was no cover.
“Diablo! What hole are we in now?” mut-
tered León, also staring about him.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 277
of a herd of mental degenerates; smeared from
head to foot with yellow slime; soaked with rain,
lacerated and contused from their fight and fall;
working to prolong the life of companions who,
perhaps, might find in continued existence only
the torment of lingering death. It was a spec-
tacle to make the merciless powers of that harsh
hinterland roar with sardonic glee. -
But the men themselves were by no means
beaten yet. Even while the three toiled to
restore consciousness to the two, their eyes
glanced aside from time to time in search of some
avenue of escape. These were no spiritless slaves
of circumstance, drooping under the blows of
malign Fate; they were tenacious fighters accus-
tomed to overcoming evil chance and emerging
unconquered from catastrophe. Nor were the
hard-headed Scot and the brawny Venezuelan
the men to succumb long to the shocks of fight-
ing. Under the ministrations of their comrades
and the battering of the cold rain they soon
struggled back to knowledge of their surround-
ings. Their eyes opened; stared blankly a
second; focused on the set faces above them,
and rolled in a comprehensive survey of their
environment. Then they sat up, scowling as pain


278 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
streaked through their stunned brains, but voic.
ing no plaint.
As they did so, the rain—which, though heavy,
was by no means the smothering deluge of the
initial onset—dwindled to a dying shower. Then
it ceased. The leaden sky lightened. The stark
cliffs, no longer veiled, seemed to stride forward,
closing in on the trapped adventurers. From
them dripped the wash of their summits, spat-
tering with a bleak sound on the sodden bottom
of the pit. Unspeaking, McKay slowly scanned
the whole cheerless cage, his gaze returning at
length to the palm rainshed jutting above the
slide. In all the encircling expanse, that was the
only sign of an exit.
Now, as the eyes of all rested once more on
that high hole, from it issued a croaking voice
pronouncing their doom. It was the voice of the
old vulture; yet now it was deeper, stronger, with
a hollow tone reminiscent of the sepulchral com-
mand first heard issuing from the outer cave.
And, peer as they might, the men below could
see nothing beyond that awning save empty dark.
“Loco León!” it called. “You drink or you
die. You, and the men you bring here, stay here.
You have walked Guayana alone unharmed
Now you have walked with new men. You have
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28o MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“At sunrise. Now there is none.”
“Bueno. We shall be waiting.”
There was an ominous undertone in the cap-
tain's rejoinder, and a hard glimmer in the gray
eyes as he turned to his companions. They read
his thought: to attack and capture the bearers
of that blood-red drink and force them to lead
the way to escape. Tim gave a subdued growl,
Portonio an eloquent grunt. From above came
no further sound.
As they once more looked around them, a
sudden brilliancy lit up the place. The clouds
had broken and vanished; the westering sun had
shot into the dungeon. Its slanting rays did not
strike the bedraggled little company, but the
farther wall seemed to be wholly bathed in light.
Moved by a simultaneous impulse, they began
walking toward that hot flood, in which they
might dry their clothing and drive from their
bones the chill already settling there—a clammy
cold born not alone of wet garments. That
radiant sun, which so recently had been a mur-
derous monster sucking their life, now seemed a
friend and comforter amid dank horrors.
The ground before them rose in an irregular
mound, whence protruded greasy-looking rocks.
Slipping on the miry surface, they slowly
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MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 281
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mounted it. They were half-way up when
Knowlton halted, exclaiming:
“Say! There’s a drain to this hole some-
where! Tons of water have been tumbling in
here in the last hour, but there are only shallow
puddles. If all that water can get out so fast—”
He left the sentence unfinished and began
scrambling upward with sudden energy.
“Any way out of this place is guarded, Merry,”
was McKay's pessimistic prediction. But he,
too, pushed on with lengthened paces. At the
top of the mound, all looked eagerly about. They
saw only more dirt, rock, and pools.
Down the next slope they slid; up another
rise they labored; and so they passed to the end.
There they found Knowlton's surmise correct—
but unavailing. Near the cliff wall yawned a
hole, into which mucky water still was draining;
but its sides fell straight downward, and from
somewhere far below came the gruesome gurgle
of a subterranean stream. Through that exit
they could pass only as corpses. .
Near by, half hidden in the clay and befouled
by spattered dirt, lay ghastly evidence of the
futility of efforts to escape from this impregnable
prison: human bones. A skull leered hollow-
eyed; yellowed ribs and disjointed limbs pro-


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 283
will all be gone, too; eaten away, grain by grain,
by rain and wind.”
“And then we can walk out o' here, I s'pose.”
“Sure. If we can hold out that long.”
Grim smiles answered the stoic jest. They
moved out of the sun, now becoming too hot.
Then León said, thoughtfully:
“I do not believe we shall be here so long. I
believe that my luck will show us some way out.
One thing in which I firmly believe is the luck
of Loco León. It has never yet failed me in a
tight place.”
“What's that? Do you carry a luck-piece—a
talisman, or fetich, or medicine-bag, or some-
thing?” asked Knowlton.
“No. It is just luck,” was the calm answer.
“I have been near death many times, and always
something saved me. And I believe my luck will
hold good until I deliberately do a wrong to other
men. If I had come here to harm these people
my luck might fail. But I did not. Nor did
you. So there will be a way out.”
At this naive confession of faith in a vague
deity of Luck, the others looked curiously at him.
His tone, his self-possessed manner, told that he
meant what he said. And, primitive though his
belief might sound, it struck a responsive chord;


284 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
for every man there possessed an instinctive
faith in natural justice, wholly dissociated from
the creeds and dogmas which the civilized world
calls religion. But then their glances strayed to
the bones over yonder in the dirt. If those men
had failed to find a way of escape, why should
fortune favor the new captives?
“What do your omens say about our luck,
Tim?” asked Knowlton, with a thin smile.
“They say we’re clean out o' luck,” was the
morose rejoinder, “like they've been sayin' all
along that we would be. Me, I don't see no good
fairies roostin' in this hell-hole. And about doin'
deliberate wrong to any guy—I’ll tell the cock-
eyed world the things I’m goin’ to do to these
gorillas if I git half a chance will be deliberate
and cruel.”
McKay, his head still grinding, lifted a hand
to the big lump protruding above one ear, and
his hard jaw boded no good for any white Indian
who might fall into his grip. The others, saying
nothing, glanced toward the distant yellow blotch
with ominous eyes. Even León, despite his odd
scruple against planning injury to any man,
looked decidedly grim; for, now that he was the
wronged one, retaliation was altogether in ac-
cordance with his code.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 285
º
#
But the omens for repayment were, as Tim
said, unpropitious. And now, as his words
aroused memories of the foreboding occurrences
along their way, each reviewed them and found
bygone enigmas becoming clear in the light of
retrospect.
There was the dying Curro, with his unintel-
ligible gaspings about something pertaining to
mountains, talk, and death. Now it was glar-
ingly plain that his fragmentary words had been
no mere crazy gibberish, but a desperate warn-
ing: “Do not go to the Mountain That Talks.
It is death!”
Curro had known—and Frasco and the rest
had known—that these señores, in order to reach
the blond people, must go to that awful Talking
Mountain; and that there waited some dire
fate. Yet so deep-rooted was their dread of
the “demons” abiding there that they had been
unable to put into words the horrors which, in
their minds, must be met at that ogre-like
mountain. By what monstrous deeds had these
white ones made themselves regarded as fiends
by the other people of Guayana? Guayana alone
knew. But their infernal reputation must have
originated from a deliberate diabolism, planned


286 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
and practised by the ruthless vulture of the
cavern and by others of his time.
And there was the demented Black White,
with his ravings in the night: his command to
go back or lose their faces and become living
dead men—men like himself, blackened and lost
forever in this trackless ghost-land. His mean-
ing was clear now. And there was Juancito,
with his pointblank refusal to help them travel
the Periqueta, and his laconic “Maluc’ſ” Good
old Juancito! And the mysterious appearance
and disappearance of the blond messenger,
delivering a command from the “demons,”
which the little chief dared not disobey; and
the surveillance of the invisible attendants en-
route up the demon-river and across the weird
sabana—the guidance to food and water—the
smoke-signals—all these were the work of the
old man of the mountain, luring the adventurers
on for his own fell purposes.
There had been a satiric significance, too, in
the dyed darts affixed as guiding pointers along
the-overland trail: the red and black symbol.
izing either the crimson sehi and its infernal
effect, or blood and death. And now, unless the
Spaniard's faith in his luck proved well founded,


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 287
*****
†
those two alternatives alone remained: black-
ness of life, or blackness of death.
Yes, many things were clear—looking back-
ward. Looking ahead, however, all was formless,
with only the vaguest possibilities taking semi-
solid shape in their minds. So, as the sunlight
crept to the wall and began inexorably rising to
the heights where they could not follow it, they
donned their still damp clothing and lay down
in a row on the sloping surface of half-dried
clay-awaiting a new day and whatever it might
bring forth.


CHAPTER XX
M'KAY GAMBLES
DARKNess, blank and dank, filled the ancient
lake-bed to the rim when Portonio sat up. A
full moon had passed over unseen and now was
lost. But another light, faint but unmistakable
to his experienced eyes, was beginning to steal
across the high heavens.
“Señores!” he called. “Day comes.”
The four who, like himself, had slept fitfully
through twelve hours of clammy chill needed no
second summons. Their heads lifted; their
hunched forms straightened out; and, shivering,
they pushed themselves up to a sit. As they
moved, each set his teeth to repress groans of
pain. Through their wrenched and battered
muscles, stiffened by hours on damp ground,
darted sharp twinges of protest against action.
For a few minutes each rubbed his various
spots of injury, flexed arms and legs, bent back.
ward, bowed and twisted his lame neck, None,
as yet, tried to walk. The spot where yawned
that deadly sink-hole was invisible, and nobody
288


290 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
-
they were alert to seize both rope and men—or
women—even if covered meanwhile from above
by their own rifles.
The people of the mountain seemed in no
haste. At the mouth of the cavern appeared no
figure. Sunlight blazed on the crest of the cliffs
and began steadily creeping down one wall.
Outside it must be broad day. Still no sign of
life was discernible.
“Guess we pulled a bad boner yesterday in
shooting up the place,” confessed Knowlton.
“If we hadn’t, they'd probably have thought
we were disarmed, and we'd have a better chance
today.”
“Just so, señor,” agreed the Spaniard. “Pis-
tols are little known in this land of Guayana, and
I believe they are not known at all to these
blondos. When they pushed us away from the
guns and machetes they thought all our weapons
gone, and if you had not fired — But it is
done. And I doubt that we shall be able now to
lay hand on one of these people. Ah! Look!”
At a corner of the cave-mouth something was
slowly coming over the edge. They tensed. It
paused a moment—a yellow-brown thing of in-
determinate character, vague of outline, in the
shadow of the palm hood. Then it slowly de-


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 29I
º
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scended. As its shape and identity became clear,
the waiting five voiced a grunt of disappoint-
ment bordering on despair. As León had pre-
dicted, they were not to capture any blond
Indian.
The moving thing was a huge gourd bottle,
being lowered at the end of a line. It swung
down the vertical drop to the beginning of the
slope; there it slid slowly, cunningly maneuvered
by the unseen holder of the cord, down the slick
surface of the clay: rolling in short zigzags from
side to side, but ever held in control, ever slipping
nearer to the powerless captives. At length it
was within their reach; a balloon-shaped con-
tainer, its only opening at the neck, and that
opening tightly closed with a wooden plug, above
which the line was attached. .
With a sudden spring Knowlton seized the line
and yanked hard. The fierce tug met with no
resistance. The cord flew loose from the cave
and dropped. Instead of jerking someone above
out over the edge, his wrench only unbalanced
him, and he tumbled back among his comrades.
From the cavern sounded a hollow chuckle, and
then the voice of the vulture.
“Yucut’ sehil” it croaked. “Food and
drink. Eat it—drink it—or die!”


292 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“We’ll see ye in hell first, ye lousy ol' snake!”
blared Tim, aiming a savage kick at the bomb-
like container. The kick missed, for his other
foot slipped and he nearly fell. Before he could
right himself a new and more dreadful voice
broke from overhead.
“Yee-hee-hah-hah-hah!” it yelled. “Fools!
Fools! Yah-hah-hah! I told you sol You idiots!
You would come here, would you, you boobs?
And now how do you like it? Have a drink on
the house! Ya-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Urrgh!” shuddered Tim. “That bloody
banshee again!”
He and the rest peered sharply upward, striv-
ing to fathom the dimness of the interior. They
failed. If a black face was looking down at
them, it was so merged with the farther gloom as
to be indistinguishable.
“Drink hearty, Locol” jeered the unseen mad-
man. “A bucket of blood! Lap it up, boys!
And then itch—and scratch—and watch your-
selves turn black! Black! Black as the soot of
hell! Nigger men like me! Dead men like me!
We'll all walk together then! Six dead men with-
out faces! Yah! Hah!”
From the farther wall, behind the trapped five,
faintly echoed:


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 293
“Yah! Hah!”
León spoke, his voice calm, yet tinged with
bitterness.
“Buen' dia’, White. We thank you for your
courtesy. Perhaps we shall drink. Perhaps not.
But whether we do or not, you are no more my
friend. In the past I have done whatever I could
for you. This is your gratitude. You can walk
alone hereafter—or with the devil; not with us.”
A brief silence. Then an angry yell:
“Shut up! I warned you, hombrel You called
me ‘ugly-mug’ſ Now take your own ugly mug
and keep it! You 33
McKay broke in, his tone chill as a sword-
blade—and as cutting.
“You, White! Listen to me a minute. You
think you used to be a white man, do you? And
an American? You never were! If you’d ever
had a spark of white-man decency you'd never
see white men turned black. You'd give them a
hand out of the hole. But you're worse than
black—you're yellow! You always were yellow.
You're a dirty, low-down traitor to the whole
white race. You're a rottener specimen of hu-
manity than these degenerates you associate with.
They don't know any better. You do. You're no
man. You're a rat! A sneaking, squeaking rat in


294 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
a hole, with all the instincts of a rat: a coward;
a biter in the dark; a filthy animal. Your actions
prove it. You'll never walk with us. We'd spit
in your face if you ever came near us. And what's
more, we're not drinking this stuff. We've got
backbone enough to die clean. This for you!”
With the last words he kicked the gourd. His
kick was surer, his footing firmer, than Tim's.
His boot shattered the calabash. A wave of red
gushed down the incline, the bloody-hued liquid
and its clots of manioc sweeping around the feet
of the five as if trying to contaminate them by
contact. Involuntarily they backed out of it.
And then from above them burst the torrent of a
madman's rage.
Furious howls of vituperation, incoherent but
vitriolic, replied to the Scot's denunciation. Blis-
tering curses, unintelligible snarls, maniacal
shrieks, tumbled in a cataract of horrible sound.
Black White was raving in a paroxysm of wrath.
Yet, despite his threats of instant death, he fired
no shot. Whether no gun was near him at the
moment, or whether some other circumstance
prevented lethal retaliation, none but himself
could know. But he wore out his fury and his
voice in empty noise. And McKay, an inex.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 295
!
º:
plicable smile showing at the corners of his hard
mouth, stood unmoved and listened to all of
1t.
At the end he spoke again: five words only, but
in a tone of such searing contempt that those
words stung worse than all the violence just
hurled from above. -
“A white man? You? Pah!”
He spat on the ground; turned his back, and
walked away toward the sunlit wall. His com-
panions followed in silence. And the man or men
above watched them go—in silence. Not a word
came now from the cavern.
At the base of the precipice on which the radi-
ance was creeping down, the prisoners squatted
and waited. For a long time nothing was said.
McKay, cold-eyed, stared fixedly at the barren
clay ahead of him. Knowlton and Tim, scowl-
ing, prodded absently at the dirt. Portonio, ex-
pressionless, remained immobile, only his brown
eyes moving at times to one or another of his
senores. León brooded.
“What is done is done,” he said, at length.
“Yet I wish you had not destroyed that gourd,
capitän. It was in my mind that if all else failed
we might pretend to drink that sehi, and, in some
way or other, blacken ourselves to look as if the


296 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
poison had worked. So we might again reach the
caves; and, once there—”
“No chance,” disagreed McKay. “I figured on
that possibility in the night. There's nothing to
blacken ourselves with. Not even a lead-pencil.
No wood to char. Only thing we could burn
would be our clothes—if they'd dry out enough to
take fire—and they'd see us do it and get wise,
Besides, they'd never let us come up with our
guns on. They'd make us send up everything
first—clothes and all, probably—on a line. So
we'd have nothing to fight with except our hands,
and those aren’t enough against that gang. We
can’t fake it. I’m gambling on another chance.
It's a hundred-to-one shot, but it may win. If
not, we’re out of luck.”
“Ye mean climbin’ up there when the ground
gits hard,” guessed Tim. “Tonight, in the dark.
And then we’ll do one o’ them human ladder acts
against the rock, with the top guy crawlin' over
the edge with a gun in each fist. That guy is goin'
to be me!”
“I did figure on that,” acknowledged the cap-
tain, “but it's no good. It seemed possible until
just now. An all-day sun hardening that clay—a
careful climb after dark—and a five-man tower.
But we can't get up that clay, sun or no sun.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 297
It'll never dry out enough. I saw an ooze of water
from it. There’s a seepage somewhere up the
slope, and that slope is always wet. The rest of
this ground is firmer than it was yesterday, but
that place isn't.”
Gloomy frowns ensued. León, who had ex-
perimented with the ascent, slowly nodded.
“True,” he admitted. “It is like grease. Then
what is the thing you gamble on, capitán?”
“A change of heart.”
The others eyed him in perplexity.
“Ye mean them gorillas will git merciful?”
scoffed Tim. “Fat chance!”
“Not merciful. But perhaps a bit ashamed or
a bit sensible. I’m playing White for the shame
and old Tut for the sense. You heard me roast
White. Got his goat, didn't it? Burned him on
his sorest spot. All right. That spot's going to
ache for quite a while. He may try to ease it by
doing something to prove that he's still a white
man under the skin. If I get him right, he must
have been a he-man once, and proud as the devil.
It was his pride that made his brain crack. And,
cracked as he is, he's still proud. No question of
it. Wanted to fight us all at Monoblanco to show
how good a man he was. Now, after the names I


298 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
called him, he'll want to prove that he's better
than these half-wits. That's how I'm betting
“As for the old mummy, he wants us alive,
Everything proves that. He brought us here to
put fresh blood into his gang. We're his last hope,
No other white men are coming in here. If he
starves us his pet scheme goes glimmering. I'm
betting that in a day or two he'll offer to com-
promise somehow. Until that time comes we
won’t give an inch. It'll be tough for us in the
meantime, but we’ve got to stick it out to the
finish.”
“Right!” assented Knowlton. “No surrender!
Frankly, I’m not much enthused over either of
your long shots, Rod. But I’ve seen dark horses
make good more than once before now. Between
your psychological hunches and the famous luck
of Loco León we may break loose yet. How's
your luck feeling just now, Locof"
“Not so strong, at this moment,” admitted the
Spaniard. “Luck always has been with me when
I could do something to help it. I have never had
to sit and wait for it to come to me. But I stilldo
not feel that it is dead, though it may be a little
sick for the time.”
“That's the spirit!” His fellow blond slapped
him on the shoulder. “Luck and Nerve are


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 299
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brothers. As long as a fellow hangs onto his
nerve, luck's somewhere near him.”
“Yeah. Ye said a mouthful that time,”
approved Tim. “The guy that's got no nerve
is always out o' luck, and serves him right. Wal,
there ain’t a quitter in this gang, I’ll tell the
world. Lookit ol' Tonio, here; he dunno what
we're sayin', but he knows we're up against it .
good, and he ain’t battin’ an eye.”
As he said, the riverman's scant knowledge of
English had given him only an inkling of the
nature of the talk, but he understood the general
situation thoroughly; and his quiet courage was
unruffled. In fact, as the others looked at him
he smiled—that slow, easy smile of his, betoken-
ing a heart unafraid. And when León put into
Spanish the gist of the conversation, he merely
answered:
“Sí. We shall be hungry. I have been hungry
at other times.”
“You would not drink the sehif” probed
McKay.
With his usual deliberation, Portonio spat to-
ward the cavern. No further answer was needed.
Downward crept the sun. They drew out
their soggy tobacco, and Tim spread his shirt as a
drying-ground for the precious shreds. When the


3OO MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
hot light reached the dirt the men themselves
sat for a time in it, then moved to shade; for
not one of them now possessed a hat. Hungrily
they watched the brown and black particles until
they judged them dry enough for smoking; then
made an experimental cigarette in one of Leon's
bark sheets, and found that it would burn. A
minute later all were puffing at hastily built
brown cylinders.
Not until those little rolls had burned to the
tiniest of stubs did anyone speak again. Then
Knowlton, who had been speculatively eying the
high hole where unseen men undoubtedly were
watching their every move, turned a quizzical
glance to his partners and announced:
“I’m going to back your play, Rod, with a
song. If White ever was a regular fellow he's
sung this one himself many a time. See if we
can get a rise out of him. Whether we do or
not, we’ll show 'em we’re not running up any
white flag. All together, now! Let's go!”
He hummed the first line. Both McKay and
Tim suddenly grinned and nodded. And a few
seconds later the bleak cliffs were echoing with a
roaring, rollicking chorus: a rough old ditty
devoid of true music, but a man-song charged
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 303
aloft. The mute evidence of those unburied
bones near the sink-hole was sufficient to prove
that no line of escape existed, but these new-
comers were overlooking no possibilities. When
they had completed their circuit they were con-
vinced that no possibilities existed. There was
one way out, and only one: the natural tunnel
by which they had come in.
Beyond the palm hood they still could discern
no human face or figure; and when the sun struck
that yellow shield the inner shadow became a
pocket of blackness. Yet they felt the gaze of
unseen eyes constantly watching, and knew well
enough that one or more—perhaps all—of the
people of the mountain were lurking there and
following their every move. Wherefore, adher-
ing to their policy of defiant contempt, they
feigned complete indifference. As the pangs of
increasing hunger became more acute they sur-
reptitiously tightened their belts; and assuming
positions of ease in a shady spot, they preserved
an air of nonchalance which might or might not
wear on the patience of their jailers.
“We now have nothing to do but rest, señores,”
remarked Portonio, with a philosophical grin.
“And it is the best thing we can do,” added
León, “To move about is only to make our-


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 305
blondo who reached Uaunana so soon after we
did—he was sent from this place before we even
reached Monoblanco. He must have been.
Perhaps he and White traveled together, al-
though I am quite sure that White does not live
at this place. At any rate, he could have lain at
the Periqueta mouth to see whether we turned in
there, and, finding that we did not, followed us
to Uaunana, and there learned our intentions
from Juancito. Then he could—and did—dash
back to the Periqueta. The things which followed
—” He paused, thinking.
“Were all worked out in advance by the old
man,” McKay finished. “Maybe you're right
about White. I hope so. But this old buzzard
had everything pretty thoroughly doped out be-
forehand, beyond a doubt. He coached his gang
on what to do, and they followed orders through-
out. They’re not imbeciles, even if they are fools
compared to him; they can carry out orders all
right. And at this end of the line he had every-
thing ready, even to the woman decoy and the big
feed. We were to arrive here half dead with thirst
and drink up all his doctored sehi. But his plans
skidded a bit when that unforeseen thunderstorm
gave us a bath and a drink before we saw his


306 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
bowl; also when León's fierce tobacco made him
wobble and overplay his hand.”
“D'yes'pose that smoke really hit him as hard
as it looked, or was he fakin’?” suggested Tim.
“Seems funny he never had a smoke, when to-
baccer grows all over South Ameriky.”
“Apparently it doesn't grow here. He wasn't
faking. It nearly knocked him over. But he
didn’t quite lose his grip. He saw we were wise
to the sehi stunt, so he pulled the harem mob
scene. And we fell for it.”
“Yeah. We sure fell for it.” Tim sourly eyed
the slide. “I’ve fell for women before, but not
as fast or as hard as this time. Wonder where
this gang lives. It ain’t here in this hole, or up
in the cave; they were all wet when they come
in. Must be outside somewheres. Le's see, the
ol' skate said “At the houses,’ didn't he? Then
that big rat-hole must be his own private hang.
out. They wouldn't put that big palm awnin'
on there unless somebody lived there right along,
And he ain't husky enough to walk up and down
that tunnel.”
“He may be stronger than he appeared,” Lón
demurred. “His weakness may have been as:
sumed. I believe it was his voice that called us
into the cave, and he must have been somewhere


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 307
L.
tº:
|.
º
#
§
near the outer end when he spoke. But still I
think that he lives in the rock, as you say, and
not outside. The others must have a place in
the woods, where they can grow their food.”
McKay nodded.
“Well,” said Knowlton, “while we're explain-
ing everything—and getting it all wrong, maybe
—explain the origin of these highbinders. They're
Indians in everything but color. How do they
get that way?”
There was a silence. At length León ventured:
“Sefiores, to that question there is no answer.
They themselves do not yow. Yet there is a
tale in this land which may explain. As you
know, the men of Guayana, many years ago,
killed the Spanish soldiers of the Caura. I have
heard—though I do not know it to be true—that
a few of those soldiers were not killed; that they
were spared because some of the Maquiritare
women wanted them kept alive. Whether they
were blond Spaniards—like myself—I do not
know; nor do I know what became of them,
except that they never were seen again outside
these hills. If they were blonds, and mated with
the light Maquiritare girls, blond children might
be born. Is it not so? And in so light a race of
people as the Maquiritares, might not blonds be


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 309
*
without for a number of days, if needs must.
Water they might find, in small sips, at the foot
of that seeping slope, despite the daily evapor-
ation. But soon the exposure, the inevitable
weakness, would breed fever.
In all that day no voice sounded again from
the cave. No further proffer of the red yucut'
'sehi was made. To all appearance, the stubborn
intruders now were being left to lingering death.
And, by the time the sun lifted out of the hole
and a slight coolness began to steal in, death it-
self seemed almost preferable to continued exist-
ence. The five lay dull-eyed, half comatose,
drawing labored breaths which failed to alleviate
the smothering sensation born of motionless air.
For some time after sunset the surrounding
rock threw off the heat stored up during the day,
and the abyss remained insufferable. Then, at
last, a gradual lowering of temperature set in,
and the dazed victims began to revive. By the
time they arose to their feet the ancient lake-bed
was a lagoon of darkness. They were not far
from the cavern, however, and knew their bear-
ings well enough to walk surely and noiselessly;
and toward that cavern and its slippery chute
they moved. Despite McKay's earlier predic-
tion, they hoped to find the surface of the ac-


3IO MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
clivity sufficiently dry to allow climbing; and
now, before the baking effect of the sun had been
overcome by the nightly ooze from within, was
the time to make the attempt.
“Slow and easy does it, if it can be done,”
cautioned Knowlton, sotto voce. “No sudden
moves. Gradual lifts. And no talking!”
A muttered chorus of agreement. All glanced
at the sky, wondering whether the moonlight
reflecting faintly downward from it would make
their forms visible against the yellow clay to any-
one at the cave above. The moon itself, though
big and brilliant now, could not for some time
rise high enough to shoot its direct beams into
the abyss; but the sky-sheen might betray them
to some keen eye. There was no indication, how-
ever, of any watch at the palm hood: no light
or sound. As they stole onward they felt that
the uneven floor had grown much harder. Hope
began to lift its head. -
But, at the foot of that slide, it drooped again.
There the soil seemed almost as wet as before.
The pool which had been so big yesterday had
shrunk to a shallow, warm puddle. But it still
was there. Despite its stagnancy, they drank
from it; drank it virtually dry, in fact, for it was
the only water to be had. Then they stood a
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MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 3II
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moment peering up at the palm hood, a barely
discernible spot of lighter darkness than the rock
around it. Not the slightest indication of life
could be detected up there.
Crouching, they began tentative ascent of the
first grade—a comparatively easy slope leading
to the stiff slant beyond. Their feet sank slightly,
but held firm. As the angle increased, they leaned
farther forward, bringing their hands into play
on the earth. Slowly they made progress. Then
they were against the slide itself—and budding
hope wilted. Feet and hands alike slipped down-
ward at each upward draw; they gouged out
hunks of slimy soil instead of rising. A few min-
utes of dogged endeavor resulted only in smear-
ing them with muck and forcing home the con-
viction that McKay's judgment had been only
too sure. They ceased work and lay panting,
conscious of a maddening weakness and despair,
the offspring of heat and hunger.
Suddenly something thumped on the clay above
them. Followed a slithering sound suggestive of a
crawling snake. Then a serpentine shape seemed
actually to take form on the soil—a dim, slender
thing wriggling rapidly down at them. For a
startled instant all started back from it. Then,
with equal abruptness, Portonio threw himself


3I2 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
upward, snatching at it with both hands. One
big fist clutched it, and the other grabbed again,
securing a double hold.
“Cuerda!” he muttered. “Rope
“Oh, boy!” exulted Tim, his voice surging out
with unguarded force. “Now we'll—”
“Ssst!” hissed León. “Quiet, por amor de
Dios!”
And from the face of the cliff fell a hoarse,
vehement whisper:
“Shut up!”
Silence. The prisoners clamped their jaws,
repressing all impulse to speak. The rope, slender
but strong, twitched again as if its thrower were
making sure that it had reached them. Then it
strained taut. From above came another sub-
dued prompting:
“One at a time!”
Portonio began hauling himself up, digging in
his feet in long lifts while his hands reached for
new grips. The others held their places. As the
loose end of the rope fell behind the climbing
riverman, Tim seized it; but, heedful of the last
command, waited for the Venezuelan to reach
the top. With his lips close to McKay's ear, he
whispered: -
“You win, cap! White's come clean!”
12,


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 3I3
| ||
º:
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The captain's teeth gleamed, but he made
no reply. All eyes lifted again, watching the
climbing figure above grow more and more indis-
tinct. With difficulty they restrained a nagging
urge to swarm up that rope in a body instead of
awaiting their turns. Now that a line of exit was
actually in their hands, the few minutes of en-
forced inaction seemed longer than all the blister-
ing hours since morning.
Then, without warning, the rope fell slack. An
alarmed grunt from Portonio—a sudden scuffling
noise at the cave—a snarling gasp—the thud of a
blow—all these blended. Almost instantly fol-
lowed a heavier thump on the clay, succeeded by
a sliding noise.
Out of the vagueness, rolling and bumping and
slewing, came Portonio and another. At the
sudden slackening of the line the Venezuelan had
lost both his balance and his hold; and now,
vainly clawing for a grip, he catapulted into his
comrades, knocking them all to the bottom. Tim
dropped the rope. Before they could right them-
selves, that rope jumped away, crawling swiftly
back up the slide. And then the other tumbling
body hit them.
They pounced on it. It lay inert—senseless or
lifeless. Its face was indistinct, smeared with the


3I4. MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
miry substance of the chute. But there could be
little doubt as to the identity of the new victim.
Disfigured by muck and darkened by a darkness
deeper than that of the night, yet the features
were, on close scrutiny, discernible as those of a
man born white. And, as the men whom he had
tried to help released him and looked speechlessly
at one another, from above croaked a voice all too
familiar, and more hateful than ever before.
“The black white one would be white again.
Turn him white, strangers!”
A fiendish chuckle. Then silence.


ºt.
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CHAPTER XXII
BLACK WHITE
A LONG time passed before Black White recov-
ered consciousness. During that time the other
inmates of the dungeon remained beside him.
There was no use in moving him, nor any means
of reviving him. As for any further attempt to
scale the acclivity, nobody even suggested it.
As the first burning disappointment of failure
passed off, they sought solace in tobacco. By the
brief light of their matches they snatched swift
looks at the “dead man without a face.” First,
however, they had cleared that face of its mud
and blood, scraping it with ungentle but not
unkindly fingers; and now they found that its
features were as good as any of their own. The
mouth and jaw were masked by long, unkempt
black beard, but the nose, eyes, brows, and ears
were regular and the head well shaped. Like the
long body—clad only in an Indian loin-cloth—
the countenance was gaunt of contour and livid
of hue. But, so far as the first cursory view
showed, it was not mutilated. White's ghastly

315


316 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
description of himself had been but the hyperbole
of dementia.
On the back of his head their searching fingers
found a swollen wet gash—the wound left by a
savage blow dealt from behind while, probably,
he was struggling with some other assailant.
What had taken place in the cave was quite ap-
parent to the investigators. Goaded by the tor-
turing “change of heart” on which McKay had
gambled, White had lurked there until he saw the
dogged attempt of the captives to ascend; then
thrown out the coil of rope, braced himself, and
acted as anchor for the first climber. But some-
thing (probably Tim's outbreak) had brought
others to discover what was going forward, and
those others had sprung on the traitor. Whether
they had deliberately thrown him into the pit
after knocking him senseless, or whether he had
toppled over the edge as the result of the blow,
was not clear. It was plain, however, that, in
either case, his downfall was gratifying to the
vindictive old man of the mountain.
None of his bones was broken, nor did the skull
seem fractured, as Knowlton ascertained by feel-
ing over his head and his sinewy frame; and his
heart still beat. So, with nothing to do but wait
i:


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 317
and all night to wait in, they waited. Presently
McKay remarked:
“Hope we don’t have to fight the poor devil
when he comes to life. Think he'll be violent,
León?”
“I do not know,” the Spaniard answered,
slowly. “It is probable. He is a fighter, and he
was fighting when he fell, so he may awake fight-
ing. And, as I think I told you, his fixed idea is
that no white man shall ever see his black face,
and that any white man who does so must die.
So now I do not know what he may do.
Be sure that he does not snatch one of your
pistols.”
“Mebbe,” suggested Tim, “he’ll wake up with
his brains shook back in place. He sure took a
fierce crack on the dome. And us fellers knowed
a guy one time that got his sense back that way.
He got a bullet bounced off his bean, and it made
him cuckoo; and then we come along and looey,
here, crowned him with the butt of a gun. The
wallop knocked him cold, but when he come out
of it he was as sensible as anybody. Begorry, I
bet ye this guy 33
“No chance,” interrupted Knowlton. “This
fellow's mind broke inside, not from an injury to
the skull. The only thing that could set him right
3.


3.18 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
again would be to remove the cause of the break,
and that can’t be done. Even if he could be given
a new white skin, I doubt if the insanity could be
cured now. How long has he been like this,
León 2."
The Ventuari man thought a minute.
“Eight years,” he figured.
“Poor beggar!” muttered McKay.
A long silence ensued. The Americans, in
response to León's recent suggestion, hitched
their belts around to make the holstered side-
arms hang at their backs. All watched the
motionless madman with unrelaxing vigilance.
Finally León spoke again.
“I think, señores, that my luck is at work
once more. You have won your gamble, capitán,
and I believe that I shall win mine. Luck will
come to us through this man—and his woman,
She will not let him lie here long.”
“His woman?” questioned McKay.
“Yes. The woman who made him what he is.
She follows him wherever he goes, and she can-
not be far away now. More than that, she is the
daughter of a Maquiritare chief, and has a will
of her own. Unless something has happened to
her, she will soon know where her man is, and
she will make trouble.”


32O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
yet tangible, menace of danger to these men
ringing it around. León spoke again, more
quickly.
“We all are your friends now, White. It is
those men above—that cursed old vulture—who
struck you from behind and threw you down
here. We are 93.
White shot from the ground. Without the
slightest discernible preliminary movement he
was up—a black spectre towering over the still
squatting men. His teeth gleamed like those of
an attacking jaguar, and the hands uplifted
against the stars were curved like huge talons.
With a simultaneous upward and backward
spring, his guards leaped away from him, falling
instantly into attitudes of defense and counter-
attack. But the imminent assault did not come.
The black figure, instead of hurling itself on
them, staggered; its tense arms and rigid claw-
hands sank and reached uncertainly aside as if
grasping for support; through its clenched
teeth sounded a hissing gasp. That sudden leap
from quiescence to action had caused the dazed
brain to whirl with dizziness, and, for the
moment, he could hardly maintain equilibrium.
While he wavered helplessly, the voice of
McKay came, crisp and incisive.
't
m
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322 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
into effect, sensing that any such move might be
misinterpreted. Words, in this case, were likely
to be more potent than deeds.
Then, in a twinkling, the boring eyes left them
and darted to the cliff. For a few seconds the
twisted mentality appeared to concentrate on
the vague shape of the awning. Suddenly White
exploded into volcanic rage.
Searing curses, blasting oaths, and hissing
threats erupted from him in a sulphurous stream
of jungle Spanish and Indian. Death—plain,
ordinary death—was the least of his frenetic
promises to someone up there. Mutilation,
mangling, and dismemberment while still alive,
and devouring of the victim's flesh and gnawing
of his bones by vulture and wild dog afterward,
were predicted with a virulence which chilled
even his fellow-captives. Nor was his enmity
confined to that nameless person alone. The
whole race of the blondos should be exterminated,
to the smallest babe; their settlement should be
destroyed, and their name made a mock through-
out the land of Guayana. When Black White
and his men finished with them, he swore, they
would be nothing but splintered bones and a
stench.
His fury was truly that of a maniac. Yet the
f
|:
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 323
listening quintet felt that it was not mere para-
noic frenzy; that the bloodcurdling threats were
not mere empty vaporings. Behind the venom-
ous words they sensed a deadly purpose based
on actual power to fulfill each and every one
of those frightful promises. Too, they caught
instantly at the reference to his men—his
guerreros, as he called them—his fighters. León
nodded, and his teeth glimmered through the
dimness.
When the eruption ceased—as abruptly as it
had begun—a silence ensued. No sneering
answer dropped from the cliff. Apparently the
hearers of that tirade had found in it food for
thought. Presently León spoke in an easy con-
versational manner.
“Where is your gang now, White? I heard
that it had left you.”
The dark shape faced about, fronting the
questioner with a baleful glare. -
“Huh?” it hoarsely demanded. “Where'd
you hear that?”
“The word came down the Ventuari some time
ago, friend. My Maquiritares, you know, hear
of such things. You had a fight with your men.
Is it not so?”
A harsh, mirthless chuckle. Then —


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 325
Skunks can’t use 'em. Yuh huh huh huh huh!”
A hoarse chuckle.
“Good. But there is no way out of here?”
“Out? No, you fool! Don't you know it yet?”
Another pause. Then Knowlton remarked:
“Well, then I guess we might as well bed down
for the night. Maybe tomorrow will bring de-
velopments. Come on, White. We’ll have a
smoke-talk—all good fellows together; then
sleep awhile.”
He moved casually away. As he did so, how-
ever, he hitched his pistol around in front of him,
beyond reach of any sudden snatch from behind.
Perhaps the wary White, who seemed to be
cat-eyed, saw and misunderstood the motion.
Perhaps, instead, it was the suggestion of a smoke-
talk that aroused his distrust; for smoking in-
evitably involved the lighting of matches and the
showing of his face, which he believed to be still
unseen. At any rate, he made a swift leap and
bounded away into the dark.
“Yah! Smart!” he jeered. “Smoke with
Death! Sleep with Death! Keep away from me!
Or I'll kill the whole pack of you with bare
hands!”
His voice had turned savage. For a moment
the others stood, staring at the enshrouding
f


326 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
}
shadows among which he had vanished. Then
Knowlton answered:
“Oh, very well. Just as you like, old chap,
Good night.”
No reply. They moved quietly to a smooth
mound and lay down, lost to his sight as he was
lost to theirs.
“What's that gang of his, León?” quizzed
McKay. “And what was that about British
Guiana?”
“They are Maquiritares, capitän; a small
band of them—but wicked fighters. He has
armed them and trained them in the use of long
rifles of thirty caliber. I have heard that the
guns came from British Guiana, at the Rio
Cuyuni, in the gold-fields; and the cartridges
still come from that place. The Indians go there
with bags of gold and trade it to certain men,
Where they get that gold I do not know, for I
never have learned of any in this Ventuari-
Caura region; perhaps they dig it on the Rio
Caronſ, farther to the east. I have heard that
some of the gold-hunters in British Guiana tried
to follow those Indians and find their treasure-
pocket, and that none of those men ever was
seen again. Black White's guerreros are not good
men to monkey with.”


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 327
“Nor White neither, I’ll say,” added Tim.
“That guy's one hard gorilla. Did ye git what
he said about killin' one o’ them lads with his
fists? And them tough eggs let him git away
with it, and come back to him again. Nut or
no nut, he ain't nobody's fool, if he can handle
a gang like that. Mebbe he's bringin' us luck,
but the further off he keeps tonight the better
I'm goin’ to sleep.”
Wherewith he unholstered his pistol and slid
it well down under his waistband, whence no
stealthy black hand could extract it without dis-
covery. Knowlton and McKay followed his
example. Thereafter all lay listening, thinking,
conjecturing, until at length they dozed into fit-
ful slumber shot with weird dreams.
It was Knowlton who had the most vivid night-
mare of all. For no reason as yet apparent, he
was queerly hot in the increasing coolness of the
night; and now, drifting in a strange land of
phantasms, he found himself lying on hard-baked
clay whence radiated fearful heat. He could not
rise. Above, circling near, wheeled a gaunt vul-
ture with a wrinkled human face. All at once
it dived to a squat on his body, where it tore
at his stomach with long finger-like talons.
And then, from nowhere, a dingy black hand


328 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
darted to clutch the hideous man-bird by the
throat. It lifted and whirled the creature in air,
wringing its neck until the head parted from the
body. That body ran about, fluttering and tum-
bling, until at last it stretched out and lay still
The black hand threw the head into a pit. And
there that head stood up and stumped about on
its neck, squawking horribly upward at the
watching man, who now had risen high above
it. And that head, that squawking voice, were
those of the old man of the mountain.
The dreamer started awake; stared around;
sank back. The moon now lit up the whole
western wall. He still was hot. His head ached.
Otherwise all was as before. Dimness, silence,
stark walls towering to the sky: that was all.
Black White was lost in the night; so was the
old vulture of the rock. Nothing was real, save
gnawing hunger and throbbing head. So he
turned over and dozed again—unknowing that,
amid these grim realities and unrealities, a dream
was to prove a prophecy.


#:
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CHAPTER XXIII
VENGEANCE
IN the dank chill of daybreak the five shivered
awake, sat up, and once more gazed around
them. Of the latest addition to their wretched
company nothing was to be seen. From force
of habit, their eyes went then to the mocking
hole in the cliff, and saw nothing there either.
Last, they looked sidewise at one another—and
speedily looked away again.
Hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed, drawn of mouth
and lined of face, gray-white under their tan, they
were showing plainly the ravages of hunger and
exposure. They had been thin when they arrived
here from the savanna; now they were emaciated.
As they essayed to make the morning cigarettes
their fingers shook from combined cold and weak-
ness; and when they succeeded in lighting the
brown rolls they found no satisfaction in them.
Doggedly they smoked them through. As they
finished, Tim gagged.
“Wah! Tobaccer's rotten!” he growled.
The others said nothing. They felt the same
: 329


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 333
With a quick movement he was up, his face
alight. -
“The luck of Loco León!” he crowed. “Gua-
harbos! The place is attacked by the Guaha-
ribos!”
And now, in the babel of vocal noises, the rest
could distinguish that word repeated:
“Guaharibos! Guaharibos!”
A dread name was that, signifying merciless
slaughter and rapine; yet one which caused the
hard faces of the listeners to crack in grins—for
in this exigency to their captors they scented lib-
eration for themselves. Automatically their
minds darted to their rifles up in the cavern;
and instantly followed the remembrance of
Black White's statement that he had removed
and hidden the cartridges. Loaded, those
weapons might save the blond people from ex-
termination. Now they were useless.
Tim's gun hand dropped, jamming the side-
arm into its holster as he got to his feet. The
others, too, hastily shoved themselves erect.
With answering shouts they started for the slide.
And now, from a point some distance away at
the base of the wall, broke fierce yells louder than
their own. Bounding like a deer, a sinewy black


334 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
figure came racing over the swells of the undu-
lating clay, howling commands as it sped.
All the frightful vengeance which he had
vowed last night, all his deep-rooted aversion to
allowing his face to be seen by white men, all
else in his mind, seemingly had been knocked
from the blackened man's memory by this abrupt
crisis. He dashed toward the acclivity as if de-
termined to hurl himself up it by his own mo-
mentum and attack the savage marauders with
fists, feet, and teeth. And such was the speed
and power of his stride that, although his starting
point was much farther away, he reached the
goal almost as his fellow-prisoners halted there.
Roaring, he demanded a rope. And, after a
confused commotion at the top of the incline, a
rope appeared. In the brief interim the five
starvelings, keyed up by the sudden prospect of
deliverance, stood tense and ready, shooting com-
prehensive glances at him and at the crowd
above.
For the first time they saw Black White in the
clear light of day—the first white men who ever
thus scanned him, and the last. And they saw
a face and body which now revealed the torture
of his cankered mind. Into the sooty visage
were graven deep furrows, harsh as the seams of
º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 335
sº
ſº
ſº
: #
tº
º
º
#:
º
º
º
| ;
the stark rock walls: a gash-like scowl, and
myriad lines at eyes and nose—the scars eaten
into the flesh by the acid of bitterness. Nor were
these the only marks. Face, chest, and arms
were disfigured by long parallel cicatrices: old
scars which looked as if inflicted by slashing
blunt claws—or finger-nails—and which sug-
gested that in some frenzy the madman had at-
tempted to tear away his hated skin.
These things they noted in a flash. Too, they
observed with a faint surprise that, though hair
and beard were black, his eyes were a gray-blue.
Those Celtic eyes now were ablaze with an un-
canny greenish flame, and behind down-curved
lips his teeth gleamed like the fangs of an infuri-
ated jaguar. And the voice with which he spat
orders and abuse at the people of the cave was
ferocious as the coughing snarl of that deadly
beast of prey.
Above, seconding his commands with sharp
tones and active motions, the woman who had
first appeared was hurrying the outward move-
ment of the rope; a short, but strongly built and
shapely woman of Maquiritare type—light-
skinned, dark-eyed, deep-chested and firm-
breasted, intelligent and decidedly comely, and
adorned with an ornate bead apron. The others


336 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
all were blonds—boys and women—who fumbled
in confusion, as if their shallow wits were be-
numbed by panic. They tangled the rope among
themselves, fell over it, and babbled senseless
retorts to the tongue-lashing of the woman
Juana. But for her incisive upbraidings and
actual physical assaults, they might have aban-
doned the simple task and gone to milling aim-
lessly and uselessly around the rock rooms.
Then, by jerks, the rope began to descend. As
it snaked slowly down the slope in response to
the maneuvering of Juana, McKay turned sharply
on White.
“You’ll go up last!” he asserted.
If the other heard, he gave no sign. His
domineering yells continued without a break.
Nearer squirmed the line—nearer—until it came
within reach. Then all six made a dive for it.
“Up!” snapped McKay. “Every man for
himself! You, White! Take your turn—last!
Back up!”
“Get going, you fool!” snarled White. “Climb!
Climb, you old woman—shut up—I’ll tear your
face off! Blood! Blood! Guaharibos to hell—”
They climbed, with his savage mouthings in
their ears. Knowlton, Tim, Portonio, León,
McKay—just as they had happened to grab


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 337
ſº
the rope, they clambered up, slipping, flounder-
ing, panting, hauling with the strength of des-
peration, while White raved and bullied and
swore as if at his own warriors, and the people
above strained back to counterbalance their
weight. There were no stops for breath. It was
a mad pull upward with the last energy of weak-
ened bodies—a fierce scramble with teeth set,
faces contorted, and hands reaching and closing
in grips tenacious as those of drowning men.
At last, disheveled and streaming with sweat,
they cleared that slimy slope—only to lean ex-
hausted against the twenty-foot wall of sheer
stone which still blocked them.
“Make—loop,” panted McKay. “Got to lift
us—one at a time. Tim—you first.”
Throwing a rough loop in the line, Tim got a
foot in it and grasped the upper rope with both
hands. The others clung like flies to projections
on the stone, maintaining their footing on the
treacherous dirt while the cable swung free.
White volleyed more commands. Tim rose in
air-scraped along the rock face—clutched the
edge, and scrambled inward.
“Awright!” boomed his voice. “Send up
looey! Lower away there, ye squallin' idjuts—
arria el cabo!”


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 339
then, as she still pointed, voiced a feline yell and
bounded into that narrow alcove. He vanished.
From somewhere beyond sounded a croaking
voice of mingled rage and fear.
“Ah!” ejaculated León. “The nest of the
vulture!”
With dragging steps he shambled toward the
fold in the stone, his mates pressing after. Juana
herself followed, a coldly vengeful light playing
across her brown eyes. They found the shadowy
indentation to be really a curving entrance to a
third cave-room—a small one, dim-lit by a little
jagged aperture opening toward the day. And
in it, as the Spaniard had guessed, the old demon
of the demon-mountain was at bay.
Bolt upright against the farther wall he stood,
his dingy mantle thrown aside, his gaunt body—
mere bones and tendons—standing out white as a
skeleton against the dark stone: naked and re-
pulsive, gripping a naked and menacing machete.
At sight of the doomed men who had risen from
their dungeon to confront him he hissed like a
snake. And at sight of him, Black White's
growlings died in his throat. In ominous silence
he slipped forward, quivering with concentrated
ferocity and fury.


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 34I
down with frightful impacts, crashing it about
until hardly a whole bone could have remained.
“Arrrh! Arrrh!” he growled, his voice rasping
gloatingly through clenched teeth, his eyes
shining with an infernal light. “Arrrh! Arrrh!”
And at last, holding the crimson ruin aloft
before him, he stalked out through the entrance.
Knowlton, staring and staggering, followed—
and saw his recent nightmare enacted to the
finish. White strode to the verge and, with a
final burst of violence, swung the dead vulture
around him and heaved it far out into the void.
Save for the facts that the head still adhered
limply to the torso and that it could not squawk
from the pit, the blond Northerner's dream had
come true. Now his fevered fancy somehow found
the idea humorous; and, leaning against the
wall, he began hysterically to laugh. At the
sound, the bloodstained black man spun about,
his face still contorted. For a second or two he
stared. Then, he, too, suddenly burst into yells
of mirth.
The caves rang with the awful cachinnations
of the two—a madman and a man half mad.


CHAPTER XXIV
THE RAIDERS
WITHIN the vulture's nest, the two Northerners
and the two Southerners looked at one another
and at the woman. That woman looked back at
them calmly, a slight smile of ruthless satis-
faction playing on her lips. With a slow tilt of
the head, she said:
“There are food and water.”
The simple words loosed ravenous hounds of
desire. At another time, the thought of eating
in this red-spattered death-chamber might have
aroused only disgust; but now these men were
too far gone to be squeamish. Avidly they
scanned the room; and on the floor they spied
meat, fruit, jars, and gourds. Down one wall,
too, ran a silent trickle of fresh water, vanishing
into a crack in the floor—the owner's unfailing
spring, which had made this hole habitable
for him.
“Merry!” barked McKay. “Grub! Water!
Come and get it!”
The yammering hilarity outside ceased. They
342.


344 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
White glowered; snapped something at Juana;
got a reply; snarled oaths.
“Fools took 'em out!” he grated. “Down at
entrance. Come on! I'll get cartridges. Know
where they are. Hah! Yah-ha-ha-hal Fooled
'em all! But shake a leg!”
“Go on and lick the world yourself,” mumbled
Knowlton through a mouthful of meat. “We’re
comfortable. Ha ha ha hal” He began to laugh
again.
The delirious timbre of that mirth held White
motionless a minute, but he did not echo it.
Instead, he leaned forward menacingly, rage
reviving in his glaring eyes. Then he spun about
and leaped away through the passage.
“White men! White hogs!” he sneered venom-
ously. “Women and children dying—white men
eat! Yah! I’ll fight—Black White'll fight! And
then I’ll fight you, you yellow—”
His raucous voice died away toward the tunnel.
Every jaw stopped, and eye met eye. Juana dis-
appeared, following her man.
“Begorry, who's loony now?” muttered Tim.
“Black gorilla turns white—crazy cuckoo's got
sense—and us guys are yeller! Women and kids
—Umph! He's right, at that. But they can run
up the tunnel if they’ve got to—bring our guns


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 345
*
...]."
back, too. And I’m goin’ to fill me tank before I
start anywheres. I’m clean out o' gas and me
self-starter's broke.”
And he resumed cramming. So did the rest.
If possible, however, they ate faster than before.
Those parting words, though spoken by a crazed
killer—who himself had violently attacked wo-
men and boys a few minutes ago—had stung.
They devoured everything edible in sight.
Then they inspected another jar—a large one
topped with leaves. From it, as Portonio tilted
it, ran a red trickle which evoked growls and
scowls. Tim kicked it against the wall. From its
shattered fragments gushed a flood of the infernal
sehi drink—prepared against the time when they
should be so maddened by sun and suffering that
they might drink it and so fulfill the malevolent
old scoundrel's inexorable purpose.
A cold, destructive rage seized them. Other
clay vessels lay about, and they smashed them
all. From them tumbled uncanny things—dried
spiders, mummified bats, snake-skins, unknown
herbs, a green powder of pungently disagreeable
smell, a mess of black paste. They kicked these
things about and stamped on them. Not until
every pot and jar was reduced to fragments and


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 347
“junk.” As they straightened again the Span-
iard gave a happy little chuckle.
“Señores,” he laughed, “I was born in the
month of May, and the emerald is my birth-
stone. Do you now begin to believe in the luck of
Loco León?”
“Lucky — Loco — León,” echoed Knowlton,
pressing a hand to his swimming head. “You’ll
be luckier—if you keep 'em long enough to cash
'em in. I’d trade the lot for a stiff shot of
quinine.”
His words and his self-evident sickness dashed
the jubilation of his comrades. Precious though
these stones might be in the marts of civilization,
here they were worthless.
“Buck up!” admonished McKay. “We’re
starting out right away. You've got to stick it till
we can get through to the Ventuari.”
“And that ain’t so soft, neither,” reminded
Tim, “with a bunch o' howlin’ hellions to walk
through before we git started. The sooner we git
onto the firin’ line and do our stuff the better
chance we’ve got, I’m thinkin’.”
McKay nodded, but swiftly searched the
chamber for something which could be used as a
jewel-bag. Their rucksacks were gone. On the
floor, however, lay the dingy cotton robe of the


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 35 I
they reloaded—the ex-soldiers jamming .30 clips
into the open tops of their military-model arms,
the Venezuelans thumbing .44 slugs into the side
gates of their old-type repeaters. White him-
self demanded—and received—.3o's for his own
piece, a short but thick-breeched sporting gun.
He got enough to fill his magazine, and no more.
Meanwhile the bowmen, their own arrows
spent, picked up the few enemy shafts which had
dropped inside and held them ready on taut
cords. A side glance at those lethal missiles
caused the faces of the Northerners to set harder,
for they were the weapons of utterly merciless
barbarians: barbed with saw-toothed bone, and
smeared with poison. In combat with opponents
using such instruments of death there could be
no quarter.
In the brief time taken for the reloading, the
ferocious mob-clamor mounted nearer. With the
self-evident exhaustion of ammunition and re-
treat of the defenders, the wild men were charg-
ing from the tree-belt below the cave, closing in
to revel in a carnival of butchery. Between the
blonds and extinction intervened only the
battery of their late prisoners; for, retreat into
the bowels of the mountain though they might,
their enemies could follow; and even if they


352 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
should wreck the ladders of ascent and thus
block further pursuit, the Guaharibos could ex-
terminate them ultimately by a counter-block-
ade, since within this barren rock-hole now re-
mained no food. There could be little doubt
that these savages, whom neither the awesome
echoes of the Talking Mountain nor the bullets
of Black White could turn back, would carry
their siege through to the finish. So the de-
fenders must make their fight short, sharp, and
decisive.
“Lie low!” snapped McKay, his expert eye
swiftly sizing up the surroundings, then sharply
scrutinizing Knowlton—who, once more armed
and facing battle, now was temporarily steady
and sure-motioned. “Merry! You and Tim—
right flank! León—Portonio—left flank! White
—you and I hold the center! Hug the ground–
hold your fire till I shoot! Then pour it into 'em!
Let's go!”
Less than a minute had passed since they had
emerged from the shadows; and not another
second was lost. The two little flank divisions
sprang for their stations to right and left of the
high stones, whence they could rake the ravine
of approach with oblique cross-fires. White,
who had become suddenly silent and seemed
t
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º


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 353
waiting to learn the captain's disposal of his
forces, showed his teeth in a down-curved grin
and nodded violently; then, still noiseless,
glided beside the Scot to the bowlder-bound spot
whence the bowmen had retreated. As the two
queerly mated tall men stole around the angles
of the path they nearly stumbled over a couple of
bodies—blond Indians struck down by plunging
arrows, now lying stark and still. A moment
later they were crouching in ambush at the side
of a rock and peering down at the oncoming
killers from the Orinoco.
Loping up the hollow which once had been a
watercourse came a brown horde led by a huge,
hideous embodiment of abysmal savagery: a
primitive Samson with enormous shoulders,
colossal arms and legs, bushy black hair hanging
in an unkempt mop, great teeth bared in a cruel
mouth whence poured jarring howls of exultation.
In his flat chocolate face glinted beady eyes ruth-
less as those of a crocodile. From his pierced
lower lip dangled a jaguar-tooth, and around
his thick neck flapped a collar of peccary tusks.
Otherwise he was stark naked, as were all his
followers. His brawny right fist clutched a great
hardwood stabbing-spear, which he brandished
aloft as he strode. He looked to be not only a


3.54 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
savage murderer, but a cannibal; worse still, a
cannibal who would devour his man-meat raw.
Nor were those behind him a whit less bestial
in appearance. Although none equaled the chief
in physique, the crowding bodies were hard
and muscular, the lowering visages brutish, the
fanged mouths inhuman as those of carnivorous
beasts. Spears, bludgeons, stone axes, bows and
arrows bristled above them as they came charg-
ing on to the grapple, and from every throat
roared malevolent joy at the prospect of a satur-
nalia of murder. In numbers they might be about
four-score. In ferocity they were a legion,
Already they had covered half the distance
from the trees, and now they were a scant hun-
dred yards distant. Their triumphant bawls,
their evil expressions, proved too much for the
madman lurking beside McKay. Before the cap-
tain was quite ready to give the signal shot,
Black White leaped forth to face the whole horde,
giving them back howl for howl.
McKay swore and slid his gun forward. For a
second or two longer, however, he remained un-
seen. Every savage eye had centered on the
black semi-savage confronting them—the lone
gunman whom they had driven from his perch,
and who now seemed about to assail them with


CHAPTER XXV
WAR
A THUDDING roll of gunfire drummed a tattoo
of death. A slashing storm of lead pounded the
vanguard of the brown horde into oblivion. A
score of the raiders toppled and fell in a welter
of naked corpses and unflung weapons. A thin
blue haze rose around the stone sentinels guard-
ing the cave.
Stunned, shocked speechless and witless by
this totally unexpected blast of destruction, the
Guaharibos halted short and stood wavering,
swept by confused and conflicting impulses. Like
the savage tigre of their native jungle, which is
most deadly when wounded, their first ferocious
urge was to spring forward and annihilate their
assailants; but through that vortex of crossfire
no man could leap. And when, appalled by the
continuous mowing down of their front, those
facing the vomiting muzzles gave way and turned
to retreat to cover, they found themselves blocked
by those behind who still sought to surge for-
ward. Thus, shot in breast or back, they fell
356


358 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
|
Black White, his piece once more shot out, had
bounded back just in time to evade the storm of
missiles darting at him. Fiercely he demanded
more cartridges. The captain, intensely busy
with his own reloading, and withal angered by
the other's self-willed action in leaping out too
soon, gave him one glare and ignored him. There-
upon the madman, with an answering glare and
a snarl, snatched the rifle and strove to wrest it
from his grasp.
For a second or two they wrestled. Then the
Scot let go. White, snarling again, staggered
back a pace, his infuriated expression indicating
as ready a willingness to fight his countryman
as a Guaharibo. McKay's gray eyes went bleak,
and he acted. His left fist crashed on the bearded
chin; his right drove in a terrific uppercut to the
corner of the jaw. The blackened man straight-
ened backward—rebounded from a rock—col-
lapsed in a senseless huddle.
McKay caught the rifle from him as he fell.
With a grim smile lighting his iron face, he
turned his back on the limp form and snapped
the gun to his shoulder. An instant later it was
kicking back at him in repeated recoils, and
brown forms were dropping faster.
Now the big-bored bush-guns at the left began
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360 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
leaped and spat. Although he was shooting
coolly, the tenacious onslaught was cutting a
frown of perturbation between his slitted eyes.
The hitherto unexcitable river-pilot, on the other
hand, was now aglow with a hot lust of battle
and agrin with joy over each successful shot, and
he answered only with a laughing oath. Each
was running true to type—the former looking a
little ahead as he fought, the latter living only
each minute as it came.
Meanwhile McKay, ripping out his string of
shots and downing a man with every one, was
as swiftly formulating his next moves. In the
face of that determined charge the defenders
must give ground as soon as their guns again
failed. Moreover, the savages now were spread-
ing out, mounting both sides of the trough, to
swing around either flank of the riflemen and,
while thus scattering their fire, rush them from
all sides. To attempt to retain the present posi-
tions meant to be overwhelmed. Wherefore, as
the last empty shell flew from the ejector, he lost
not a second in withdrawing.
Spinning about, he stooped, grabbed Black
White, heaved him up across his shoulders;
clutched his own gun and the black man's, and
loped caveward. He spent no time in ascertain-


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 361
rºſ
:*
:*
º
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§
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ing that the victim of his blows was still insen-
sible—he knew it well enough. When the Scot's
fists landed on a man as they had on this one,
that man remained dead to the world for a con-
siderable time.
“Fall back!” he thundered. “Close up! To
the rear!”
His booming command, though muffled by the
surrounding bowlders, carried to the outlying
flankers, three of whom obeyed at once. The
fourth—Portonio—had to be jabbed violently
by León's rifle-muzzle before he would give over
his shooting; for his long magazine still held a
bullet or two. When he did move, however, it
was with speed, and three poisoned arrows
missed him by inches.
Crossing the small space between stones and
cave-mouth, they found the blond Indians
thriftily collecting every arrow which had flown
over the bulwarks. Of these there were quite a
number, loosed so hastily by the attackers that
they had darted high. Not one of these had been
shot back again; the mountain men had let their
erstwhile prisoners do all the fighting. Now
those gleaners hastily withdrew and picked up
their bows. But, armed again, they showed no
inclination to hold the entrance while their allies
a-


362 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
settled themselves in a new position. Rather,
they watched the gun-fighters in a coldly calcu-
lating way, as if estimating their continued
utility.
As the white men loped back into shadowy
dimness, the blonds retreated with them. Out-
side an ululating howl foretold that the second
stage of the combat would be fiercer than the
first. Although half of the Guaharibo force now
had been shot down, the rest, aflame with vin-
dictive blood-lust, were converging to maim,
mangle, and mutilate their cornered enemies,
“Load!” panted McKay. “And keep loaded!
Change the firing combination. León and Knowl-
ton pair up—Tim and Portonio ditto. Gives
better continuity of fire. Take the walls—I'll
hold the center. Save pistols for the finish,
Halt! Far enough—take positions! Here, you!
Aquí!” (This last to one of the biggest blonds)
“Take this black one farther in! Hurry!”
The fellow addressed did not obey. He and
his mates had stopped with the white men, and
now he simply stood and stared at the limp
lunatic, then turned his head toward the outer
rocks. Either he believed White to be dead or
did not care what became of him, dead or alive,
But from within now came one who did care-
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MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 365
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it, for they could not unite. The only unity now
possible to them was that of a common fate; at
least, so long as that withering blast of missiles
poured into them from the thrumming bows of
the blue-eyed lost race of Guayana.
However undependable those blond archers
might have been heretofore, they now were
steady and deadly as veteran troopers. They
shot with marvelous speed and precision, and
without flurry or waste. Every arrow that hissed
forth buried itself in a burly brown body, and
that body pitched forward or sidewise and stayed
where it struck earth. While their ammunition
lasted, they left little for the gunmen to do; and
those gunmen, astonished and delighted by their
dexterity, let them carry on the war almost un-
aided while they kept their own weapons full.
Meanwhile, the yells of the Guaharibos became
downright demoniac with fury. Perhaps they
recognized their own arrows protruding from the
corpses of their stricken comrades; or perhaps
they were maddened to find that, having fought
their way thus far in the teeth of bullets, they
now were being slaughtered contemptuously by
mere jungle shafts snapped from strings. At any
rate, their strident bass discord rose to an ear-
splitting screech worthy of fiends.


366 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
All at once the arrows were gone. The archers
stood with useless bows, yet leaning forward as
if about to bound out and finish their fight with
bare hands. Possibly they deemed themselves
doomed, and, their blood now up, were deter-
mined to fall wreaking death with their last
clutch. But this was not to be. Shouts of ap-
proval broke from the gun-fighters, and the
white men's hands motioned them to the rear.
For a second they stood—then bounded away and
were gone in the dark. Outside, a grim monu-
ment to their prowess, lay a disorderly heap of
transfixed raiders who would raid no more.
Now the dull twanging of the bow-cords was
replaced by the crash of rifles, and the dimness
by lightning-streaks of darting flame. Standing,
crouching, or kneeling, according to individual
preference, the soldiers of fortune hammered out
their rolling drumfire in a final fight against a
dwindling mob of veritable maniacs. The faces
of the berserkers who now came scrambling over
the slain were writhing, slavering visages flecked
with froth, and their red eyes were those of mad
dogs.
Shot down, they arose again—some of them-
and struggled onward until fairly riddled. They
threw arrows like javelins. They hurled axes like


368 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
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time to refill their tubes completely on the second
round. In those few minutes nearly a hundred
bullets flew from those guns. Yet Guaharibos
still remained alive—for in such rapid shooting,
against such tenacious and active foes, not every
shot could kill; some had missed, others had
failed to slay on impact. And now came the
last of that fierce band.
Half a dozen unwounded savages, backed by
as many bleeding but still formidable, plunged
over the mound of the fallen and threw them.
selves at the hated whites.
Pistols roared. Machetes gleamed. Spears
hissed. Clubs flew. Brown men flopped and lay
still. So did one white man—McKay. Dodging
a spear-point, he was stunned by a thrown bludg:
eon. Shots—snarls—blows—crunch of steel on
bone—a scuffle of feet—a whirl and tumble of
grappling bodies. Sudden silence.
Tim and Knowlton arose from under dead sav-
ages whom they had shot at arm's length but
who had borne them down in their dying grapple
and fall. León and Portonio, machetes dripping
red, stood among three corpses—one of which lay
headless, decapitated by the riverman. The last
rush was over.
McKay moved slightly; sat up abruptly;
|


37O MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
their eyes once more to a patch of far blue sky
between the outer bowlders. McKay strode for-
ward and lifted from the shadow at the foot of
one wall—where he had thrown it just before
going into action—the sack of green loot.
“Fall in!” quoth he. “March!”
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CHAPTER XXVI
THE OUT TRAIL
HIGH in the limitless blue—so high as to be
virtually invisible to any earth-bound creature—
floated a king vulture. Circling, veering, planing
easily on the upper breezes, he drifted gradually
northwestward, his far-sighted eyes fixed in a
ceaseless downward stare. Whence he had come
only the bodiless gods of Guayana knew. But
his rapacious bare head, his merciless watch, were
remarkably like those of a human hawk which
for decades had ruled this land, and which now
lay smashed at the bottom of a rockbound abyss.
To the long-range vision of the air-king the
rim of that mountain gulf was visible—though,
perhaps, dimly—leagues away to the southeast.
Far more plain was the mountain itself, a brute
bulk squatting on the edge of a great yellow
rhomboid dotted with stumpy trees. Yet the
hovering ghoul had no interest in that place, even
though it had recently been the scene of such
events as should prove most interesting to one
of his class. Nor was he contemplating the great
371


38o MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
minds, the white men who had gone to the land
of the blondos had gone to doom. They would
never return. So why leave good food and other
treasures to rot and rust, benefiting no man?
Thus they had reasoned, and upon that reasoning
had acted. And now—
Suddenly Portonio pointed. Under a fern
glinted a small brown bottle, apparently whole.
McKay strode across the macanilla thorns and
swooped up the container.
“Thank God!” he exulted. “Quinine! Five
hundred grains! Sealed!”
And he plunged down the slope to the canoe.
“Injuns were leery of it,” guessed Tim.
“Afraid 'twas poison or somethin'. The low-
lived dog-robbers, I hope they et some o’looey's
photo stuff and died with the belly-ache!”
Knowlton was too far gone to swallow pills.
Wherefore his mates fell to work with stones and
ground the white globules to powder; dissolved
the powder in a little water; and thus forced
down his throat a bitter dose of a hundred grains.
It was a “stiff shot” indeed, but none too heroic,
This done, the paddlers reseated themselves,
backed down the narrow stream, and reentered
the Ventuari. Hours of daylight still remained;
and the dismal Monoblanco region, with its


382 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
functory camp and seek game, down the creek
came floating another canoe. It brought three
black men: the outcasts who had journeyed for
days behind the ascending adventurers and at
this same spot had solemnly watched them go
on to meet their fate. Now those three drifted
deliberately down and silently scanned the bat-
tered, tattered, famished five, blackened by sun
but not by sehi, whose eyes still were sane and
whose souls were unbroken. Presently they came
ashore, bringing two paují turkeys, a royal duck,
two agoutis, and a wild hog-a veritable feast.
They took machetes and cut firewood, poles, and
leaves. They built a hut wherein the white men
might sling their hammocks. Then they squatted
around the fire and helped to cook the meat.
And all the time they spoke never a word.
The starved white men ate like wolves. Even
Knowlton—who that day had swallowed an-
other terrific dose of quinine and now was fully
conscious—managed to stow away the succulent
flesh of an agouti. Then he fell into a deep sleep,
When virtually nothing remained of the banquet,
León evoked from the black Samaritans the only
words spoken by them that night.
“The old man of the Talking Mountain,” he
said, without preliminary, “is dead.”


384 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
fought back toward a little strength. The wait
lasted for a day and a half. Then, while all dozed
in siesta, a slither of moving feet caused León
to lift his head. An instant later he bounded out
of his hammock with a joyous shout.
“Frasco! Gill”
Grinning, glistening with sweat, the two faith-
ful Maquiritares who had vanished on the Rio
Periqueta came striding to the hut. With them
marched the missing black pair who, unbidden,
had sped across the savanna and through the
belts of forest to summon relief from León's
headquarters.
For a time the hut was in a small tumult of
welcome, questions, and exasperatingly uncom-
municative answers by the light-skinned Maqui-
ritares. Then León missed the black ones. As
he glanced about for them, Frasco pointed river-
ward. Out there, poling back toward their home
caño, were the silent victims of the sehi. Their
self-imposed mission completed, they were going
without reward, thanks, or farewell. Shouts
failed to make them even turn their heads,
Steadily they forged up against the current until
they passed from sight.
And then, high in the boundless blue, the
winged ghoul which so long had hovered above


CHAPTER XXVII
UNDER THE STARS
ONce more night brooded upon the hut-
studded clearing of Loco León. Once more,
within the palm domicile of its master, five
white men lounged lazily in hammocks, Spartan
though the simplicity of that man-camp might
be, its crude comforts now seemed palatial; and
its owner and its visitors, lolling with cigarettes
aglow, were completely content. Clean-shaven,
newly clothed, full-fed, they bore little resem-
blance to the rawboned tatterdemalions who
recently had emerged from the harsh mystery-
land of the mountains. Only one of them—a
blond Northerner, pinched and wan—still showed
plainly the ravages of the gruelling retreat; and
even he, though still convalescent, was strong
enough to put up a fight if need be.
Down at the port, a graceful launch lay await-
ing the impulse which would send her speeding
away with all her masters. Just within the door
rested a meagre pile of duffle, and against a wall
near the hammocks leaned three rifles in a row.
386


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 387
On the little table lay a fourth—a walnut-
stocked, bolt-action, .30-caliber weapon of beau-
tifully refined design—and a flat military pistol
of the latest type: parting gifts to their Spanish
comrade by Knowlton and McKay. There, too,
lay a heap of green stones: the loot from the
vulture's cave, dumped on the hand-hewn boards
for present inspection and forthcoming division.
Another day would find the tacit partnership
dissolved.
Now beside that table stood Frasco, once more
wearing a shirt, and looking with far more inter-
est at the guns than at the gems. It was of the
emeralds, though, that his patron would have
him speak.
“And you know of no place where more of such
stones are?” the Spaniard was repeating.
“No. At Esmeralda are green stones. But
they are not like these.”
“I know. Those green stones which gave
Esmeralda its name are only worthless crystals.
Bien. Then from where could these have come?”
The Maquiritare was silent for a time. At
length he ventured:
“There is a tale. Long ago came white men
from the west. They had green stones. They
wanted gold.”


388 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
“Ah! And what became of those men?”
The Indian eyes narrowed, and the lips tight-
ened. No reply came.
“Guess that's the explanation,” Knowlton
said. “Roving Conquistadores from over Col.
ombia way. There are emeralds in Colombia.
They got chased out of there, drifted over here to
find El Dorado—and never drifted out.”
“Probably that is it,” agreed León. “So the
emeralds are not of Guayana. That ends that.
Now, Frasco, I ask you once more—for the last
time—why you and Gil left us on the Periqueta.
I have asked before, and you have not answered.
If you cannot answer now it is because you are
ashamed to tell the truth. If you are ashamed of
the truth it is because you were not faithful. I
cannot keep a man who is not faithful. You can
answer or you can go. If you go, do not come
back. Your name will be forever a stink to the
nose of Loco León.”
“Aw, have a heart, Loco!” remonstrated Tim.
“He’s a good guy. Don't fire him.”
“I do not believe it will be necessary, señor.
But I am determined to know the truth of that
matter.” The Spaniard's tone was obdurate.
Frasco wavered. Once his countenance hard-
ened and he turned doorward; but then he turned


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 389
º
back, looking at his employer in a hurt way.
Finally he seemed to swallow something locking
his tongue—perhaps habit, perhaps pride.
“We slept,” he said shortly. “A man woke us.
He was a blondo. He made no sound. He touched
us and made motions. We were to go out and
talk. We went. We thought it would be only a
step, and he was alone. So we took no arms. But
he led us back into the forest. There were more
blondos.
“We could not see them. We could feel them
around us in the dark. We were afraid. They
are bad. They are sons of a great demonio. One
must do as they say. If he does not he dies very
cruelly. But they did not say anything. While
we waited for them to speak something hit us.
“When we saw again it was day. We were in
a new place. It was in the forest. We were lost
and sick from hurt heads—I and Gil. The two
from Uaunana were dead. They were stabbed in
the back. That must have been a mistake. The
blondos killed the wrong men. They meant to
kill us of Caño Negro and let those others live.
That is what we believe.
“It took nearly a day to find the camp. We
were in the woods, down the Periqueta, on the
other side. When we found the camp you were


392 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
quizzical glance at his fellow blond, Knowlton
laughed:
“Aren’t we arrogating too much credit to our-
selves, old chapt We didn't break that old necro-
mancer. It was Black White who did that little
job. Give the devil his due.”
“And he sure did bust him right,” recalled Tim.
“And he done more’n that. If it hadn't been for
him bumpin' off some o’ them Guaharibo hellions
before we got into action we might have got
snowed under. D'ye mind that bunch o' stiffs we
found down there by the trees when we started
our long hike? Every one of 'em was put out o'
business by that fightin’ fool of a he-gorilla. I
dunno how many there was, but I’ve figured up
how many shots he turned loose with our guns,
and ’twas forty-one; and I bet more'n half o'
them bullets made good. Now if all o' them
tough eggs had been alive and goin' strong at the
finish instead o' knocked for a gool before they
got started, where'd we be now? Not here, I'm
thinkin’ſ We were about shot out, and that
starvin’ had about killed our pep for a hand-to-
hand rough-house. Yeah, it wasn't us that won
that war. The guy that deserves a medal is
Mister White of the U. S. A. And the only deco-
ration he gits is a slam in the jaw.”


396 MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY
cans to run us through to Maipures, and there
we’ll find our reserve supply. We'll leave the
illustrious governor to chew his mustachio and
wonder what happened. Now let's turn in.”
Soon the candles were blown out. Darkness
pounced on the room—darkness, and silence re-
lieved only by the regular breathing of five com-
rades resting together for the last time.
Darkness and silence ruled also without the
palm walls: a dusk wherein the only points of
light were myriad stars trooping across a velvet
sky, and a soundlessness which became sinister;
for around the clearing spoke no night-trilling
tree-toad or other natural thing. For some
reason, the small creatures of the sunless hours
were dumb, seemingly holding their breath.
From the hut where rested Frasco and Gil came
neither light nor sound; they were buried in un-
suspecting slumber. Nowhere in all the shadow-
bound sitio was visible or audible sign of menace,
or even of life. Yet both were there.
Beside the palm wall of the master's house,
hardly a dozen feet from the master himself, a
long black shape lay along the dark ground.
Masked in the gloom under the near-by trees
lay a score of other shapes, not so dusky, yet
now invisible: the forms of muscular, hard-faced


MOUNTAINS OF MYSTERY 397
gº
|ſº
º
º
fighters whose eyes were riveted on that palm
wall. The star-shine glinted faintly, coldly, on
steel lying beside each of those motionless figures:
on the naked blades of machetes and the barrels
of powerful repeating rifles, full-loaded with car-
tridges just brought by a devious route from far
British Guiana.
Slowly, noiselessly, the black form rose. For
a moment it stood facing the wall, as if its wild
eyes could see through the barrier as easily as
its ears had just heard all that passed within.
Then it turned and stalked through the dimness
toward the others. In its right fist swayed a
gun.
Up from the ground started the wolf-pack,
weapons ready, heads forward, muscles tense.
But they made no forward bound. The black
wolf who was their king had given no signal.
They waited.
Straight up to them he came. In a harsh
whisper he spoke.
“We do not kill. Vamos!”
The wolfish eyes stared. None moved. The
hard blue-gray irises of their master glittered.
His left arm shot out, pointing eastward.
“Vamos!” he repeated, the low command
striking like a bullet.


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THE MYSTERY OF LYNNE COURT º
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BANDIT OF HELL’S BEND, THE
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TARZAN THE TERR:BLE
TARZAN THE UNTAMED
JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN
AT THE EARTH'S CORE
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