Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 98: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

96 Adventure western bank. There the plague of the little stinging demons lost much of its virulence. Perhaps an hour later, the canoes halted for another night. Again camp was made in the thick bush, and Tim once more found himself forced to hang in a hammock. Except for an increase of vigilance and a more wary silence, the White Ones showed no indication of such caution as might be expected on entering enemy country. Un- like the comparatively small party with which the adventurers had first traveled, they kept the night fires burning, secure in the belief that no foe strong enough to attack them was near. ‘“‘What’s the name of this stream, José?” queried Knowlton. “Or has it any name?” “Si. This is the Yana Yacu.” As on the previous evening, the Spaniard looked at the Americans and seemed to debate something with himself, then decide against it. At the sound of the name, Tim had suddenly become alert, and his eyes bored into the other’s face. José said no more, and presently he walked away. The red man’s mouth set in a hard line. “Hey, listen here, fellers!”’ he rumbled. “Hozy ain’t playin’ square. He’s holdin’ outonus.” ““Meaning?’’ demanded McKay. ““Meanin’ he don’t come clean. Meanin’ I’ve got the low-down about this here, now, Yarny Yakoo place. Got it last night before that buttin’ goat knocked it out o” me head. That big chief with the ugly mug—the one Hozy calls I-you—come along and give the bush-sergeant a tip, and when he was gone I worked it out o’ the sarge. Up here on this Yarny Yakoo there’s a gang o’ head-hunters, and we’re goin’ to mop ’em up! “Did he tip you guys off to that?’ “No,” admitted McKay. “Uh-huh. Wal, what’s the idea? Looks to me like he don’t trust us or somethin’. If he don’t trust us, I sure don’t trust him! And I mind he said he’d kill Dave if neces- sary. And he said Noony could take that there barbasco poison for all he cared, or somethin’ like that. He don’t care what comes of anybody but his own gang. As long’s he wins out, Dave and Noony can go to and so can Ryan and McKay and Knowlton! I’m off him!’’ His mates glanced at each other, frown- ing, as their own brief talk of the previous night leaped into. their minds. “Sure you didn’t misunderstand that Indian?” clipped McKay. “Dead sure!” “AM right. Keep mum.” The captain’s tone hardened. ‘‘We’ll be dummies just a little longer—and see what happens.” CHAPTER XVII THE FRUIT OF DISCORD Bs WAS about noon on the second day thereafter when the scout-boat of Curac suddenly slowed, then stopped. Its bow- paddler had picked something from the water, and Curac was examining it. As the canoe of José slid alongside, the chief mutely held out the find to his com- mander. It was nothing but a chip, hacked from some tree by a dull machete or stone ax. Yet it was indisputable evidence of the presence of men somewhere beyond. José nodded, and the leading boat resumed its way. But now it traveled with redoubled stealth, and the attitudes of its paddlers betrayed tense watching of everything ahead. 3 Before long another sign was spied and seized. This time it was a two-inch, convex flake of charred wood. To the eyes of McKay, who glanced at it, it told no story except that it had been in fire. But to Curac it was no mere débris from a camp-fire, but a fragment gouged from an embryo canoe in process of construction by flame and ax. This obviously betokened the existence of a settlement. The Yana Yacu here was hardly a stone’s throw in width, though deep enough to afford unhampered progress. Yet Curac, instead of pressing on up the river to find the town, began keenly watching along the shores as if seeking some subsidiary stream. Slowly the tangle on either side slid past, and with inaudible strokes the paddles rose and fell. Then a soft grunt floated back from the scarred veteran, and his bow nosed into an opening at the right. José, without looking backward, raised an arm high overhead and held it rigid a moment. The signal passed back from canoe to canoe until every crew along the winding waterway was warned. Mean- while the king’s boat glided past the mouth of the tributary, grounding at the shore a little above. The craft of Curac, moving COMICLOOCkKS.CGO 5}