halfbreed. They were excitedly arguing some question which seemed to be of intense interest to both.
All the while, the mozo prodded the camp-fire, which he had kindled into a bonfire. He was wildly gesticulating and waving his hand toward the cabin wherein I stood. Now and then his hand wandered to the stub of the severed ear as though it pained him. And once, when the beast stooped and lighted his cigarro with a burning brand, I saw Alamondo quickly place something in the pocket of the halfbreed's cotton jacket.
The rest of the party could be seen in their hammocks, swung in the trees nearby. They looked rather snug and comfortable beneath their nettings.
For a long time I stood observing the mozo and La Fiera in their talk, marveling at the mysterious change that had suddenly come over the native and wondering what he could have placed so stealthily in his enemy's pocket.
But no explanation could I conjure to solve the enigma. So I turned my attention to the crackling sound in the near brush. A noise like an animal crunching brittle bones. Peccaries, I thought; the rooting, grunting scavengers of the jungle.
Then it occurred to me for the first time; perhaps Bill was right, and, after all, I was wrong. But there was no backing down now. I had chosen my course. Man, devil or beast, could not force me to sleep elsewhere.
Thus, without further thought on the subject, I blew out the candle, wrapped my blanket about me, and, Colt in hand, I was soon lost to the world.
I DO NOT know how long I slept. But it must have been after midnight when I awakened. Not suddenly, as one is usually aroused in moments of danger, but gradually, a degree at a time.
So natural was my awakening, that for several moments, I lay listening to the muffled ticking of the timepiece in the pocket of my trousers.
There is something soothing, mesmeric, about the ticking of the delicate works of a watch in the dead hours of night. And often, in the wilderness, have I returned to conscious life under the hypnotic, metallic voice of man's most timely friend. So it did not occur to me that my awakening was unusual, or that everything was not as it should be.
But as I lay there, restful, perfectly at peace with the world, dozing, lingering in a semi-conscious state, it suddenly dawned upon me that I was not alone. I sensed inwardly, rather than felt outwardly, that there was some living thing in the room besides myself. Instantly I was awake and in perfect control of my senses, tense and alert.
A velvety soft, with now and then a grating, sound came to me from out the Egyptian darkness, like the scaly body of a huge snake crawling through dry grass. A tense moment passed. Then a strong, acrid odor assailed me, equally as revolting as that of the voodoo sack about my neck.
Cautiously, I came to a semi-sitting posture, revolver in hand and finger crooked for action. I was not to be taken by surprise. Breathlessly, I awaited the intruder's attack.
In the dense darkness I could see nothing, save now and then the phosphorescent glimmer of a vagrant lightning beetle that had flown into the hut.
I peered about the room, seeking to discern what living thing, man, beast or devil, confronted me. I stared until my eyeballs ached, but no object could I make out. Then my attention was suddenly attracted to the floor where something was lightly rocking the loose logs.
For some time I listened to this cradling of the planking, exerting my wits to fathom the cause of so peculiar a phenomenon.
At first, the thought had occurred to me that it might be some one of our party who had worked his way into the place to test my nerve. But I immediately dismissed this from my mind. The risk would be too great for a sane man to take. But then, what was it?
There was only one answer. I would have to find out!
I rose to my feet and gingerly stepped into the center of the room, listening for the faintest sound. But nothing was audible, save the stifled gasps of my breathing. The noise had suddenly ceased.
A flood of thoughts went skittering through my mind. Then it suddenly dawned upon me. This "thing" had deliberately moved away as I approached it. It had passed along the planking as quickly and noiselessly as a gliding reptile. I felt certain that it was neither human nor animal.
But what could it be?
However, it did not matter. There was but one remedy!
I leveled my revolver in the direction of the "thing" that must be somewhere before me. But before I had completed the movement, I was conscious that it had vanished—seemingly into space.
For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of terror tugging at my throat. Here was an enemy that had me helplessly at its mercy. There was no way of determining to where the "thing" had vanished, It might at that very second be crouched directly behind me, preparing to spring.
A cold sweat crept over me. I instantly wheeled about, tense for the attack.
In the black void before me, I sensed that something moved. Now over here—now over there—behind me—in front of me—! Then I caught the heavy breath of the "thing" directly above my head.
I gasped and looked up.
TWO RED EYES, piercing as balls of fire, stared into my face. The warmth of its breath was upon my cheek and its odor was revolting!
Without thought, I sprang back and began discharging my revolver at this devil that was closing in on me from all sides.
A series of blood-curdling screams, human in their fierceness, filled the quietness of the room as if a thousand infuriated demons had sprung into the place, dancing to the staccato of my revolver.
There was a rush, a mad scramble. Something dashed over my head and out through the window with the swish of a monster bat. The rickety cabin shook as if in a tempest. Huge forms lurched about me and against the walls, tearing and rocking the logs of the floor in frantic desperation to escape the zipping fire of hot lead.
From outside came the reverberating roar of a living thing, and I knew something was leaving a trail of blood.
I sprang to the window to see if I could discern what I had hit. But in the blackness I could see nothing—except Bill, rifle in hand, revealed in the glare of the camp-fire, running towards me. The mozo, with a lighted pitch-pine knot, was following closely at his heels. Rodriquez was nowhere to be seen.
With the aid of the flaring torch, I saw a huge form lying near the foot of the bunk. I had stooped to examine the "thing" more closely, when the mozo caught me by the arm.
"Ay! Ay!" he shrieked. "Come away! Come away! Jalingo! Jalingo!"
I looked at the native sharply. There was in the tone of his voice all the evidence of extreme fright. But in the man's face I was not so easily deceived. There was a crafty, cunning expression in every feature.
But before I could express the thought that occurred to me, he crossed himself and stepped back into the darker portion of the room.
In the meantime, with the barrel of his Winchester, Bill had turned the
