VI
WHEN a Maquiritare tells you, señores, that a journey is hard, you may believe that it is hard. Those sons of the jungled mountains and rocky rivers give little thought to a trip that would make a white man consider twice. True, they are not in the habit of carrying heavy burdens, and any well-hardened man can traverse bad ground when he has no weight on his back. But, weight or no weight, you can always be sure that any journey in their country is much more difficult than they say it is.
So, warned both by Yaracuma's hesitation and by my own knowledge of the land to the eastward, near the Padamo, I now looked for no easy trip. I knew that not far to the east were such huge masses as the Cerro Duida, which shoots up into the air for more than a mile, and Maravaca, whose top is at least two miles above the Orinoco; and that westward were other great mountain-blocks. What lay ahead I did not know, but I was quite sure it would be rough. And it was.
Through raudal after raudal we toiled until at last the canoes could go no farther. Then we took to our legs. Every one of us bore a burden, except the children too young to carry anything but themselves. The men were loaded with my belongings and their own; the women and girls with baskets of food or with babies. Progress was slow. But it was steady, and every sunset found us higher among the hills and nearer to the Ventuari.
We passed the unknown Cerro Cuchamacari, and kept on to the north. We struggled through a maze of cliff-blocks and slanted to the northwest, following the line of the high pass between Queneveba and Queneveta. We sweat by day and froze by night, unprotected from the cold of the lofty hills. We ate all our food, and lived on what we could kill—and we killed anything that moved: birds, beasts, snakes, toads.
We paused only to eat, to rest, and to burn our dead—for more than one death came about, especially among the children. Yet there was no murmuring against the hardships of the traverse; for man, woman, and child knew what would have befallen the whole tribe if it had remained on the Cunucunuma after the death of Rodriguez became known.
In those days there was little laughter or light talk; for our bodies grew too tired and our stomachs too empty to let us think of jokes. Nor were there many signs of comradeship among men or of affection between man and woman, unless the action of a father in sharing food with his woman and children could be called so. Every one carried his or her own load, and women killed any small thing to eat just as the men did.
Yet, though I provided for myself and expected no aid from the Maquiritares under such conditions, I began to find that there was one who seemed always to be near me whenever we stopped. That one was the girl whom I had intended to protect from Rodriguez.
With my rifle I was able at times to knock over more meat than I could eat all at once, and so I gave what I could spare to those who happened to be at hand. And, since the girl—who was called Nama—usually was close by, she got food when I had it. Once I laughed at her, and said:
"You are a wise young woman. You know where to get your meals."
She smiled slowly, for she did not understand me: she knew no Spanish. I forgot the matter very soon, and whenever I saw her near me I thought she was merely looking for a few mouthfuls of meat. But then came a day when I shot nothing at all, and the Maquiritares had only half enough for themselves, so that I went hungry. And while I was making new holes in my belt and trying to forget how empty I was, Nama came to me.
"No tengo nada," I grumbled, only half-looking at her. "I have nothing. Go."
But she stepped up to me and held something forward. I took it, and she went away at once. It was a little bag of plalant leaf, tied with bush-cord, and hot—just brought from the edge of a fire. And when I opened it, inside I found five baked tree-toads. I was so much astonished that I squatted there staring as if I had never seen such things. I must have looked rather foolish, for when I glanced up I found several of the Maquiritare men grinning. The girl was nowhere in sight.
So I ate the little hoppers, and, though they made a scant meal for a hungry man, my stomach stopped complaining. The tired men grinned again at me, and I grinned back, making a joke of it. For Loco León, rover and killer of the biggest game, to be fed on toads by a woman really was a rich joke to the Maquiritares. But when I lay back in my hammock and thought it over it did not seem so funny to me.
It began to look as if the young woman had been lingering near me for another reason than that of getting food. I remembered how steadily she had looked at me when she first saw me, and how she had run to me from Rodriguez without knowing who I was—for it was hardly likely that the name "Loco León" meant anything to her just then.
At that time I had thought she stared because I looked odd, and came to me only to escape from the roughness of Ramón; but now I was not so sure that was all of it.
I do not pretend to know how the mind of a woman works, but I am not blind, and this was a most unusual thing for a Maquiritare maiden to do.
It did not give me any worriment for my safety, either then or later, for the Maquiritare men were not likely to make any objection even to my taking her as my woman, if she and I both felt inclined to have it so. I was no Ramón Rodriguez, nor even a stray blanco traveler who soon would leave their land. I was as nearly one of their own nation as any white man could be who did not actually live the Indian life, and I was trusted and respected.
If I wished to do so, señores, I have no doubt that I could take not only one, but three or four, of those fair-skinned Indian girls to my sitio as my wives, without losing the friendship of the Maquiritares. But if I did that I should lose some of their respect, and more of my own respect, for Loco León. I am no better than other men, but I am a little too proud of my white blood to wish to become a—what do you say?—ah, yes, a "squaw-man."
So the thing bothered me a little, and I decided that Nama must not be allowed to develop any useless ideas about me. And, since I did not wish to hurt her or to make others laugh at her, it seemed that the best way was simply to appear blind: to treat her like any one else, but otherwise to ignore her. And that was what I did.
It happened that the next day I killed a tapir, so that there was much meat to be given out. I cut it up myself, and to Nama, who was near as usual, I gave no more than to the others; nor did I do more than glance at her as she took it. Later, though, when the flesh was cooked, she brought me the tenderest part of her portion. I acted surprized, showed her that I had plenty of meat of my own, and refused her offering.
She looked a little disappointed, but ate it herself without further sign of feeling. And from that time on she offered me nothing. For that matter, I always managed to provide something for myself after that—good, poor, or bad, but always something.
Then we reached the Iurebe. It was a mere thread of water among rocks at that point, but it was the end of our hard life in the highlands. We had only to work down along it in almost open country, killing plenty of game in the woods beside the stream, sleeping warm at night, and joking about the rage of the San Fernando men who might even now be on the Cunucunuma. They never would find our trail, for we had journeyed on the river for days after leaving the tribe-house.
Even if they did find it, they would not dare to follow it. It was too perilous a road.
Yaracuma and his people still did not know that Paco the Butcher was on the Ventuari, and I still did not tell them. It was quite possible that he was no longer there: that he had gone up the Orinoco. And the joy of those hard-worn people on reaching their promised land was such that I had not the heart to spoil it with news of another danger.
After they had rested awhile at a place half-way down the stream, where the water was deep enough to hold many fish and the bush was alive with baquido and paují and other fine game, they became a merry crowd. The young men sported like boys, the women laughed as they played with the babies, Yaracuma himself talked smilingly of the new home they intended to build in the uplands above Quencua—and the girl, Nama, hung closer than ever to me, saying nothing but looking long with her deep dark eyes.
Then the men began to talk of felling trees and burning out new canoes to carry us all up the Ventuari. But I had been thinking about this and decided against it. Such work meant much smoke, which might be seen far; and, though I believed Paco had gone before now, he might be nearer than I thought.
The mouth of the Iurebe was only two days' journey up from that of the Ventuari, and I remembered that only a little way below it was a rocky point which would be a good place to watch the river in both directions. For all I knew, the Butcher might now be at that very point; and I had, not brought these people so far to lead them to slaughter.
So, without giving any reason except that my plan meant less work—which is always a good reason to Indians—I proposed another idea.
"Between here and my sitio below the fall of Quencua," I said, "the land is open sabana. Across that sabana some of the young men can walk easily in a few days, carrying no weights. I can give them a paper showing how the river runs and where the caños are and where the sun rises, and by that they can go straight to Quencua. At my sitio they will find good canoes lying idle, and to men of mine who always are there they can give my orders and this ring, which they know."
I showed them this ring, señores, which, as you see, has the head of a gold león with emerald eyes.
"Then the canoes can come to us here in five days or less," I went on, "and instead of working we shall rest and hunt and grow fat while we wait. Is the plan good, Yaracuma?"
The chief agreed that it was.
"Then let it be done," I said. "But first let us send scouts to the mouth of this stream to look about and make sure that no men of San Fernando are near to harm the people of Yaracuma. It is not likely, but it is always best to be sure."
Yaracuma agreed again, and the next morning several of the men were sent to the Ventuari. After they left, some of the other Indians looked rather soberly at me, but I gave no sign that I expected the scouts to find any one. So they thought no more of it, and in the three days before the absent men returned there was no anxiety about them.
When they did come, though, they brought news. On the Ventuari they had found no sign of any enemy. But on the Iurebe, about one day's march down from our halting-place, they had come upon a camp.
It seemed to have been used by a hunting-party, which had left not long before our men arrived there. Bones of wild hogs and turkeys were there, and the camp was such as might have been made by themselves; it had a Maquiritare look to their eyes. But it puzzled them, because this Iurebe was not in the Maquiritare, but in the Maco, country. Also, there was a hut, and the Maquiritares usually do not make huts for short stays at a place in the dry season.
Something about the hut made the scouts think it had been used by a white man and a woman. And in the bush not far from the camp they had found what was left of a dead tigre, and near it a couple of cartridge-shells. These shells they had brought to me.
Both were bottle-necked rifle-shells. And both were of caliber .30.