  Johnny Thompson and Jean found it strangely fascinating to be marching straight on over the beaten trail that led to the great unknown. It was exciting, entrancing, this sharing a secret which had not been so much as whispered by either of them, yet the glances and curious smiles which the girl bestowed upon him told Johnny plainer than words that she knew; moreover, that she knew he knew. “But pshaw!” he told himself with a sudden shake as if to waken himself from a dream. “There may be nothing to it, probably isn’t. There probably are many hard-beaten trails leading away into this wilderness. Why should this particular one lead to the home of a wild Maya? Probably end in scattered settlements of Mexicans in some camp. It may end—” he caught his breath, “we may have gone in a circle. It may end in Daego’s camp. Pretty mess if it does! Have to be careful!” So, beneath the flickering lights and drifting shadows of palms, over ridges, through low depressions where there were no streams, now frightening droves of small wild pigs from their sleep and now sending flocks of brilliant colored cockatoos fluttering away into the bush, they traveled on. There were more pools now. By noon they had passed three. The air was cooler. They were ascending to higher altitudes. Johnny took long, deep breaths and thought how like it was to the air of the Cumberlands in Kentucky. Now and again, through the palm leaves, he caught glimpses of distant scenes. “Mountains over there to the left,” he said to Jean. “Looks two or three thousand feet high.” “Johnny,” the girl stopped suddenly in the trail (the others had gone on before), “where are we going?” “I don’t know. Do you?” Johnny’s face was sober. “No, I don’t.” “Want to go back?” “No—o. But I feel sort of shivery. It’s so strange!” “Yes, it is. But then, all life is strange, and death is strangest of all. Besides, I guess we’re doing the logical thing. We’re lost in the wilderness. What do men do when they’re lost? Find the nearest human being and ask the way home. That’s what we’re doing. And from the signs, I’d say we were almost there. I saw fresh prints of bare feet beside the last pool.” “So did I. And Johnny, look!” she held up a short string of small, round beads. “Green,” he said with a low exclamation. “Green jade!” Again he seemed to hear Hardgrave running on in a low, melodious tone so suggestive of great secrets: “Three gods; a black one, a green one and one of pure gold.” “Green—green jade,” he thought to himself. “That’s it, to be sure. The green god would be carved from jade.” To the girl he said, “That’s a rare find. Ever see any like it before?” “No, never.” “We’d better go on. Ought not to get separated from the rest.” As they hurried on, Johnny heard a slight movement among the palms to the right of him and for a second, above the tallest leaf, there flashed a gleaming blade. “Did—did you see it?” the girl asked, gripping his arm. Johnny nodded. “Wha—what was it?” “A spear point, I’d say.” He spoke as calmly as he could. “Now, I am beginning to be afraid,” she said. “No use being afraid now. We’ve gone too far. Walk straight on as if you had seen nothing. We’ll see more.” They did. It was uncanny, unnerving in the extreme. There came a gleam from a bush and a brown face appeared, to vanish instantly. Then there came a rustle and a low call. “It—it’s spooky,” whispered the girl, keeping close to Johnny’s side. He wondered how the affair would end. Who were these people? Were they really wild Mayas? He thought of their own weapons. Few enough they were. He was carrying Roderick’s light rifle and there was some extra ammunition strapped in his pack. A good machete hung at his side. “But what are we against so many? There must be no fight.” Yet there was to be a fight, such a strange one as he could not have dreamed of, and that right soon. As they rounded a turn in the trail, a sudden, piercing scream rent the air. The next moment a beautiful Indian girl dressed in a strange garment of scarlet, with her hair streaming behind her, came racing wildly down the trail and behind her, in mad pursuit, came the strangest creature it had ever been Johnny’s lot to behold. As heavy as an ox, but shorter of leg and broader of back, the creature had such a face as an elephant might present had he been robbed of half his trunk. Rage gleamed from his small, black eyes. From his side there protruded the shaft of a spear and this, no doubt, was the cause of his sudden anger. To be snatched from the silence of the jungle to the sudden strain of action is like being dragged from the deep dark of midnight to the glaring light of day. For a second Johnny stood petrified. Then, born as he was for action, and trained for it, too, he sprang forward. The shoulder straps of his pack were thrown off and the pack struck the trail with a thump. Then, like an ancient warrior, Johnny lifted the light rifle and prepared to stand his ground. “Look out!” screamed Jean. “It’s a mountain cow, a tapir. He’s mad with pain. He—he’ll trample you to death.” With one hand Johnny pushed her into the brush; with the other he steadied his rifle. Down the trail came Indian girl and tapir. The tapir was gaining, and so in line with the girl that Johnny could not fire. Now he was four yards behind, now three, now two. And now, with a terrifying scream, the Indian girl tripped and fell. For a second it seemed that nothing could save her. By great good fortune she rolled over once. This brought her to the side of the beaten path. The tapir, too near to halt or swerve, flew on by. Not to be thwarted, as if realizing that here at his feet lay the darling of the tribesmen who had sent the spear into his side, he stopped short with a mad snort to whirl about and renew his attack. This was Johnny’s chance. He now had a broadside shot and could reach the heart. The rifle was a light one, far too light to be used on such game unless the bullet found a vulnerable spot. The end of the Indian girl must soon have come, had not Johnny, taking quick, but sure aim, pressed the trigger and sent a small but paralyzing bullet into the heart of the maddened beast. It was a dramatic moment. For a moment the tapir stood swaying backward and forward, then plunged headlong into the bush, twitched convulsively for a few seconds and then lay quite still. He was stone dead. Hardly had the tapir fallen when Johnny was treated to a sudden surprise. He was gripped tightly about the knees. Looking down, he met a pair of dark eyes looking into his. It was the Indian girl, stammering words in her own tongue. Johnny understood not one word of it, but knew well enough that he was being called a brave one, a hero, a young god. And, having read all this in her eyes, he did not know whether to laugh or smile. He ended by doing nothing at all until, finding himself surrounded by a half hundred little brown men all armed with bows and spears, and having become conscious of Jean close beside him, he stooped, and lifting the brown girl to her feet, placed her hand in the white girl’s as he murmured that word which everyone of whatever land or tongue must understand by knowledge or instinct: “Sister,” he said, simply and quietly. There were tears in the brown girl’s eyes, tears in Jean’s as well; yet they smiled through their tears. Who can tell how strong was the bond of friendship welded at that moment? It would have been difficult for either Jean or Johnny to tell how the movement started, but before they realized what was happening, a line of march formed along the trail. Before them were many brown hunters with their weapons; in long procession others followed, while close beside them was the Indian girl. Just as the procession started, awe-struck and silent, Roderick and the Carib woman materialized from somewhere to join them. A wild, weird chant was struck up, then all moved slowly forward. “How strange! How—how fascinating!” whispered Jean. “Like a march of triumph,” Johnny whispered back. In and out among the palms the procession wound. There appeared to be no end to that trail. Whence had come these people? Whither were they bound? “Now where are we?” Johnny asked, an air of mystery in his voice. As if in answer to his query, a great brown shaft, elaborately carved and gray with the moss of centuries, reared itself up before them. Beyond this they came at once into cleared spaces where were cornfields and pastures with goats grazing in them. Beside the trail were stone cottages with thatched roofs. Beside these dwellings women sat weaving cloth on narrow looms while others working over strange stone bowls beat soaked corn into batter. “The wild Mayas,” the girl whispered with a thrill in her tone. “We have found them! At last we have found them!” “And they have found us,” Johnny’s tone was solemn. “We are in their hands. This is their land. When shall we leave it? Ever?” “Ev—ever?” “Perhaps never. Who knows?” |
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