The Pathless Trail Read online

  CHAPTER III.

  THE VOICE OF THE WILDS

  McKay, eyes twinkling again, awaited them at the top of the hotel'sstreet ladder.

  "Rooms any good, Rod?" hailed Knowlton.

  "Best in the house, Merry."

  "See any insects in the beds?"

  "Nary a bug--in the beds." The twinkle grew. "Didn't look in the bureausor behind the mirrors. Come look 'em over."

  Entering a sizable room evidently used for dining--for its chiefarticles of furniture were two tables made from planed palmtrunks--McKay waved a hand toward a row of four doorways on the right.

  "First three are ours," he explained. "Only vacancies here. Eight roomsin this hotel--the other four over there." He pointed across the room,on the other side of which opened four similar doors. "They're occupiedby two sick men, one drunk--hear him snore?--and one she-goat which iskidding."

  "Huh?" Tim snorted, suspiciously. "I think ye're the one that's kiddin',Cap."

  "Not a bit. I looked. The last room on this side is the Dutchman's, andthese are ours. Take your pick. They're all alike."

  Knowlton stepped to the nearest and looked in. For a moment he said noword. Then he softly muttered:

  "Well, I'll be spread-eagled!"

  "Me, too," seconded Tim, who had been craning his neck.

  The room was absolutely empty. No bed, no chair, no bureau, norug--nothing at all was in it except two iron hooks. Its floor consistedof split palm logs, round side up, between which opened inch-widespaces. Its walls were rusty corrugated iron, guiltless of mirrors orpictures, which did not reach to the roof.

  "Observe the excellent ventilation," grinned McKay. "Wind blows upthrough the floor--if there is any wind--and then loops over thepartition into the next fellow's room."

  "Yeah. And I'll say any guy that drops his collar button is out o' luck.It goes plunk into the mud, seven foot down under the house. But say,Cap, how the heck do we sleep? Hang ourselves up on them hooks?"

  "Exactly."

  "Kind o' rough on a feller's shirt, ain't it? And the shirt would likelypull off over yer head before mornin'."

  "Yes, probably would. But the secret is this--you're supposed to hangyour hammock on those hooks. You provide the hammock. The hotel providesthe hooks. What more can you ask of a modern hotel?"

  "Huh! And if a guy wants a bath, there's the river, all full o' 'gatorsand cattawampuses and things. And if ye eat, I s'pose ye rustle yer owngrub and pay for eatin' it off that slab table there. There's jest onething ye can say for this dump--a feller can spit on the floor. But withall them cracks in it he might not hit it, at that. Mother of mine! Tothink Missus Ryan's li'l' boy should ever git caught stayin' in a holelike this, along o' drunks and skiddin' she-goats and--did ye say aDutchman?"

  "German. Chap named Schwandorf."

  "Yeah?" Tim's tone was sinister. "Say, Cap, gimme the room next thatguy. And if ye hear anybody yowlin' before mornin' don't git worried. Itwon't be me."

  "None of that, Tim," warned Knowlton. "The war's over--"

  "Since when? There wasn't no peace treaty signed when we left theStates."

  "Er--ahum! Well, technically you're right. But this fellow may be usefulto us. He knows the upper river, they say."

  "Aw, well, if ye can use him I'll lay off him. Where is he?"

  "Out somewhere," answered McKay. "I haven't seen him yet. Want thisfirst room, Merry?"

  "Just to play safe, I'll take the one next the German. And if I hear anywar in the night, Tim, I'm coming over the top with both hands going."

  "Grrrumph!" growled Tim.

  "That goes, Tim," warned McKay. "I'll take this room and you can havethe one between us. Here comes the baggage train with our stuff. Inhere, men!"

  Puffing and grunting, Antonio and Jorge and Rosario and Meldo shuffledin with the boxes and bundles. Under the directions of McKay andKnowlton, these were stowed in the bare rooms. Then the four shuffledout again, grinning happily over a small roll of Brazilian paper reiswhich McKay had peeled from a much larger roll and handed to them.Immediately following their departure, in came a youth carrying threenew hammocks.

  "Our beds," McKay explained. "I sent this lad to a trader's store forthem. He's the proprietor's son. Thank you, Thomaz. Tell your father toput these on our bill, and take for yourself this small token of ourappreciation."

  More reis changed hands. The young Brazilian, with a flash of teeth,informed them that the evening meal would soon be ready and disappearedthrough a rear door.

  "Do they really feed us at this here, now, hotel?" Tim demanded. "Thenthe goat's safe."

  "Meaning?" puzzled Knowlton.

  "Meanin' I didn't know but we had to kill our supper, and I was goin' togit the cap'n's goat. That is, the goat the cap'n's kiddin'--I mean thegoat that's kiddin' the cap--the skiddin' she-goat--Aw, rats! ye knowwhat I'm drivin' at. Me tongue so dry it don't work right."

  Wherewith Tim retreated in disorder to his room and began wrestling withhis new hammock and the iron hooks.

  Swift darkness filled the rooms. The sun had slid down below the bulgeof the fast-rolling world. Thomaz re-entered, lit candles stuck in emptybottles, and, with a bow, placed one of these crude illuminants at thedoor of each of the strangers. By the flickering lights McKay andKnowlton disposed their effects according to their individual desires,bearing in mind Tim's observation that any small article dropped on thefloor would land in the mud under the house, whence sounded the gruntsof pigs. Their work was soon completed, and they sauntered together tothe small piazza.

  "Nice quiet little place," commented Knowlton. "Make a good sanitariumfor nervous folks."

  The comment was made in a tone which, in the daytime, would carry half amile. McKay nodded to save a similar effort. The outbreak of the howlingmonkey which so startled Tim had been only the first note of the nightconcert of the jungle. Now that the sun was gone the chorus was in fullswing.

  Beasts of the village, the jungle, the river, all hurled their voicesinto the uproar. From the gloom around the houses rose the bellowing ofcows and calves, the howls and yelps of dogs, the yowling of cats, thegrunts and squeals of hogs. In the black river, flowing past within astone's throw of the hotel door, sounded the loud snorts of dolphins andthe hideous night call of the foul beast of the mud--the alligator. Outfrom the matted tangle of trees and brush and great snakelike vinesbehind the town rolled the appalling roars of guaribas, raucous birdcalls, dismal hoots, sudden scattered screams. And over all, whelmingall other sound by the sheer might of its penetrating power, throbbedthe rapid-fire hammering of millions of frogs.

  "Frogs sound like a machine-gun barrage," the blond man added.

  "Or thousands of riveting hammers pounding steel."

  "Queer how much worse it is when you're right in it. We've heard it allthe way up two thousand miles of Amazon, but--"

  "But you're right beside the orchestra now. Position is everything inlife."

  The double-edged jest made Knowlton glance sidelong at his mate. Of thetall, eagle-faced Scot's past he knew little beyond what he had seen ofhim in war, where he had met him and learned to respect himwhole-heartedly. From occasional remarks he had learned that McKay hadbeen in all sorts of places between Buenos Aires and Nome; and from afew intangible hints he suspected that his "position in life" had oncebeen much higher socially than at present. But he asked no questions.

  "Some orchestra, all right," he responded, casually. "Plenty of jazz.It'll quiet down after a while."

  For a time they stood leaning against the wall, staring abstractedly outat the dark. One by one the domestic animals ceased their clamor andsettled themselves for the night. The jungle din, too, seemed todiminish, though perhaps this was because the ears of the men had becomeaccustomed to it. At length through the discordant symphony boomed thevoice of Tim.

  "By cripes! I know now what folks mean when they talk about a howlin'wilderness. Always thought 'twas one o' them figgers o' speech, but I'lltell the world it ain't no joke! Gosh! Think
of all the things that'slayin' out there and bellerin' and waitin' for us pore li'l' fellers tocome in amongst 'em and git et up."

  "You'll find the same things in the cities up home," said Knowlton, abit cynically. "Different bodies and different methods of attack, butthe same merciless animals under the skin. Snakes in silksuits--foul-mouthed alligators in dinner jackets--hunting-cats andvampires, painted and powdered--and all the rest of it."

  "Yeah. Ye said a mouthful, Looey. But say, Tommy's shovin' some grub onthe table. Mebbe we better hop to it before the flies git it all."

  After a glance at the vicious attack already begun by the aforesaidflies, the pair adopted Tim's suggestion and hopped to it. Manfully theyassailed the rubbery jerked beef, black beans, rice, farinha, and thick,black, unsweetened coffee which comprised the meal. All three werewrestling with chunks of the meat when Tim, facing the door, stoppedchewing long enough to mutter:

  "Dutchland overalls. Here's the goose stepper."

  The heads of the other two involuntarily moved a little. Then theirnecks stiffened and they continued eating. Tim alone stared straight ata burly, black-whiskered Teuton who had halted in the outer doorway. AndTim alone saw the ugly look crossing the newcomer's visage as he gazedat the khaki shirts, the broad shoulders under them, and theunmistakably Irish--and hostile--face of Tim himself.

  Catching the hard stare of the red-haired man, he of the black beardadvanced at once, his eyes veering to the door of his own room. Straightto that room he marched with heavy tread. He opened the door with akick, shut it behind him with a slam. The three at the table glanced atone another.

  "Say what ye like," grumbled Tim, "but me and that guy don't hold nomush party. I don't like his map. I don't like his manners. And he lookstoo much like the Fritz that shot me in the back with a kamerad gunafter surrenderin'. I was in hospital three months. D'ye mind that time,Looey?"

  Knowlton nodded. He remembered also that Tim, shot down from behind andalmost killed, had reeled up to his feet and bayoneted his man beforefalling the second time. Wherefore he replied:

  "He isn't the same one, Tim."

  "Nope," grimly. "That one won't never come back. All the same, if yougents want to chew the fat with this feller I'm goin' slummin' with mefriend Joey Mouthgargle Nabisco Whoozis. Then I won't be round here tomake no sour-caustic remarks and gum up yer party."

  "Might be a good idea," McKay conceded.

  "There he is now, the li'l' darlin'! Hullo, Joey, old sock! Stick arounda minute while I scoop a few more beans. Be with ye tootsweet--vite--presto--P.D.Q."

  Wherewith he demolished the rest of his meal with military dispatch,proceeded doorward, smote the grinning army of Remate de Males a buffeton the shoulder, and vanished into the night. A moment later hisstentorian voice rolled back through the nocturnal racket in animpromptu paraphrase of an old and highly improper army song:

  "We're in the jungle now, We ain't behind the plow; We'll never git rich, We'll die with the itch. We're in the jungle now!"