Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

- 74 - only sound he made was his hoarse breathing, which was deep and slow, with a sort of quiver in it. A low murmur went around the circle of watching Indians, They were whispering and speaking among themselves. Yet nobody moved, nobody talked aloud. More time dragged past—how long I do not know. I feared to see him stagger and fall, overcome by poison and pain. But he did not waver, and it was another who was first to move. That other was the pajé. At last he came forward, peering into the eyes of Senhor Locke, which stared straight past him. Then he loosened the cords which held the ‘sleeve, drew the cloth down carefully to keep the tucandeiras inside the cylinder, flipped the tube suddenly away and swiftly closed it. ~ SLOWLY the senhor turned toward our a» hut. The Golden One sprang to his side, laughing and joyous. But he made no answer to her eager talk, nor even looked at her. He stalked to the house, went inside, and dropped on his knees beside a water-jar. We trailed close behind him, and after us came the crowd, talking loudly now and anxious to watch himi longer. But we turned in the doorway and blocked it, ordering them all away. We would not let even the Golden One come in. We knew our comrade was going to be sick. And sick he was, senhores. We heard him splashing water and retching. Yet even now he did not groan. I told Pedro to go to him while I held the door, which I could easily do because the opening was narrow and I am broad; and besides I was now in an ugly temper, for I knew from experience how the tucandeira bite hurts, and I would gladly have kicked some of those Indians in the stomach if they had crowded me. But they kept back. The American had endured the test and would be the Golden One’s man, and we were his companions, and not even the armed guards thought it best to go too far. I had some trouble, though, with the Golden One herself. She was furious because I would not let her pass. She tried to push me aside, and when she could not do. that she cried out at me in anger, stamping her foot and looking at me with eyes blazing. I tried to tell her she could see the senhor when he was ready, but since she did not understand my language this meant little to her. I ‘half-expected her to order Googoo and his men to throw me out of the way, but she was too sensible to do that—probably know- ing that a serious fight would follow. Finding me stubborn, she grew quiet and listened to the sounds from inside. Then she spoke sharply to the others, and they went away, looking back often. After that she called to the pajé, who now was talking to the chief. He, Adventure " too, went somewhere, returning soon with two small clay jars, one of which held liquid and the other a sort of paste. Knowing this must be medicine, I let him pass. Before I could stop her the Golden One slipped in after him. Senhor Locke now was in his hammock, look- ing weak but able to smile a little at the girl. The old man gave him a drink from one jar, _ then smeared his arms with the paste. Soon the white man appeared to feel better. The grayish look left his face, and some of the hard lines around his mouth smoothed out. He spoke to the Golden One. She swiftly bent and kissed him. “T think, Lourenco,” said Pedro, are not needed here. going to walk.” “Go as far as you like,” did. We walked all about the village. The guards made no attempt to stop us—indeed, Googoo alone came with us, acting more friendly now. Every one else seemed friendly too, and some of the barbaros gave us jabuti-ptihe and cumé and other fruits to eat. Though we could not talk to them, we managed to exchange ideas by making signs and wrinkling our faces, and the time passed pleasantly until we decided to return to our own hut. There we found the Tucandeira sitting up in his hammock and talking with the Golden One, who was in the same hammock and very close to him. Except that his arms looked swollen he showed hardly any effects of the ant-bites. had some, experience myself with Indian remedies. : “Has the pain left you, senhor?” I asked. “Mostly. The flesh is tender and my bones ache some—sort of a rheumatic feeling—but it isn’t half-bad now,” he said cheerfully. “That old medicine-man is a ring-tailed whizzer, ll say. I think the salt helped a good deal too— kept off some of the bugs. But the dose I got was plenty, thanks. If it hadn’t been for the coca I might have squirmed some.” “that we Senhor Locke, we are he answered. We “The what?” “Coca. Coca and a little lime. You saw me hide it in my shirt and chew it. I learned that little trick from Indians over in the Andes. It gives ’em tremendous endurance; I’ve seen them go forty-eight hours without sleep pe chewing it. “Me, I don’t like the stuff, but I beset. some away with me for emergencies. It’s no painkiller, but it sure helps a chap to hold out.” Then he laughed and glanced at the Golden One. “This little lady and I both put one over on each other,” he said. “I’ve owned up to her about the salt and the coca, and she’s admitted that she could have saved me all the pain. She says there is a bitter vegetable oil Gomichbooks I was astonished, even though I had. (C@