Tupahn--the Thunderstorm/Chapter 6

HE place was very dim.

So dim it was, indeed, that after our march through the brilliant sunshine I found myself almost blinded by the abrupt change to murky twilight. I had to halt a moment to let my eyes adjust themselves. And in that moment several things happened.

Senhor Tom, unwarned of my pause, bumped me hard from behind. I lurched forward and rammed my face into a stout pole upholding the roof. The unexpected thump knocked a grunt out of me and brought from my blind follower a sharp question.

“What's the matter there?”

At the same instant a droning voice somewhere among the Indians before us stopped suddenly. There came a hiss of indrawn breath, an outbreak of hoarse mutterings from men and squeals of fright from women, a voice of authority grunting commands, and a scuffling, shuffling sound which soon ended.

Silently cursing my luck, I drew away from the post and faced a number of Indian men advancing grimly up a small aisle between hammock-hung roof-poles. All the effect of our bold entrance was spoiled by that mischance; for instead of striding among the Tucunas before they knew of us we had bumped about like drunkards. We had lost our dignity at the outset; and to white men unexpectedly invading an Indian maloca such a loss may prove serious.

Now I saw that the men filing toward us held spears. A growling voice spoke, and the spears were leveled at our stomachs. I reached for my machete. But a quick thought made me halt my hand and lift it, empty.

“Hold, Tucunas!”?” I barked. “We are friends. Here is Tupahn the Thunderstorm, friend of Tucunas and killer of that Black Hawk who enslaved the Tucuna warriors. Is this your welcome to such a man?”

It was a shrewd shot. I remembered that Senhor Tom was known among the Tucunas as Tupahn because of the roaring voice he could use in giving commands, and that he held their respect because of his masterly ways and his straight dealings with them. Before this time I had seen Tucunas change from surliness to civility on hearing his name. And now that he had killed Black Hawk their former respect ought to have become awe.

And so it had. The menacing spearmen halted in their tracks as I stepped aside and showed them Senhor Tom standing straight and somber against the light from the doorway. My sight had righted itself by now, and, watching them peer at him, I saw how deeply impressed they were. Their spears did not waver, but they made no further move toward us.

Then from behind them sounded that same growling voice we had heard when the weapons were lowered. Speaking in the Tupi lengoa geral, it asked:

“Who comes with Tupahn? Why comes Tupahn to this maloca?”

“We two are the comrades of Tupahn—free men of the forest who stood with him when Black Hawk fell,” I answered gruffly “We come to talk with the chief. Stand back and let us pass.”

Now that our clumsy entrance was forgotten for the moment, I could use the bold tones most likely to be impressive. Besides, I was a little angered by the surliness of that voice, and when angered I am not meek. As I spoke I began advancing again.

The spearmen raised their weapons now, but before moving back to the central space where the fires burned they looked over their shoulders as if seeking an order from the growler. After a short pause it came, and they pressed back out of our way. I walked on with head up and jaw out. Behind me Senhor Tom, guided by a whisper and a touch from Pedro, stalked with the dignity of a chief.

As we walked I wondered briefly why we had heard no cry of welcome from the senhorita, who must be standing before the chief. Then I recalled that she knew nothing of the Tupi tongue, could hardly have seen us through the pack of Indians, and probably did not recognize my voice. While the crowd divided to let us pass through I looked ahead, seeking her. And when we entered the open space where the chief's fire burned I swept the circle of faces around us with swift eyes. Then I stopped, staring all about.

No white girl was there.

Wherever I looked, only Indian faces met me. Women were there, and girls; but all were reddish of skin, painted with the short straight cheek-lines of the Tucuna race, unclothed, and adorned only with bark bracelets and anklets. They were Indians all.

“You ask for the chief,” spoke the harsh voice. “You see him.”

Up to that minute I had not seen him. But now I had to take my eyes off the women and look at him. Again I was astonished. The voice was that of a strong, deep-chested man. But the man sitting in the chief's brightly feathered hammock was thin, shriveled, wrinkled, and bowed with age. His lips were sunken as if his teeth had long been gone, his eyes peered dimly from hollow sockets, and his neck looked like a stick.

As my gaze went down his withered frame I saw at his feet a small pile of things which cheered me. Failing to find the senhorita, I had felt an instant's doubt that we had come to the right place, though her trail could lead nowhere else. But there on the ground lay the supplies stolen with our canoes by the man who had shot Senhor Tom. With them was a rifle and a machete, undoubtedly taken from that man by his killers. The girl also must be here.

“Has Tupahn the Thunderstorm lost his thunder?” asked the voice, with a mocking note. “Has he no word for Andirah the Bat?”

This time I saw the man who spoke. He was not Andirah, the old chief, but a solid-bodied Indian who stood at the right hand of the ruler. His face, like that of the Bat, was painted with a scroll on each cheek instead of the usual short lines. His eyes were narrow and cold. His lower teeth showed as he talked, giving him an ugly sneering expression. His chest bore a snaky line of red paint, and looped across it from his thick neck was a string of teeth. I guessed at once what he was.

Andirah, the Bat, was head of the tribe by blood and by right. But this other man who spoke for him was the pajé: medicine-man, priest, wizard, and probably the real ruler here. And he was hostile to us.

“Tupahn gives greeting to his friend Andirah,” boomed Senhor Tom. “The Storm and the Bat are brothers.”

Everybody jumped. Even the ancient Bat started and the pajé blinked at the roar of the explorer's voice. Though blind, Senhor Tom was not deaf. He had caught the sneer in that priest's tones, and he gave back the thunder for which the wizard had asked.

In the silence that followed I spoke low but fast in Portuguese to the blind man.

“Turn your head as if looking at all faces. Then hold your eyes as they are now, toward the chief,” I directed. “The senhorita is not in sight. Our goods are here on the ground before the chief. So are the gun and machete of the dead man. The chief is old and dried up. The one who talks is the medicine-man—an ugly brute.”

Senhor Tom did as told, and did it well. I knew the pajé would ask soon what we wanted, and Senhor Tom must know the situation first. Every eye was on him as he turned his head, frowning as if he sought a face without finding it. All the Indians except the old Bat and his pajé stared unwinking at the great Tupahn. The chief sat like a post, and the medicine-man watched through lids narrower than before.

When the yellow-haired man faced again toward the chief's hammock he spoke out without awaiting a question.

“Tupahn comes to his brother for that which is his own,” he announced. “Tupahn finds on the ground certain things stolen from him last night by an enemy. He seeks, but does not see, his woman who was stolen by the same enemy. Tupahn asks Andirah to restore to him the woman and his other property.”

There was another silence. I looked around again, studying faces. None except the pajé looked hostile, but none looked very friendly either. Then I noticed that the men nearest the chief, one of whom probably had been talking when we entered, were looking sidelong at their ruler. And four of them held spears whose points were blood-stained.

They were the killers of the man on the creek. They had laid their plunder before the chief, and their tale was not finished when we arrived. Yet no girl was here. A cold fear began to grow on me. The blood on those spear-points—was it all from the veins of a man?

The shriveled lips of old Andirah opened. But before he could speak the pajé made answer, and the chief's words died.

“So Tupahn the Thunderstorm, killer of Black Hawk, was unable to keep his own woman? With two men to aid him, he is robbed of his goods—and a woman?”

The sneer this time was plain. Senhor Tom's face reddened. I bit my tongue to keep from making an angry answer.

“Tupahn was shot from behind,” barked Senhor Tom. “No man can guard himself against a snake that strikes from under a bush. His comrades were away in the forest. If Andirah thinks Tupahn weak, let him hear:

“Tupahn was shot in the head by a rifle. He was left without a canoe, so far from here that it took the men who shot him eighteen hours to reach the place where he was found by the men of the Bat. Yet, struck down by a bullet and with no boat, Tupahn and his comrades started this morning, followed and found that snake, trailed also the men of Andirah, and are here before the noonday meal.”

A mutter of astonishment passed among the listening Indians. Knowing nothing of our raft and our finding of the hidden canoe, they supposed us to have come through the bush. Some scowled as if they could hardly believe it. Others stared as if they thought us to be demons in the bodies of men. But the pajé refused to be impressed.

“Tupahn could not do as he says unless he rode on the back of the storm itself,” he jeered. “And have Tupahn and his men lost their guns also? We see none.”

The men with bloody spears nodded at this, and their eyes looked unpleasant. But Senhor Tom answered like a flash.

“We do not insult our friend Andirah by bringing our guns into his maloca. And if you hint that Tupahn lies you speak false. The Tucunas know that Tupahn tells truth.”

Now more men nodded; for Senhor Tom had a name for speaking straight. The old Bat himself looked pleased by the explorer's words, and his lips opened again. But the blind man, not knowing that the chief was about to speak, roared out at the pajé.

“And Tupahn comes to talk to Andirah, the chief—not to a dog-voiced pajé who snarls and growls. Perhaps the pajé thinks himself chief here? If not, why does he snatch the words from his ruler's mouth?”

This was straight talk in truth. The face of the priest seemed to bloat with rage, but he hesitated and shot a glance at Andirah. The mouth of the Bat set grimly. And this time he replied for himself:

“The Storm roars loud,” he said in a thin but firm voice? “but the Storm strikes straight. The Bat is chief. None but the Bat rules while the Bat lives. Tupahn and his men are welcome. They shall have what is theirs. A feast shall be made for them.”

There was no question that he still was chief. Old and weak, but all the more jealous of his power because of his age, he would not let the pajé make all his decisions for him. I gave that angry but silent medicine-man a nasty grin and began looking around again for the senhorita. But the next words of the Bat struck like a blow.

“But Tupahn seeks his woman in the wrong place. No white woman has come here.”

For a moment we stood like staring fools, shocked dumb. Then the thought came to me that the old man lied. But, studying his face, I doubted it. It was an honest old face, and his tone had the ring of truth. And, as has been said, we had found no white girl there.

Again I looked at those red spear-points, and I spoke out harshly.

“Then what have the men of Andirah done with her? She was taken by them from the place where the man was killed. We have followed the trail and we know. Are the men of the Bat like that Black Hawk who ruled them—destroyers of women?”

Senhor Tom growled. His right hand lifted to the butt of his revolver. But Pedro's hand closed over his, holding it down.

“Tupahn is wrong,” the chief answered evenly. “The man of Tupahn is wrong also. No man of the Bat ever followed Black Hawk. No man of the Bat hurts women. No woman has been brought here.

“The men of the Bat found at the water two men. One was a man of Black Hawk. That man had done evil to the people of Andirah in time gone by. For that evil he was killed today by the men of Andirah.

“The other man was brought here. It was his trail which came to this maloca. Tupahn has followed the wrong trail.”

Numbly we stood there after the chief's words ended. The Bat, honest as ever, looked straight at us. The priest and the other Tucunas stood wooden-faced. There was no sound but the soft hiss of firewood cooking the chief's dinner.

Then Senhor Tom made a choking noise.

“God!” he muttered: “Two men! They carried her down the creek—and last night while they drifted”

He could not finish. We knew his thought: that before dawn the girl had been murdered—after those two brutes had their way.

I felt sick. Then I burned with sudden fury.

“Where is that other man?” I snarled. “Give him to us! He is our enemy. A foul, murdering dog who belongs to us. If he still lives, bring him here!”

Andirah sat a moment considering. While he hesitated the pajé growled again.

“Andirah, chief of the people of the Bat, does what he will with his own prisoners. He takes no command from any man.”

The priest had turned Senhor Tom's own weapon against us. As before, the old chief was quick to assert his power when reminded of it.

“The man is the prisoner of the Bat,” he agreed. “The Bat will deal with him at his own time. Tupahn shall have what is his. The Bat also shall keep what is his. Tupahn must hunt his woman in the forest. She is not here.”

“Bring that man here!” roared Senhor Tom.

But the chief repeated stubbornly.

“The man is the prisoner of the Bat.”

He was right. His men, not we, had caught that captive. And I saw that Andirah was growing angry and some of his men looked grim. To stay longer would be worse than useless.

So again I told Senhor Tom how matters stood. He gritted his teeth, but kept his head.

“Tupahn goes,” he said shortly.

As if giving us a silent command, he waved a hand outward toward the chief. We strode forward and gathered up our belongings. The rifle and machete of the dead man we threw aside, though we ached to take the gun also. But that gun was not ours, and every Indian was watching. Besides, we were supposed to have left our own guns outside.

Yet we got that gun after all. As we three turned away the Bat's good nature returned,

“Tupahn will not stay to feast with Andirah?” he asked. “Then let Tupahn take as a gift the gun that shot him.”

Instantly I stepped back and seized the weapon. Speaking low, I said:

“The heart of Tupahn is sore because his woman is lost. But he will take the gift of Andirah and remember his friendship.”

The sunken lips smiled faintly. With no more words, I returned quickly to my comrades.

Guided by secret touches from both of us, Senhor Tom went out as he had come in; head high, blue eyes straight ahead, giving no sign of the blackness in his sight and in his heart. Through the little door we passed without a bump, and on into the bright light of noon. Shoulder to shoulder we strode across the clearing to the edge of the forest. A few steps more, and we were lost to the sight of the men of the Bat.