Chapter IX: We Find Ourselves Outnumbered

The space or clearing in which we had sought refuge was covered thickly with bushes averaging from two to three feet in height. They were green with a thick-leaved foliage, and as I sat idly looking at them it occurred to me they were very pretty in such a place and relieved the dismal appearance of the charred stumps. Presently I decided, as the sun was now beating down upon our heads, to crawl underneath the nearest clump of bushes and seek coolness in their shade. This I proceeded to do, dropping on hands and knees and creeping beneath the leafy covering while my friends eyed me curiously.

Next moment I experienced one of the greatest surprises of my life. I was not quite concealed by the network of bushes when my head bumped suddenly against something hard, and lifting my encased face with some difficulty I found a Mopane Indian lying flat upon his belly, his eyes—not a yard away—glaring viciously into mine. I think he must have been fully as much astonished as I was.

In such emergencies I have a bad habit of acting first and considering afterward; so before I realized what I was doing I had pulled a revolver and sent a bullet into the fellow’s skull. He gave a yell that was startling and sprang full upon his feet before he toppled over dead.

His cry was echoed from fifty throats. From every part of the bush arose Mopanes who rushed at us with one accord. Some of them had crawled pretty near. As I sat up I faced one at arm’s length and let go another shot from the revolver I held.

Meantime my comrades quickly recovered from the momentary paralysis caused by the suddenness of the assault and stood their ground bravely. I was very proud of their coolness. Nux and Bryonia, Ned, Archie and Joe were all splendid fighters and even Mexican Pedro seemed void of fear as he plugged shot after shot at his assailants. Altogether, the affray was too hot for the Mopanes and they soon scampered back to the woods for shelter. As they went we picked off as many of them as we could, for the more we rendered _hors de combat_ the better chance we had to escape.

They were not likely to repeat this attempt again. Another long wait followed.

“I hate to lose so much ammunition on the fools,” grumbled Allerton. “Be shy, my lads, of wasting a single shot; our work has hardly begun yet.”

This stealthy attack of the natives gave Chaka an idea, however. After consulting with his “Brother Paul” he hid behind the chests and deliberately began divesting himself of all the trappings he had until now worn. When I glanced at him, presently, there sat our Maya on the ground, arrayed only in his copper colored skin and a white loin cloth. In the folds of the latter he concealed a knife and a small revolver. Then, lying flat, he wriggled himself into the bushes and was soon lost to view.

I tried to follow his course, but so expert a woodsman was Chaka that not a movement of a leaf betrayed his whereabouts.

“What’s his object, Paul?” I asked.

“He’s going to explore the path at the other side of the clearing, where he believes the trees are so open that the Mopanes won’t dare follow us. If that is so we won’t wait for the next move the devils make, but break for the trail at once and fight our way on to the Itzaex country.”

“Very good,” said I; “anything is better than this.” And so we sat and waited patiently for our spy to return.

Meantime, as it was getting near noon, we took advantage of the lull in hostilities to eat our luncheon. The food refreshed us very much, and Archie, who has always some longing unsatisfied, bewailed the fact that we had no ice on such a sultry day. I knew that we had ice, but said nothing of it. In Allerton’s thermos chest reposed a fine cake of the crystallized fluid which, with other things, he was reserving for “emergencies.”

Fully two hours had passed before we observed Chaka’s naked body come bounding through the clearing without any attempt at concealment. Evidently he was in a state of great excitement. Skirting the edge of the pool he came directly toward us, disregarding the arrows and darts that rained upon him from the nearest edge of the forest. Then, with a final bound he fell flat at our feet, sobbing in a very ecstasy of grief and despair.

We looked at one another wonderingly as Allerton knelt down, took his friend’s head in his lap and stroked the dark hair as tenderly as a woman might have done. He asked no questions until Chaka’s passionate sobbing was gradually subdued.

“My poor brother!” he said in the Itzaex dialect.

Chaka seized his hands and pressed them.

“It is my father, dear Paul!” he said, miserably. “They have killed the atkayma—they have murdered him!”

“Who has done this, my brother?” inquired Allerton.

“The Mopanes.”

We others looked upon the scene silently, forbearing comment. I realized, for my part, that the old atkayma’s death might seriously affect the success of our enterprise; but I had not suspected Chaka was so fond of his royal father, having left him to his own devices for so many years.

As for that, however, I had not reckoned on the horror of the thing, although I might have appreciated better Chaka’s sensitive nature, so astonishing in one born to a savage life.

Before long the youth was able to tell his story, and he told it none too soon, either.

“I found the trail,” said he, speaking his own tongue, which we all understood save Pedro and Archie—and perhaps the latter caught a few words. “I ran along it swiftly for some distance. Then I heard shouts and the Mopane war song of victory. I knew another band of those devils was approaching us and hid myself to count their numbers. They are many, oh my brother! There has been war, and for this once my people have been defeated. I know not where the battle was fought nor how many were engaged; but victory is with our enemies. On their spears they bear the heads of many brave Itzaex; foremost among them is that of the great, the noble atkayma—my father!”

He broke down again, to renew his sobs.

“Poor Chaka!” said Paul.

There was no time left us for more parley. We began to hear the shouts of the approaching hosts and must prepare for a desperate defense. It was all right for Chaka to grieve over his father; it struck me as a curious coincidence that just as the royal son arrived in his own country, after an absence of many years, the aged atkayma of the Itzaex met his fate at the hands of his persistent enemies.

The Mopanes deployed into the clearing in a dense throng, exultantly shouting their savage paeans. Some blew shrill blasts on conch shells; one or two battered energetically the native kettledrums, made from tortoise shells over which skins were tightly stretched.

At once the new arrivals were joined by the remnant of the band that had first attacked us. I say “remnant” because we must have slain or wounded nearly half of their original number. With eager exclamations they pointed in our direction, and the eyes of every warrior examined us intently. They were standing some distance away, but we could observe their every action distinctly. One huge fellow, who bore a spear with a grinning head set on its point, leaped upon a stump and began haranguing the others, who listened respectfully to his words.

“I wonder if this pop-gun will carry so far,” remarked Archie, and before any could interfere he took careful aim and fired. The chief—as he seemed to be—leaped fully three feet into the air, uttering a terrible cry, and as he fell his people caught him in their arms. But I am sure he was dead or desperately wounded.

This warning induced them all to withdraw into the forest, where doubtless they held a council of war.