AS Jan fell to the ground, Dr. Bracken’s two Indian watchers their rifles still smoking, leaped from their hiding place and ran toward him with exultant shouts.
But much to their surprise and consternation, the victim got to his feet just as they reached him. His sword leaped from its sheath. One savage was pierced before he could recover from his astonishment. The other quickly turned and fled into the jungle.
Jerking his blade free of the sagging body, Jan hurried after the running Indian. But the weight of his armor impeded him. Whipping bow and arrow from the quiver at his back, he sent a steel-tipped shaft after his fleeing assailant.
It struck the Indian in the back of the neck and passed through, inflicting a mortal wound. By the time Jan came up beside him, he was dead.
Having made sure that the savage was sleeping the long sleep, Jan returned to the base of the tree. Here, he curiously examined the armor covering his left shoulder, where the two projectiles had struck. It was dented in two places, but not broken through. He saw one of the projectiles lying nearby—a crumpled hollow cylinder with liquid dripping from it, and the broken stub of a needle on one end.
Before proceeding on into the jungle, Jan decided to inspect the tree house. But in order to climb, he was forced to remove his metal shoes and gauntlets. These he slung by straps around his neck. Then he made the ascent.
Most of the articles in the tree house seemed to be as he had left them, except that the machetes and other iron weapons had rusted. The roof had several holes in it where parts of the thatch had blown away, and the floor was littered with leaves and bits of grass that had fallen from the roof.
Although his armor had saved him from the hypodermic bullets of the two Indians, Jan was beginning to grow quite tired of it. He was as proud of it as is any high school boy with a new raccoon coat, and pride dictated that he should keep it on, that Ramona might witness its splendor.
But he could not run with it on, nor swing through the trees, hence his trip to the Suarez plantation would be slowed down. He decided to leave it in the tree house.
With the aid of his dagger and a rawhide thong, he quickly fashioned himself a garment from one of his jaguar hides. Then he removed his armor and silken garments, piled them on the floor, and covered them with another hide. He also decided to leave his sword, as it might impede his movements, and take with him only his bow and arrows and his dagger.
As he descended the tree and plunged into the jungle, he exulted in the feeling of freedom induced by his change of costume. It was good to feel the warm air blowing on his bare head and naked limbs. And the soft leaf mold caressed the soles of his feet, which for months had been shod with metal. This jungle, to him, was home.
Night found him many miles from his tree house, comfortably curled in a crotch high above the ground, here the evening breeze, gently swaying the tree-tops, softly lulled him to sleep.
He rose with the sun, and finding the meat he had brought with him a bit too high for palatability, he flung it away and shot a peccary. Having breakfasted, he set off once more toward the north.
It was late afternoon of the third day when he reached the ceiba tree under the roots of which he had slept during those days which had passed all too swiftly before Ramona’s departure for the United States.
He was about to peer into his former retreat when he suddenly heard a girl scream, as if in deadly terror. He heard several more muffled cries. Then all was still as before. The sound had come from far over to his right. And the voice was undoubtedly that of Ramona. Just once before had he heard her utter such a scream—on that eventful day when he had stepped between her and the charging puma.
With the swiftness of a leaping deer, he bounded off in the direction from which the sounds had come.
It was some time before Jan reached the spot from which the cries had come. But once there, his jungle-trained eyes instantly read the story of the girl’s futile struggle with two Indians. From this point, the trail they had taken was as plain to Jan as is a concrete pavement to a motorist: He bad not gone far before he again heard the voice of Ramona, mingled with the gruff tones and coarse laughter of a man.
A moment more, and he emerged into a small clearing just in time to see the girl being dragged into the dark interior of a hut by some invisible person.
With an involuntary snarl, he bounded across the clearing and entered the hut. As he had plunged from the bright sunlight into semi-darkness, there was an instant when he could see nothing. During that instant, a pistol blazed at him from beside a shadowy bulk that loomed in the darkness, and a sharp pain seared his side.
Jan launched himself at that shadowy form. One hand sought and found the wrist that held the pistol. The other gripped a sinewy throat. The pistol roared again, so close that the powder burned his shoulder. Jan suddenly bent and seized the gun wrist in his teeth. There was a lurid Spanish curse, and the weapon thudded to the clay floor.
Although Jan was far stronger than the average man, his advantage was offset by the fact that his opponent knew, and did not hesitate to employ, almost every trick of wrestling and boxing, as well as many which are barred both on the mat and in the ring.
Striking, biting, clutching, clawing, gouging, and kicking, they fought there in the semi-darkness with the ferocity of jungle beasts. Presently, locked in a vise-like clinch, they swayed and fell to the floor. Rolling over and over, they crashed through the flimsy wall of the hut and out into the sunlight. And it was there, when his eyes became adjusted to the change of light, that Jan recognized Santos, his old enemy.
The sight added fuel to the flames of his anger—gave a new impetus to his fast-waning strength. Santos bad clamped on an arm-lock that would have broken the bones of one less mightily thewed. But his eyes caught the glitter of Jan’s jeweled dagger hilt which the youth had completely forgotten in this primitive struggle with nature’s weapons.
The captain had nearly reached the limit of his endurance: If he could get that dagger he might end the contest in his favor with a single, well-placed thrust. But he could not reach for it without giving up the advantage which the arm-lock gave him, as this kept both his hands occupied. He must therefore act with lightning swiftness.
He increased the pressure on Jan’s arm, then suddenly let go and, straightening up, grabbed for the dagger. Jan had been resisting the hold by curving the arm downward. As the captain released it, his hand came in contact with a smooth, round stone, half embedded in the soft clay.
With a grunt of triumph, Santos jerked the dagger from its sheath and raised it aloft. But at this instant, Jan swung the stone, catching him between the eyes. At the impact of that terrific blow, the dagger dropped from Santos’s nerveless fingers, and he slumped forward.
Flinging the limp body of his enemy from him, Jan picked up his dagger, sheathed it, and hurried into the hut. There on the floor, in a little crumpled heap, lay Ramona, as limp and apparently as lifeless as the captain.
Tenderly, Jan picked her up and carried her out into the sunlight. So far as he could see, there were no marks of violence on her other than the red lines where the rope had chafed her wrists.
A great fear entered his heart. Perhaps he had arrived too late, after all. Perhaps the weapon which had creased his ribs and burned his shoulder had slain her in some mysterious manner, and she was sleeping the long sleep.
But in a moment Ramona, who had fainted, opened her eyes. Weakly she flung an arm around his neck, snuggled more closely against his shoulder.
“I waited so long for you, Jan,” she murmured. “I thought you would never come.”
As he stood there holding her in his arms and looking down into her great dark eyes, Jan saw a light in them that kindled the smoldering flame in his bosom and sent the blood coursing madly through his strong young body. Unconsciously he held her tighter. Slowly he bent over her lips.
Once before in her life she had kissed him. The farewell of a child, a playmate. That kiss he would always remember. But in the interval of separation, Nature and the longing each had felt for the other, had wrought a wondrous change. Now the fires of their youthful love flamed as their lips met.
Her arm tightened around his neck, stole up to caress his tangle of auburn curls.
“I love you, Ramona,” he murmured.
“Jan! Take me away with you! Don’t ever leave me again!”
With Ramona still in his arms Jan strode off into the jungle, her slight weight as nothing to him.
“Oh, Jan! What have I said? What have we done? Put me down! Please!”
Puzzled, he stood her on her feet.
“You must take me home, Jan. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“You mean you don’t want to come with me?”
“I must hurry home. I don’t know what made me say what I did. My people will be worried frantic about me. And tomorrow I leave again, for school.”
Hearing that, Jan felt crushed.
“All right,” he said soberly, “I’ll take you home.”
They had not taken more than a dozen steps in the direction of the hacienda, when there came to them the sounds of men’s voices, and a trampling and crashing through the undergrowth.