Jan of the Jungle

28

Jungle Man-Hunt

Otis Adelbert Kline


AT some distance from his base camp, Dr. Bracken, with several of his Indians, was tramping through the jungle when the two who had abducted Ramona dashed breathlessly out into the trail, their expressions plainly showing their excitement.

The doctor stopped.

“What the devil is the matter?” he demanded. “Where are you two going?”

“El Diablo kill captain!” panted one of them.

Dr. Bracken knew that by. “El Diablo” they referred to Jan.

“Where is he? Quick!”

“Over at malocca! Captain build hut, steal señorita from hacienda! Diablo come! Kill captain!”

“Served him right, the dirty double-crosser!” snarled the doctor. “But come! Show me where! We’ll catch this Diablo now, for sure.” He shouted an order to the other Indians standing along the trail. “Quick, men—follow me!” Then he dashed off with the two guides.

“Why didn’t you catch El Diablo?” he demanded, as they raced along.

“Got no rifles,” grunted one. “Can’t catch without the rifles.”

“Afraid of him, eh? You stood there and let him kill your captain.”

“No. Captain already dead. He send us away. We hear shots. Go back. Captain on ground. El Diablo going into hut. We run hunt for you.”

But before they got to the malocca the doctor suddenly saw a shaft of sunlight flash on a tousled mass of auburn curls, a light skin, and a spotted garment of jaguar hide. He snapped his rifle to his shoulder and fired.

Jan heard the sound of men coming through the jungle toward them. He stopped and looked about him while Ramona went ahead. At that instant a rifle cracked, and a bullet, striking a twig beside him went whining on its way. Crouching low, he hurried to where the girl stood waiting for him.

“Come!” he said to Ramona. “They are after us. They are too many for us to fight. We must run.”

It took every ounce of jungle cunning Jan possessed to elude the doctor and his savage pack, as he piloted Ramona through the tangled vegetation. He was forced to zigzag, and at times to double in his tracks, but always his course led him nearer and nearer to the hacienda. And always the pack was close at his heels.

Presently, after some two hours of running and dodging, they emerged in the don’s grove of young rubber trees. The sound of the hunters crashing through the jungle grew louder behind them.

Jan stopped.

“Good-bye,” he said. “Run to the house! Hurry! I’ll lead them another way.”

“But, Jan—There is something I—that is—your father and mother—”

“Hurry!” he snapped. “They are almost here.” Then he swarmed up a thick liana, swung onto a limb, and disappeared in the dense tangle of foliage.

Ramona stood there uncertainly for a moment, looking at the spot where he had vanished. But the sound of the running savages, now only a few hundred feet away, recalled her to her peril, and she turned and ran breathlessly to the patio.

After Jan turned back into the jungle, climbing from tree to tree, it was not long before he saw his pursuers coming toward him. And in their midst was a figure that aroused in him all the pent-up hatred that years of abuse had engendered—Dr. Bracken.

His intention had been to wait until the man-hunters had passed beneath him, then shout to attract their attention and lead them in the other direction. But that was before he knew that his ancient enemy led the party.

From the Satmuan quiver at his back he drew bow and arrow. Then he took deliberate aim at the bearded figure, and let fly. Pierced through the chest, the doctor uttered a choking cry and collapsed. At the twang of his bow, the Indians stopped, peering ahead of them to see whence it had come. But they did not think to look upward.

There was a second twang, and one of the Indians pitched forward on his face, shot through the heart. The others turned and fled, scattering in all directions, but two more of their number fell before they were out of bow-shot.

Jan returned his bow to the quiver and swung forward through the branches. He paused, directly above his fallen enemy. The doctor’s white, upturned features were motionless. His eyes were closed.

For a moment, Jan stared down at the hated face. Then he went onward into the depths of the jungle. When he had traveled for a considerable distance, he sighted a curassow and remembered that he had not eaten for some time. The bird fell before his arrow, and he descended to the ground. With his keen dagger for a carving knife, Jan sat down to his savage feast.

Having eaten, he went to the river for a drink of water. Then darkness set in, and he climbed a tree for the night.

Morning found him in a quandary as to where to go or what to do. Ramona’s actions had both puzzled and piqued him. Why, he wondered, had she begged him with one breath to take her away, and with the next, insisted that he take her back to her people? Like many an older and more experienced male, Jan came to the conclusion that the feminine mind was baffling.

She had said she was going away. So he finally decided that he would go and try to see her before she left—perhaps persuade her to come with him. Failing in this, he would return to Satmu and try to forget her. He accordingly set off along the river bank.

When he reached the hacienda, Jan proceeded with caution. He heard much talking, then a loud cheer, and cries of “Adios!”

Hurrying forward, he peered through the bushes. Just ahead of him was the dock, and on it many people were standing. There were Indians, half-breeds and white people; men, women and children. They were waving farewell to a fleet of canoes that was heading down the river. In the foremost canoe rode Ramona.

Jan’s heart sank. He felt very lonely and forsaken. For some time he watched the people on the dock. He noticed, among the others, a woman whose hair was the precise color of his own. He thought her very beautiful. Her sweet face, with its big, wistful eyes, attracted him unaccountably. She was clinging to the arm of a tall, dark-haired, sun-bronzed man he had not seen before. Together with the don and doña, they walked to the house.

Jan turned away, heavy-hearted. Leisurely, he made his way back to his tree house, hunting as he traveled, and taking five days. He approached it cautiously, fearful of ambush. But there was no one about. The skeletons of the two Indians he had slain lay where they had fallen, picked clean by jungle scavengers.

Somehow the place did not seem so alluring to him as he had imagined it would when in Satmu. Here was nothing but desolation and loneliness. With Ramona gone, it was unbearable. Every man he met was his enemy.

In Satmu he had many friends—good comrades with whom he could joust, fence or hunt. The hidden valley now attracted him as much as the jungle had drawn him before. He decided to return to Satmu. It would be the place to try to forget—to shape his life anew.

Jan found his armor, clothing and sword lying where he had left them. Descending to the ground, he carried them up under the falls, climbed to the chamber above, and made his way to where he had left his raft. Here he stripped to the skin, leaving his jaguar-hide garment in the cave and piling everything else on his narrow raft.

Pushing off, he swam out into the channel. Soon he emerged into the bright daylight of the hidden valley He was swimming for the side on which the temple ruins stood when something splashed in the water quite near him. Then he heard much splashing from the direction of the opposite bank.

Turning, he saw a large band of hairy men, some standing on the bank hurling sticks and stones at him, others plunging into the water and swimming toward him.

With missiles splashing about him he pivoted and tried to drag his narrow raft swiftly to the other bank. But a large stone struck the edge of the unstable craft tilting it and spilling his armor and weapons, all of which sank immediately.

Abandoning the now useless raft, he quickly swam out of range of the missiles and made the shore.

Stark naked, he ran up the bank with the water dripping from his glistening body. Then he sprinted along the broken, weed-grown avenue lined by the giant stone images, straight for the temple ruins.

Close behind him came a howling mob of hairy, wild men, brandishing clubs and hurling such bits of stone as they could catch up while running.


Jan of the Jungle    |     29. - The Graven Arrow


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