Carlos was gone when Robert and I awoke. Melie told us he had gone off early on our business, and had left word that we were to lay close, till he returned.
Our excursion over to that old ruin of a palace, we were to learn, had been a bit rash. In fact, before the morning was gone, the woman who had given me the fetish came over to report that black men had been about, with inquiries as to the movements of the two white boys.
Carlos turned up at noon. He had been angling among some of the lesser voodoo devotees. There was no news of any white child being held for sacrifice; but there had been passed word of a big voodoo ceremonial to take place either this night or the next. The place was some ten miles back in the hills.
"Some of the voodoos near here have gone from their home'," he said, "an' some more make ready to go."
The news was disturbing. I had no doubt that a big voodoo ceremonial could mean nothing less than that there was to be the offering of the "goat without horns." And here, too, was the big voodoo doings to follow close upon the arrival of Duran with little Marie Cambon.
And what was to do? Call our friends from the Pearl? Manifestly, we could not bring so many whites into the region without attracting attention. Duran would be forewarned, and so our purpose defeated. We two must continue to go it alone, trust to luck and our own devices. And there was our new ally, Carlos Brill.
"We must go and see what's going on," I said to Carlos, "and if it's ten miles, we must start soon."
"Oh, if we go before dark," returned Carlos, "and some one see white boys, they – "
"We have a cure for that," I interrupted. "You'll see, we'll fool them."
Robert and I got our packs together, to which we added some small pieces of clothing that I begged of Carlos. Soon we stood all fixed for a long march.
"And now," said I to Carlos, "you and Melie are to come a short way with us to bid us goodbye, for it is to be understood that we are going back the way we came. But then you are to keep watch on the brush; and if you hear the whistle of a bird you're to come over quietly and meet us."
"Yes, yes," nodded Carlos, comprehending.
And so Carlos and Melie walked with us till we were in the midst of the village; and there we shook hands as we parted, and again waved a goodbye, as we moved out of view, numbers of curious blacks looking on.
When we had gone a mile or more seaward, we turned aside; and from a screen of brush, we watched the path for a quarter of an hour, for possible followers.
"Do you think there were any of the voodoo, there?" questioned Robert at last.
"Perhaps not," I answered, "but they'll soon hear of our going."
We picked a suitable spot in the brush, and set up our dressing room. Forth came the kinky, black wigs, and paints given us by Jules Sevier. We worked on one another, turn about. At the end of twenty minutes I set the wig on Robert's head. The result was satisfactory. His color was a dusky brown, all but black. A few minutes drying, and the stain refused to rub off.
"Bob, you are pretty," I told him. "I'll defy Rufe to know you."
"I'll say the same for you, Wayne," said he. "Even Ray wouldn't know you."
A jacket and a jumper, and an old hat, got of Carlos, and a twist and turn to Robert's slouch cover, completed our make-up.
Going back, we skirted the village on the west. We came in time into the brush back of the Brill hut.
A whistled bird-call brought Carlos. When he put aside the bush and stepped into view, that moment his face was a picture – his mind contending between the certainty of our identity and doubt of his eyes.
"Ah," he began, "that is ver' suprise'. How you do it?" And then he must have Melie over to the show.
Carlos had soon got himself ready, and we were off for the hills.
For some miles we kept pretty much in cover as we moved toward the mountains. Carlos knew the way through the forest, where we ofttimes slipped on the moist roots of the great trees, and scrambled amongst the lianas that were everywhere. Two hours had gone when we had our first rest in a clump of cabbage palms.
Towering above us, on a mountain, stood an old abandoned fortress. Carlos said its walls were a hundred feet high and with a thickness of twenty feet. Our way lay to the eastward of that old stronghold.
Our progress now had us puffing, for it was up-up-up. We kept as much as possible in the glades. Pigeons were plentiful, and we spied a predatory hawk, at which Robert and I got our little rifles out of their cases. But Carlos put up his hand in caution.
"To shoot is not safe," said he. "Sound go ver' far, an' we do not want anyone know some ones is here."
And then we gave Carlos another turn of surprise. To see a bird fall, and no sound of the gun, – that was beyond reason. He snapped his finger at his ear to make sure he had not lost his hearing.
We showed him the silencers set on the rifles and tried to explain them, but he shook his head; his physics wasn't up to such juggling with sound.
The shadows were over everything when we stopped beside a brook to rest and make a meal. Carlos found wood that burned with little smoke, and we soon had a bird apiece, broiling. Out of a bag Carlos poured farine. With water he made a paste. Then came macadam – codfish stewed with rice. We topped off with bananas, and water from the stream.
The scene was like to have been the last to my eyes on this earth. A high peak towered some seven miles to the east. We could see the blue sea below, many miles to the north, with the golden-yellow horizon. Great tracts of forest were everywhere between, with bits of glades, and palm groves.
While we looked, the coast line darkened, the valleys blackened; the gloom crept up the slopes; swiftly it enveloped the three of us. Then for several minutes the mountain peaks glowed at the tops as if afire, and then they, too, went out, and it was night. The world was changed. The trees seemed like personalities now, come awake like the owls, with the going out of the light. Tree-ferns below us seemed to whisper with their greater neighbors – mysterious gossip. Night birds piped their solemn dirge, insects tweeked; tree toads shrilled in competition with the bellowing bull-frogs; owls hoarsely laughed, and called their "what-what-what."
A strange oppression crept over me and I yearned for the deck of the Pearl.
Suddenly Carlos sat erect – listening. I cocked my ear, but there was nothing but the usual night sounds. A minute passed. Then, ever so faintly I discerned the peculiar low rumble. It was something I had heard before. It rose and fell in waves of sound; and wave upon wave it swelled in volume.
"It's the voodoo drum!" I whispered Robert.
"That's over a mile away," he observed, listening.
"Seex mile! – maybe seven mile!" corrected Carlos.
We collected our belongings and were off in the direction of the sound. When we entered the forest, we no longer heard the sound. But after stumbling among the slimy roots, and bumping our noses on the swinging lianas, for half an hour, we came again out in the open, and again we heard the drumming. Carlos ofttimes avoided the jungles by detours. At the end of an hour the rolling of the drum seemed only a few hundred yards away.
"T'ree more mile, I guess," said Carlos.
On and on we stumbled in the dark. The moon was not due till near morning, and so distinct was the drumming that we did not seem any longer to be approaching the place, but were already arrived.
Then at last the sound seemed more distant.
"Now we ver' close," said Carlos.
Something or other was contradictory.
A quarter of a mile or so through the dense forest, and a bright light showed in front.
Now cautiously we moved forward till we came to the edge of an open space. The place appeared to have been partly cleared by hand, for many tree-stumps presented.
We climbed into the low branches of a great tree. The great fire blazed but a hundred yards from our perch. The drummer sat astride his instrument (a cylinder of wood) the fingers of both hands playing on the skin stretched over the one end. The dancers were very many. Here was a repetition of the things I saw in the company of Jules Sevier.
To the right of the fire there was the raised platform, on which stood the snake-box. Back of all was some form of shelter, out from which in time came a figure cloaked in red, and wearing a red kerchief wound about the head. This was the papaloi (voodoo king). This appearance was the signal for a hush, and a halting of the dance. All grouped round. There were the usual requests for favors and the listening at the box for the answers.
Then came the slaughter of the fowls; and the mixing of the rum.
I had begun to breath more freely on my perch. But then Robert touched me on the arm.
"What's that thing on the ground?" he whispered.
I strained my eyes. The figures of the blacks obscured the view. But at last – what I saw froze my blood.
"We must save it," I said. "It's little Marie Cambon."
As I look back on the experience of the hours following, it is as if I were recalling a horrid dream.
"Robert," I whispered, "the rifles!"
We slipped to the ground, seized our little guns, and got back to our places.
The red-robed papaloi was fumbling with a rope that hung from a liana. An attendant was kneeling on the ground holding a cup to the lips of the child.
In another moment the child was swinging in the air by the rope, its head just clearing the ground. I heard it whimper in fright. The papaloi took up a knife.
"Give it to him in the hand," I said in Robert's ear.
We leveled our guns together. There was no sound of the explosions. The papaloi dropped the knife, seized his right hand with his left, and he bent over in pain. I had given my shot to the rope. After my second squeeze of the trigger it hung by a strand; a third lead missile, and the child went gently to the ground.
The voodoo worshipers began to scatter in panic of this strange visitation.
We in the tree slipped to the ground. I thrust my rifle into the hands of Carlos and, intent on making the most of the panic, rushed forward. The papaloi saw me coming, and called on the nearest of his followers. But I had up the child before any could interfere, and I sprinted back and thrust it into the arms of Robert.
"Run! both of you!" I cried. And I sought to delay pursuit, hurling piece after piece of dead-wood at the nearest blacks, who were already at the chase, urged on by the wounded papaloi.
I meant to run for it, and elude the voodoos in the thick forest, so soon as the laden Robert and Carlos should have a good start. My missiles danced about the shins of the foremost blacks, and they held up.
I was backing toward the edge of the jungle, and in the way of readily making my escape; but some wily black with a club must have taken a thought worth two of that, and got on the wrong side of me. I was just in the thought it was about time to make my break, when I got a crack on the back of my head that put me to sleep.
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