The Voodoo Gold Trail. Walden Walter

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of huts showed above the bushy growth. Here we went to shore. Jean Marat entered into talk with some black children who had appeared on the beach at our approach. Did white men ever land there? he asked. No, no white man had been there for ever so long—years. Did black sailors ever land there? Yes, two the evening before. "And oh yes, two days—three days before, some black men came in a boat with—oh, such a big basket! Two men carry the basket and go back in the country." There was but one road or trail, going any distance back. There was a small village a few hours walk toward the hills.

      I felt my heart leap with hope at the mention of the basket. And yet I was never destined to hear of it again.

      "It looks like we're on the right trail," said Norris, when Jean Marat had interpreted for us the last statement of the little blacks.

      "Yes," said Marat. "And now," he added, turning to Robert and me, "you still feel you weesh to go, only you two together?"

      "Yes," I answered for us both. "As you have admitted, we two alone won't attract so much attention. And then we have the black wigs and paint. If we get up in the hills and need you we can signal."

      Our equipment made but a small pack each. The rifles we bore in their canvas cases.

      "Now, boys," cautioned Marat, when we stood among the cocoanut palms at the beginning of the path, "now, boys, go ver' slow and ver' careful. W'en you have find thee place—if you are so fortunate, just come for us."

      "Or if you get up on the side of one of those mountains," broke in Ray, "you can signal us at night."

      "And look here," began Norris, "if signalling is going to be that easy, you let us know how things are going—before the third day, or by all that's holy! I'll be hiking after you to see what's up."

      Grant Norris was not one that was used to holding back while others were doing, he was always eager to be in the forefront of the fray.

      "Well you can depend on it, Norris," I assured him, "we'll not delay letting you know, when we've located them."

      And so, after a shake of the hand all round, Robert and I plunged into the brush. Cocoanut palms and cabbage palms leaned over our path; the sweet odor of orange blossoms delighted our nostrils. Beyond the second of the cottages—a palm-thatched ajoupa—the ragged leaves of banana plants gave an added touch to the tropic scene. A mile or more back from the beach, the trail took us into open country; here tall grass bordered the way.

      Two leisurely hours of tramping had brought us again among the trees. The ground became broken, and we had some stiff climbs. And then at last we came upon a wee bit of a village. There were dwellings of various descriptions; some were of stone, most seemed to be of palm-thatch. And there were numbers of children, though none who could understand two words of English. But they pointed a way toward the hilly side of the hamlet, as if to indicate that that way we should find something in our line. And at last we came upon one who could make something of our speech.

      In the midst of a cluster of palms stood a stone cottage, better kept than any we'd passed; and the garden showed straighter rows. While Robert and I stood contemplating the scene, there came from the back, a woman; black, like all the rest, but with superior features and an intelligent eye.

      "Yes, sar, I speak the English," she answered our inquiry.

      We began with no fuller explanation than that we were strangers; but she invited us to a seat on a bench in a cool arbor at the back, and before we could protest, she had up a small table and dishes of food.

      One thing leads to another in talk, and it was not long till it became plain that our hostess was in no sort of sympathy with the voodoo.

      "It is very horrible, the things they do," she said. And she told of a neighbor who had lost a child at the hands of the voodoo worshipers less than two months gone. "If it was not for my brother, Carlos, I would leave thees island," she said.

      And thus it came about that we finally confided to this woman the purpose of our visit to the region, telling her the story of the kidnapping of the Cambon child, making mention of Mordaunt, alias Duran, and all.

      She showed much excitement while she listened, and when we had finished, she spoke with vehemence.

      "Oh, thad Duran!" she said. "Ah, my brother, he will help you. Wait till Carlos come. I cannot explain now, but he will be very glad to help you."

      Carlos was gone to the city on some marketing errand, and would be back by night, she said.

      And so we lay aside our packs, and, to while away the time, set off to explore the region, a mile or so farther inland. Our hostess warned us to keep aloof from an old ruin of a palace we were likely to see on our tramp. The place, she said, had a bad name. The natives had it that the old ruin was now the abode of zombis (devils); and there were stories of men who had gone to explore the place and had never returned. Some of the stories were fanciful, she admitted, but she had herself seen one man return nursing a bullet wound, and who had refused to talk of his experience, and had gone away never to return.

      Robert and I moved on up the valley, curious for a look at this tabooed ruin. The path for some time led through heavy forest growth, where was a perfect tangle of lianas, running from ground to tree, and tree to tree, in a great network.

      Presently we came to an open space. Robert was ahead.

      "There she is," he said, pointing.

      The ground sloped away, down to the left hand of our path. The forest trees hid the bottom of the valley—a big ravine I prefer to call it—and over there, over-topping the trees on the other side of the valley, a mile away, loomed a wonderful structure—or the ruins of one.

      For a minute we gazed in speechless wonder.

      The air was clear, and from our high vantage point we could see with unusual distinctness the high walls of each story which seemed to rise a wide step behind that of the story below. Flanking a great arched portal at the ground, either side rose wide stone buttressed terraces, zigzagging in their ascent. The top—the fourth or fifth story of the palace showed only crumbling walls, and trees grew up there, evidently rooted in the crevices. And one tree, I saw, poked its head through a window opening. The grandeur and bizarre beauty of the structure made it seem like a chapter out of "Arabian Nights Entertainments."

      "Who'd think to see a thing like that here!" I said.

      "I'd like to get inside of it," said Robert. And I saw it was a hope he expressed.

      "And what about the devils that live there?" I quizzed him, though I had the same thought as he.

      "I don't take any stock in that part of those stories," said Robert—"Any more than you do," he added, studying my face.

      "Well, suppose we try getting a little closer," I said.

      So we again took up the march, now moving down into the ravine. When we had crossed the open ground, we found a way into the tangled growth. It was apparently an old, though now unused, path, that must have been cut through the forest with much labor. When we reached the stream, it was at a shallow fording; and then we ascended the other side of the ravine by a path, grass overgrown like that of the descent. Seldom would we see more than fifty feet in front, so close was the growth, and winding the path.

      We moved silently, the effort of the climb taking all our breath. When we had СКАЧАТЬ