THE WHITE FEATHER

Scarcely had the sun risen on the morning following the appearance of the Black Phantom when the encampment was astir, for each was eager to discover whether or not he had been selected for the perilous task of slaying the mysterious visitor. The men stole out of their shelters just as the rays of the brilliant orb bathed the level sea of green treetops of the Amazonian jungle with a flood of roseate light, and scanned the sand in front of their doorways.

Oomah found the symbol, a tuft of snowy, drooping aigrettes that quivered and glistened at the slightest touch. And he stood reverently gazing at the sacred object until Choflo’s drum, followed by the sound of his voice bade the men gather in solemn conclave.

“Upon Oomah has fallen the mission of saving the earth from a terrible end,” the sorcerer said gravely, “and the selection of the Great Spirit has been a wise one.”

“But, am I worthy to be entrusted with such a holy undertaking?” Oomah asked incredulously, holding the plumes in his hand.

“The decision of the Great Spirit has answered that. You must prove yourself worthy or pay the penalty. Either you will slay the Black Phantom and bring back evidence of the deed, or you will not return at all.”

“I question not the wisdom of Choflo who understands the mystic things that are withheld from the rest of us,” old Yaro meekly protested, “but, had it not been decided that Oomah was next to be leader of the tribe? As the coming headman, should not his life be guarded? Should not he be shielded from peril? If he perish in the attempt to slay the Black Phantom; or, if he should fail and thus become an exile, we should lose him forever.”

“If Oomah be lost another will be found to take his place. Wana, son of my sister, is a promising youth. And besides, there is another reason why Oomah has been chosen.”

“What is that reason?” Yaro persisted.

“Do you not recall your own words, Yaro, uttered during the last hours of darkness? ’He who slays a tiger, possessed of an evil spirit though it be, shall lose his next of kin by another tiger appearing suddenly in the rôle of avenger?”

“Yes, it is true.”

“Oomah has no next of kin. He is alone in the world. He has neither father, mother, sister, brother, wife nor child. Therefore the spirit of vengeance will be cheated for there is no one to slay. There is no other man in the tribe without family upon which revenge could fall.”

“As I said before,” Yaro admitted, “Choflo knows all things. He speaks truly and wisely.” Then turning, he muttered to himself, “But he is determined to be rid of Oomah so that Wana, son of his sister may become leader of the people.”

“The magic arrow shall be prepared at once, for only by it can the Black Phantom be slain; heed well my words, Oomah, and use no other. You will depart at nightfall. A long trail and a hard one lies before you with death waiting at the end for the loser.”

All through the day Oomah moved as in a trance. The enormity of the undertaking dazed him. Not that he feared the jungle or the hardships of long wandering, for to pursue and to slay the beasts of the wilderness was a part of his life. But, this was a mission of a different character. The very existence of the whole tribe depended on him; and more than that. If he failed, the whole earth, as he knew it, would be laid waste; Tumwah would never stop his fiery onslaught until the Black Phantom had been slain. Had not Choflo, who knew all things, said so? Still, he could not but feel that the sorcerer had been at least to some extent influenced by personal motives in interpreting the wishes of the Great Spirit. Did Choflo hope that the quarry would kill him, or at least elude him? In either event he would be out of the way. The whole thing seemed very mysterious but he had no alternative but to obey.

Oomah was young, tall and strong. As he walked there was the rippling play of well-formed muscle under his brown skin. His black eyes, set at a slight angle somewhat like an Oriental’s, glowed with the fire of determination from under the heavy shock of hair that covered his head.

The women peeped out of the doorways as he passed, with looks akin to veneration. Liked by all, the sacred mission on which he was about to depart enhanced the esteem in which he had been held. And while their eyes were filled with admiration, their hearts were full of pity and sadness. For, with the coming of night Oomah would pass from among them like the fading of a shadow when the sun sets.

Preparations were at once started for the parting feast. Hunters had gone in quest of game. The women ground yuca roots for fresh cassava bread. And the children, with tear-stained faces, gathered wood that had been stranded along the edge of the sandbar. But the youth wandered about listlessly, barely conscious of the activities that were going on all around him.

Choflo had gone to the forest early in the forenoon. At mid-day he returned, carrying a bundle of slender stems in his hand. Looking neither to right nor to left, he entered his hut and drew a curtain woven of rushes across the doorway so that none might behold him plying his sacred calling.

Safe in the seclusion of his abode, he dug a hole in the sandy floor and buried the stems he had brought so ostentatiously from the forest; then he took down a bundle of arrows from under the thatched roof and selected one after a good deal of scrutiny of the lot. It was long six feet or more, with a slender, reed shaft and a needle-like point of tough palmwood fitted and glued into the stem. A short thorn, fastened to the point with fine twine, formed a barb so that the arrow could not be withdrawn once it had entered the flesh. On each side of the base was a split eagle’s feather attached with colored thread. The feathers were not fastened in a line parallel with the shaft, but curved slightly; this gave the arrow a rotary motion in flight like that imparted to the bullet by a rifled gun barrel and made for accuracy in shooting. He now took a lump of resinous gum from his charm-bag and rubbed it on the point of the arrow until the latter was covered with a thick, black coat, resembling old beeswax. A cap of a joint of slender bamboo was fitted over the end of the missile to prevent the rain from washing away the supposed poison, and it was ready to be delivered to Oomah.

Choflo had been guilty of treachery of the vilest kind. Instead of the deadly púa poison contained in the stems of the creepers he had brought from the forest he had used the harmless gum which so closely resembled it that the eye could not distinguish between them.

Oomah started on his perilous mission that night, after the feast had been eaten and all the members of the tribe had bade him a solemn farewell.

It was a silent group that watched him depart, for they felt that he would not return; and in their grief they entirely forgot Choflo’s dire predictions for themselves in the event that Oomah was unsuccessful in his quest. In their hearts they rebelled at the dictum of their leader but the long habit of obedience caused them to suppress their resentment. So they merely looked sad and said nothing.

“Now go,” Choflo said, ceremoniously presenting the magic arrow, “and return when you have slain the Black Phantom. Bring back the ears, the claws and the tail so that we may have the proof. And do not return until your mission has been fulfilled.”

Oomah gathered up his bow, a pack of arrows of various types to use in procuring game, and a small bag of food, and without a word vanished into the night. The last thing the watchers saw was the tuft of white feathers which had been inserted in his head-band.

The youth did not go far. Entering the edge of the forest flanking the sandbar, country of which he knew each square foot, he went straight to a giant ceiba tree and took up his station between two of the buttressed roots to await the coming of daylight. And while the long hours of darkness dragged their way into eternity Oomah laid his plan of action.

The first thing he did after the sun appeared was to examine minutely the arrow prepared by Choflo. Certain words whispered into his ear by old Yaro had had the effect of making him cautious. Besides, there were his own suspicions to verify or to disprove.

The subject for a test was not hard to find in the form of a spiny rat that he dug out of a decayed stump and holding the rodent in one hand he pricked the tender skin with the point of the arrow. The rat struggled and squeaked, but when he released it a few minutes later it scurried to cover. Choflo’s treachery had been proven.

Oomah replaced the missile in his pack and started up the river. Two hours later he halted, started a fire by rubbing together two dry sticks and placed a forest partridge which he had shot on the way, to roast. While the meat sputtered on the spit he collected the slender stems of the same species of creeper that Choflo had gathered and buried in the floor of his shelter, and prepared the poison of whose deadliness there was no question.

The process was a simple one. First the stems were crushed to a pulp between stones and the juice pressed out into a small bowl taken from his food-bag. The container was placed over the fire; when it had boiled half an hour its contents had been reduced to a thick, black liquid which was ready for use. The point of the arrow was dipped into the concoction and revolved until it was covered with a uniform, heavy coating. There was now no doubt as to the efficacy of the missile.

Day after day Oomah roamed the forest and the sandbars for some sign of his quarry, but there was not the slightest trace to be found. Either the Black Phantom had departed to some distant place or had vanished from the earth. At night he squatted with his back to some giant tree-trunk and a blazing fire before him; and between naps he listened for the roars that never came.

Food had been plentiful but was constantly becoming more difficult to procure. The turtles had finished their laying and had returned to the water; their eggs, buried in the hot sand, were now unfit to eat. However, there was still an occasional partridge, a monkey or a turkey-like curassow and when one of them was secured Oomah ate sparingly so that the meat lasted several days.

After a while the long and fruitless tramps and the nightly vigils began to show their effects on the youth. His stolid nature gave way to a restlessness that caused him to start in his slumber, and to stop suddenly in his tracks to listen for sounds that never came. At first he could not understand the new feeling. And then the truth came upon him in a flash. Unheard feet were treading in his own footsteps; unseen eyes were watching his every movement. He was being followed and observed by an invisible enemy.

Oomah was sure of it, so sure that he swerved out of the forest and walked along the edge of the bar where the sand was softest and after he had gone a distance of fifty paces returned to the forest. He continued along in the deep shadows apparently without concern for the greater part of an hour. Then he turned and retraced his steps. On the sandbar he found the confirming evidence. Huge feet had left their imprints besides those of his own. Some monstrous creature had dogged his every step, was doubtless even now watching him from a place of concealment in the dense cover. And of the identity of that creature there was little question. It could be none other than the Black Phantom.

A thrill came over Oomah not of fear but of the anticipation of success. He had at last found his quarry and would lay a neat trap that the shadowy one would all unsuspectingly enter. His victory was assured.

The youth entered the forest and continued on his way. He walked mile after mile without turning to look back and then gradually altered his course so that it took him to the river. Emerging from the wall of trees he made a wide semi-circle in the sand and returned to the heavy growth. But now he did not continue his journey; instead, he hurried back, keeping just inside the fringe of trees until he reached a point halfway between the tips of the semi-circle. He now crept to the very border of the jungle where, though hidden from view he could nevertheless have a clear sweep of his trail across the sand.

Oomah carefully removed the protecting cap from the poisoned arrow and grasped the missile in his right hand while in his left he held the bow, ready for instant use, and awaited the appearance of the Black Phantom. He was trembling with emotion, for the great moment had arrived.

But the black form that he so confidently expected did not appear. The hours slipped by and just as darkness spread its pall over river and jungle alike a thunderous roar burst upon the still air from nearby. The hunter turned quickly in the direction from which the sound came and his eyes sought to penetrate the undergrowth; but while he gazed at the mass of stems and leaves the roar was repeated in back of him, exactly opposite to the direction from which it had come at first.

Oomah, reared in the wilderness though he had been and knowing the traits of most wild things, for once knew not what to do; it was clear that the pursued had divined his plan, had sensed his trap, and was openly defying him. Would he charge next in an overwhelming rush too swift to be stopped by the arrow’s venomous thrust? Or wait until the darkest hour of night for a silent stalk and lightning spring! The latter seemed more probable so Oomah lost no time in seeking the protection of a great tree-trunk to forestall attack from the rear, and in building a fire to ward off the onslaught from in front. Between the two, he felt reasonably secure.

After that it was impossible to tell which was pursuer and which was pursued. If the man turned back on his trail he always found evidences that the crafty foe had been shadowing his every move. And the roars that reverberated through the forest both by day and by night reminded him of the proximity of the elusive one. When the rumbling voice was hushed for any length of time Oomah knew that the Black Phantom was on the hunt for food, or was out to slay, and redoubled his vigilance. Like his brethren of the more earthy, spotted color, the black monster never roared while in quest of victims. To do so would be extremely foolish for it would apprise the prey of his whereabouts and would give them time to escape to the security of their hiding-places. So the youth was on his guard during the periods of silence and slept when the roars were most frequent, for then the danger was least.

With the passing days the drought grew more terrible. If Choflo’s words were true, and Oomah was to save the earth by slaying the Black Phantom, he must act soon or Tumwah’s work would be too far advanced for remedy. He could do no more than he was doing. Yaro had even hinted, in furtive whispers, that the combat between the Phantom and the God of Drought was a fabrication of Choflo’s mind, simply another explanation of something the sorcerer did not understand added to the several he had already given. Still, he did not know whose words were to be heeded; and added to his doubt was the lack of understanding of why the Black Phantom did not attack him. It seemed always to be following him in accordance with some mysterious design, or to be luring him onward like a will-o’-the-wisp, further and further into a strange and more hostile wilderness.

The youth’s disturbed state of mind, coupled with the meager amount of food now obtainable and the fatigue of the long tramps so undermined his strength that he fell an easy victim to the dread fever to which, in his normal, robust condition he was immune.

With throbbing head and blurred eyes he moved painfully through the forest and over the sandy riverbank. On those rare occasions when he saw game his arms trembled so violently as he drew the bow that the arrow went wide and fell far short of the mark.

Choflo had guessed well. He was sure that the Black Phantom would prove too elusive or too savage for any human pursuer, and that he should never see Oomah again. In both things he was right. Oomah was destined to be robbed of his prize and the sorcerer had beheld the youth for the last time. But despite these facts, the designing purveyor of magic had been also totally mistaken in his calculations. For, while both of his hopes were realized they, at the same time, strange as it may seem, were doomed to failure.

The terrible fever fast gained on the unfortunate hunter, racking his body and adding physical torture to his mental anguish. Still he struggled to overcome the insurmountable obstacles in his way. But, while a firm resolve may do many things there is also a limit to all things, and there came a day when Oomah could go no further. He had already wandered far from the country so well known to him. Around him grew castanha trees with nuts in shells like cannon-balls that hung high over his head; palms with leaves so enormous that one could shelter an entire encampment; and birds of species he had never seen before fluttered among the branches. The air was saturated with the heavy though not unpleasant odor of vanilla beans. It was indeed a strange land but Oomah was too ill to take much heed of his surroundings.

At noon he could go no further. The ground seemed to rise toward his flushed face and then smote him such a blow that all grew black before his eyes.

When he awoke the screeching of the cicadas warned him that the day’s end was at hand. The fever had relented and he felt somewhat refreshed. His first thought was of fire. Dry wood was not hard to find in the crackling forest and a few deft twirls of the fire-sticks produced the spark needed to set a handful of dry leaves aflame. Food there was none so, with his back to the thick butt of a castanha tree and the blaze in front Oomah silently and gravely awaited the coming of night.

Hours passed. The moon had disappeared and the glimmer of the stars did not penetrate the canopy of foliage overhead. Even the goatsuckers, queer birds that looked like giant whip-poor-wills, had ceased their wails and in the jungle reigned the darkest hours of night.

Oomah awoke with a start, as if in response to the prod of a rude hand, and shivered. The blaze had died to a mere flickering tongue of flame that leapt now and then from the bed of coals. Over the youth came that nameless feeling that bespoke the proximity of some living thing; seeing nothing, he nevertheless felt that hidden eyes were boring him through. Minutes dragged by; the suspense was frightful but his knowledge of the wilderness bade him feign sleep and he moved not a muscle. Then, with a suddenness that was appalling, the insane cackle of a woodrail shattered the silence with its demoniacal cries. The sound, enough to drive the uninitiated into a frenzy caused even Oomah to turn his head toward the direction from which it had come, and what he saw were two points of greenish fire glaring at him out of the blackness not ten paces away.

Terror lent strength to the faltering arms. The protecting cap was dashed from the poisoned arrow and the notched base of the shaft flew to its position in the string. There was the twang of the bow and the deadly missile whined through the air. A hoarse scream rang out; the points of greenish fire were gone; a heavy body tore its way through the undergrowth. Then all was still again.

That effort had cost Oomah his last particle of strength. He shuddered, swayed, and clapping his hands over his eyes as if to shut out a frightful dream, sank to the ground.

Nechi, on her way to the fish-traps in the river found the unconscious youth when the sun was two hours high in the heavens and claimed him for her own by right of discovery. In other words, to the captor belonged the choicer tidbits when the captive should be restored to fit condition for eating.

As she exultantly viewed the prostrate form a pang of fear shot through her heart. What if he should be dead? She would be cheated out of the delicacies and also the laurels to which the victor was always entitled. In haste she knelt by his side and placed one hand over his heart; it was fluttering weakly. She rushed to the river and brought water in a folded plantain leaf and dashed it into his face. After that she pried open his eyelids with her fingers.

Oomah regained his senses with a start and his eyes met the grimaces of the delighted Nechi.

“Sabana is not dead!” she exclaimed.

“No, the stranger is not dead not quite dead.”

“You are mine. I will take you to the village; it is less than half a rest away. I will feed you and cure you of the fever. You are mine.”

Oomah looked again at his discoverer, and closed his eyes.

“I know you,” he said feebly. “You are of the Patocos who have eaten many of my people.”

“Yes, I am of the Patocos and we have eaten many of the Cantanas. When you are well and fat again we will eat you too.”

The youth showed no emotion. What mattered it if the girl should make good her threat, now that his mission had failed?

“I will take you to the village,” Nechi repeated. She left the baskets she had been carrying on the ground and picking up the youth threw him over her back. Accustomed as she was to carrying heavy burdens, the weight was not too great for her strength. A half hour later she reached the village, a collection of dilapidated shelters nestling under the protection of the giant palm trees.

The arrival of the girl with her find created great excitement. The men rushed up with spears and clubs ready to deliver the deathblow but the girl was not inclined to give up her prisoner so easily.

“He is mine,” she protested; “I found him. You shall not take him from me. I will feed him and give him chinca bark to cure his fever and when he is well again and fat ”

“No! No! We must not wait. The prisoner might die and then we should be cheated out of our feast.”

Nechi had not thought of that.

“Tomorrow,” she relented. “If he shows no signs of improvement by tomorrow you can prepare for the feast.”

Oomah opened his eyes.

“I came on a sacred mission,” he faltered. “Get me the white feather so that I may die like a hunter who has not given up the chase. With the white feather in my hair I can take up the trail of the Black Phantom in the other world.”

The group that surrounded him hushed their chatter.

“Where is the white feather?” asked one of the older men who seemed to be in authority.

“There where the woman found me. It must be there for I had it when sleep overcame me.”

One of the young men was sent immediately to fetch the emblem while the girl prepared food which Oomah ate with ravenous appetite. Presently the runner returned; in his hand was the tuft of plumes, now soiled and frayed from hard usage.

The sight of the sacred object had a telling effect, for among the savages of the Upper Amazon it was the one inter-tribal flag of truce likely to be respected, provided the bearer of it could prove his right to its possession. They stared in silence at the feverish youth as, with great effort he told them the story of the Black Phantom and of the heartbreaking weeks he had spent in pursuit of the elusive quarry.

“I shot the magic arrow into the night where the points of green fire burned, and I know no more. Perhaps it was only a dream or a vision, for my head was throbbing with fever; I do not know! I do not know!” he ended wearily and sadly. “Therefore I am an outcast among my people; I cannot return to them. I have no proof that the Black Phantom is dead or that I did not fire the arrow at some picture of my reeling brain.”

The leader of the Patocos turned to some of his young hunters.

“Go! Search the forest and the riverbank,” he commanded. “Let nothing escape your eyes. The words of this youth are queer. How do we know that he speaks the truth? If there was a phantom the magic arrow could not fail to strike it dead. And when you find it bring back the evidence of your eyes so that the name of this man may be honored; but if you find nothing we shall know that he lied and he shall pay the penalty without delay.”

Not long after, the hunters filed into the forest and Oomah watched them go with yearning eyes. A whole week passed before the hunting party returned. But their hands were empty; they bore no evidence that their mission had been successful.

As for Warruk, the Jaguar, he had considered his score with Mata settled. She had been punished for the injury she had inflicted on him. But the others; they had hurled flaming brands at him and had wounded him with spears. The day would surely come when they too should pay.

As he lingered in the heavy growth bordering the riverbank he became aware of the fact that one of the man-creatures was roving in the forest, detached from the group on the sandbar, and he straightway began to follow and to watch his actions, being careful, however, always to remain in the dense cover where he could not be seen. By following and by watching he could learn many things that would be of value in dealing with these new enemies when the proper time arrived.

The game continued day after day. It was only when the man laid a trap for him by making a wide detour on the sandbar that Warruk discovered that it was he who was being sought by the lone wanderer. After that he was more cautious than before. He followed the scent only when it was several hours old. But at night, when his pursuer was asleep, he stole up noiselessly to look upon him and to ponder, for the blazing fire prevented an attack; he had not forgotten the stinging brands with which he had been showered not so long before.

There came the night, however, when the fire died down. The opportunity had arrived and he crept up for the fatal spring.

It was then that Oomah, awakened by the hideous cackle of the woodrail, saw the blazing eyes. And before the Jaguar had time to realize that the man-creature had been aroused from his slumber, he heard a sharp twang and a fiery pain darted through his shoulder taking him so completely by surprise that he turned and fled with a scream of terror. Truly, this new enemy was beyond all understanding. His deadly sting reached out far, even into the blackness of night. Against it he, the king of the untrodden wilderness, could not hope to contend.

As he rushed madly through the undergrowth the pain in his shoulder spread rapidly and a heaviness made itself felt in his limbs. What if the creature hurling shafts of fire that could wound him so sorely should pursue? With the intense agony of his hurt, and the first signs of a coming numbness, he could not hope to give battle or even to escape further injury. No! At least not until he had had time to recover from the surprise and the confusion of the onslaught; until he had quenched his burning thirst, and until the pain had subsided. Then he would even up the score. No more watching, no more stalking! Hereafter, the mere sight of man would be the signal for his own destruction.

Warruk reached the river’s edge near the rapids where the water rushed with a seething fury through a narrow channel between the sandy banks. In the center of the roaring flood was a rock, his rock, where many an hour had been spent basking in the hot sunshine. It was his only abode, his one place of safety and to it he would go.

Without hesitation he plunged into the maelstrom. The rushing water swept him back, again and again, but each time the struggle was renewed with increased determination; and each effort carried him a few yards nearer the goal. Just as it seemed the coveted spot had been attained, the breakers sought with increased fury to drag him down; but he fought back, inch by inch, and at last one massive foot touched the rough surface of the stronghold.

With a frantic tenacity that sapped the last vestige of his fast vanishing strength he dragged his weary body onto the rock and lay down, cushioning his great head upon his forepaws. Tremor after tremor passed over him, but they were not from the chill of the night nor from the drenching of the water. The pain had gone and a drowsiness had taken its place. Here, where he had rested before, he would sleep again. The bright stars shimmered overhead; a gentle, lulling breeze fanned his face; below, the water roared and hissed in impotent rage for he had conquered it and was out of its reach.

It all spoke of the freedom of the wilderness, and of the joyousness of life. Not knowing death, Warruk did not fear it. But, knowing sleep as a reviver of spent energy, he welcomed its coming to relieve the heavy numbness that was penetrating to his very bones. It came, swiftly; the deadly poison prepared by Oomah was completing its ghastly work, was inducing the sleep; but not the normal, restful slumber that comes between sunset and sunrise but the sleep that is everlasting and without awakening.

Agoo reached the village of the Patocos after a week’s rapid journey through the forest. He had been sent by the Cantanas to look for Oomah. The twigs snapped from the undergrowth by the hunter as he walked along guided him unfailingly to the last camping site and from there a beaten trail led to the village.

And Agoo was promptly made prisoner by the fierce enemies of the Cantanas. There would be a feast indeed, with two captives instead of one.

The newcomer also carried the flag of truce the tuft of white feathers; but the emblem would be of no avail if the report of the hunters would be unfavorable.

“I would speak to my tribesman,” he said, “here, where all may hear.”

They brought Oomah and formed a circle around the two.

“I am the bearer of a message,” the newcomer greeted the emaciated youth, “from the fathers of the tribe.”

Oomah grunted. “Why have you come to add to my suffering? I know that I am an outcast, and I am ready to die.”

“No! You must come back with me. Your work is finished. Your reward will be great. Choflo’s place shall be yours. That is the message I bear.”

Oomah stared blankly at the speaker.

“How can I return without the evidence? I do not even know that the Black Phantom is dead. And besides, we are both captives,” he replied.

“We have proof that the sacred mission has been fulfilled. By signs that cannot be doubted has it been shown that the spectre that brought desolation to the earth was slain by the magic arrow just seven settings of the sun past.”

“Seven settings of the sun ago the arrow was sent on its flight into the darkness; but where it struck I cannot tell.”

“On that night Choflo, who sent you, was slain by a great, spotted she-tiger which burst into his shelter and fought savagely to retain her prize even when assailed with spears and firebrands in the hands of those who would have rescued him. The monster had battled with men before, and knew their ways, for one ear was lacking, lost in a previous encounter. The law has been fulfilled. You have no next of kin upon which vengeance could fall for your deed in slaying the Black Phantom; therefore, Choflo, who sent you, paid the penalty.”

Agoo did not know it but it was Suma who had avenged her Warruk.

“Speak, Agoo, are these tidings true?” Oomah asked.

“There is even more. Scarcely had Choflo died than a blanket of dark clouds rolled across the heavens and rain fell throughout the night. Tumwah had been appeased. We are saved. The earth is saved. And you, Oomah, shall be rewarded and honored above all men.”

The Patocos stood about in a spell-bound group.

“If this youth speaks truly, why has not the rain fallen here?” one asked. “Our yuca fields are parched and the animals of the forest are disappearing. Soon we will die of starvation.”

“I have spoken the truth,” Agoo persisted. Then, pointing to the sky with both hands, he begged “Tumwah, send the rain-clouds here too. They do not believe that the Black Phantom has been slain. Why, see,” he exclaimed suddenly, pointing to the East “even now the sky is overcast where the sun rises and soon the rain will fall upon you. Look, Oomah! They can ask for no other proof. Tumwah has come to save you.”

Just then shouts from the forest announced the coming of the hunters and before long the excited youths had filed into the village and joined the circle.

“Now tell us what you found,” the headman demanded. “Let your voice be clear and loud so that all may hear and understand. Did you find evidence that the first captive spoke the truth? His companion too says strange things. Either the one is a great hunter who has fulfilled a sacred mission, or both are spies and shall be dealt with before the setting of another sun.”

One of the youths who had just returned stepped into the circle.

“These many days we searched the forest and the sandbars, but found nothing,” he said impressively. “So we returned.”

A hush had fallen upon all. Even the women and children peeping out of the palm-leaf hovels stopped their chatter and looked with wide-open eyes.

“Build the fires!” the headman ordered. “I suspected treachery from the very beginning.”

“Wait!” the hunter, continued. “This morning as we rounded the bend in the river where the banks are set close together and where the water roars and boils in its haste to pass the terrible place so it may join the peaceful stretches below, Tupi’s sharp eyes saw the form of a vulture in the sky. We watched the evil bird and soon discovered other black specks circling above the gorge. It was there we found the proof, on a rock in the midst of the raging water; a black tiger of such great size that it could be none other than the Black Phantom. The broken shaft of an arrow was still in its shoulder. We could not swim to the rock; no creature of earth could conquer that angry flood. But there it is so that all may see yet none may reach except only the loathsome vultures.”

That night there was a feast in the Patocos’ village. Turtles had been brought from the corrals and the women made fresh cassava bread. And long into the night the sound of the celebration rang through the black forest as war drums boomed and the voices of singers chanted the praises of the mighty hunter who was among them.

Not until the sharp report of thunder followed by a drenching rain drove the revellers to shelter did the festivities end.

“Nechi shall go with me,” Oomah said the next morning as he prepared to depart. “Nechi, who found me dying and whose medicine drove away the fever. And send one of your hunters also to select a wife from among the Cantanas. It is my wish that there be blood relationship between us. Then there will be peace between the Patocos and Cantanas. No more fighting, no more killing. I speak as headman of my people.”

The older men drew together for a serious discussion that ended in granting Oomah’s request, and Tupi was selected to go back to the encampment on the sandbar to be an honored guest and to select a wife.

After that came the leave taking; then the party started on its journey. The three men, carrying only their bows and arrows, filed into the forest and Nechi, carrying a heavy basket of food trotted happily after them.