Lourenço, nonplussed by the frigidity of the subchief where he had expected gratitude or at least hospitality, glanced questioningly at Yuara. But the young man stood mute, looking straight ahead.
"The subchief says we shall enter and see the chief. We must leave our guns outside."
"Don't like that," muttered McKay. "That subchief looks ugly."
"But we must obey or provoke a fight, Capitao. Besides, our rifles would be useless inside, as they would be instantly seized if we lifted them. So let us make the best of it. But I think you can carry your pistols with you; they are covered by the holsters, and I do not believe these people know what they are. And since Rana spoke only of guns, we will keep our machetes. Come."
"Wait a second."
McKay dived a hand into his haversack and brought forth a heavy hunting knife with a gaudy red-and-white bone handle, sheathed and attached to a leather belt.
"Brought this along as a present for some Indian who might do us a good turn," he explained. "Been thinking of giving it to Yuara, but now I'll pass it to the chief. Might make a difference. All right, let's go."
With confident tread, but with some misgiving, the five advanced, leaving guns and packs on the ground. One by one they bent low and got through the doorway. Yuara, with a word to a clubman and a motion to the equipment, followed the whites, trailed in turn by his three companions of the forest. The clubman, after a curious inspection of the packs, stood on guard among them, his bludgeon grasped loosely but suggestively, ready to prevent any undue inquisitiveness by the rest. But soon he found himself alone, for the other tribesmen transferred their attention and themselves to the interior of the maloca.
Within the house the soldiers of fortune halted a moment, adjusting their vision to the sudden diminution of light. Except for the sunshine pouring in at the smoke hole above and at the tiny door behind, the only light in the big room came from small cooking fires scattered about the place, and for the moment details were withheld from the newcomers' sight. Then they found themselves in what seemed a labyrinth of poles and hammocks.
Through this confusion Yuara passed with familiar step, and in his wake the travelers went to a central fire around which was a comparatively clear space. Beyond, in a big hammock dyed with the symbolic scarlet and black and tasseled with many squirrel tails, sat a fat, small-eyed, heavy-jawed man whose elaborate feather dress and authoritative air proclaimed him chief. Beside him stood Rana and another subchief, lean and somber-faced. Behind this bulwark of tribal might huddled the women and children, staring wide-eyed. As the visitors stopped and returned the chief's unwinking regard the warriors packed themselves at their backs, blocking all chance of exit.