The Black Phantom

by Leo E. Miller

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.