In a dozen seconds both had received almost as many scratches from the beaks and talons of the birds, which still continued the combat with a fury that showed no signs of relaxation or abatement. The Paraense did not stay either to take counsel or imitate the example of his more sage companion, but, hastily bending down upon the limb whereon he had been maintaining the unequal contest, he plunged headforemost into the water. Of course a “header” from such a height carried him under the surface; and his assailants, for the moment missing him, flew back into the tree-top, and joined in the assault on Munday. The latter, who had by this become rather sick of the contest, thinking of no better plan, followed his comrade’s example. Hastily he flung himself into the flood, and, first diving below the surface, came up beside the Paraense, and the two swam away side by side in silence, each leaving behind him a tiny string of red; for the blood was flowing freely from the scratches received in their strange encounter.
Chapter Twenty Three.
A Contest with Cudgels.
Our discomfited adventurers did not swim far from the seringa, for the birds did not follow them. Satisfied with seeing the burglars fairly beyond the boundaries of their domicile, the tenants of the tree returned to their nests, as if to ascertain what amount of damage had been done. In a short time the commotion had almost subsided, though there was heard an occasional scream,—the wail of the bereaved parents; for the helpless squab, after struggling a while on the surface of the water, had gone suddenly out of sight. There was no danger, therefore, of further molestation from their late assailants, so long as they should be left in quiet possession of the seringa, and therefore there was no further necessity for the two swimmers to retreat. A new intention had shaped itself in Munday’s mind by this time, and he expressed his determination to return, to the surprise of the youth, who asked his purpose.
“Partly the purpose for which we first climbed it, and partly,” added he, with an angry roll of his almond-shaped eyes, “to obtain revenge. A Mundurucú is not to be bled in this fashion, even by birds, without drawing blood in return. I don’t go out from this igarápe till I’ve killed every arara, old as well as young, in that accursed tree, or chased the last of them out of it. Follow, and I’ll show you how.”
The Indian turned his face towards the thicket of tree-tops forming one side of the water arcade, and with a stroke or two brought himself within reach of some hanging parasites, and climbed up, bidding Richard follow. Once more they were shut in among the tops of what appeared to be a gigantic mimosa. “It will do,” muttered the Mundurucú drawing his knife and cutting a stout branch, which he soon converted into a cudgel of about two feet in length. This he handed to his companion, and then, selecting a second branch of still stouter proportions, fashioned a similar club for himself.
“Now,” said he, after having pruned the sticks to his satisfaction, “we’re both armed, and ready to give battle to the araras, with a better chance of coming off victorious. Let us lose no time. We have other work to occupy us, and your friends will be impatient for our return.” Saying this, he let himself down into the water, and turned towards the seringa. His protégé made no protest, but followed instantly after. Tightly clutching their cudgels, both reascended the seringa, and renewed the battle with the birds. The numbers were even more unequal than before; but this time the advantage was on the side of the intruders.
