A half hour later a line of dark canoes glided silently and swiftly through the water. Overhead, the stars gleamed and from the surrounding jungle strange noises came and went. Now and again the men muttered softly, but on the whole there was a deep silence.
After an interminable time they reached the Pallida Mors and Hal heard Renan sigh with relief.
“Not so long now,” he said gravely. “If only....”
“Hope for the best, Rene,” Hal said comfortingly.
But the best was not pleasant, for when they sailed through the dawn and into the settlement, there was naught but charred bits of thatched huts to tell the tale. Overhead, the sky was black with vultures.
Renan sickened at the sight, but Hal kept up and searched every inch of the place. The Indian servants had expired, each with a fancy poisoned arrow in his heart. But of Felice and her grandfather there was not a sign.
“We’re going up to pay the Pallidas a visit, Rene,” Hal said darkly. “And unless they cut short their ceremonies we ought to be on time.”
“You may be right about it, Hal,” Renan said anxiously. “I know they’re hours sometimes with those ceremonies for driving out the evil spirits. Perhaps poor Felice and Grandfather....”
“Might be the cause of future happiness,” Hal said, trying to be as cheerful as he could. “Sometimes things do happen for the best, even when they look to be their worst.”
“These Pallida Indians are the worst of their kind, Hal,” Renan reminded him. “Their superstitions are limitless.”