Big Boy nodded assent.
Hal partook of the evening meal with a little more relish than he ordinarily would. He sat with the tribe outside the maloka mincing on the unpalatable beiju pancakes, which were a distinctly Indian concoction, and thinking of the day near at hand when he could turn his face toward Manaos. He nibbled on the pimenta, with which beiju is always eaten, and forgot that it usually burned his civilized throat.
All his thoughts were on his uncle and how overjoyed he would be to know that he was alive and well, after he had been given up for lost. For certainly he must be thought lost and dead. Even his mother must think it by now. His mother....
Hal got up from the communal supper circle to be alone with the thought of his mother. The rest of the natives, busy appeasing their hunger, seemed not to notice him hobbling away toward the surrounding jungle, particularly his guards.
Hal did not seem to notice this relaxation of their guardianship. In point of fact, he thought nothing at all about it, so filled were his thoughts of the day on which he could get word to his mother that all was well with him.
He found the dimness of the jungle trail inviting and hobbled along deep in his own reflections. Tomorrow or the next day he would be well enough to start his journey, he felt sure of it. And he would leave the little settlement with a heart full of gratitude. Indeed, he had already tendered to the chief of the tribe his empty gun as a token of deep appreciation, and with much bowing and grunting, the gift was received in good spirit.
There was nothing to mar his joy then, so much did he appreciate recovering from the fever. He stopped, stretched his long arms delightedly and happened to notice through the trees a small thatched hut. Before it, stretched out on the ground asleep, was one of the natives.
Several monkeys disported themselves on the branches of the tree over the hut and were about to pelt the sleeping native with some nuts. Hal tried to frighten them off by waving his long arms but they paid no heed. Instead they set up a chatter and let go a rain of the hard nuts which fortunately missed their intended victim and hit Hal instead.
“Ouch!” Hal cried as several of the nuts hit his tender head. “For the love of Mike!”
The words had barely been uttered when out of the gloomy hut came a heart-rending cry, muffled and unintelligible, yet full of poignancy and human wretchedness. Hal did not miss its pleading note—in point of fact, the utter misery of it seemed to make him powerless to do aught but wonder.