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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Yuara can fight the death demon only by drawing into himself the air in which is the spirit of life. The wise white man has stopped the poison at the place where the cloth is tied, and he knows the air spirits will help Yuara if Yuara will breathe deep and long. If he will not, then the white man's medicine cannot save him. Yuara's life or death is in his own hands."
With the passing of these three menaces Yuara resumed his former pace and abandoned his circumspection. Before long came sounds of communal life the barking of a dog and shouts of children. Then suddenly the forest thinned, and after a few more strides the marchers found themselves in a clearing.
At its head marched Yuara, his left arm incased in bandages, his face drawn and pallid, his stride stiff and springless, but still carrying his weapons and stoically setting the pace as befitted the son of a subchief.
The three rescue parties reached the squirming heap at almost the same moment. But Yuara was the one whose arrival counted most. In one last convulsive struggle McKay heaved himself up until he was once more on his knees. His head came out of the welter, his mouth wide and gulping for breath.
Savage and civilized, each man was fit, alert, formidable. Nowhere in the loosely joined chain was a weak link. Before the departure the Americans had been at some trouble to rid themselves of Yuara, who, with his men, had tarried at the Monitaya malocas during Tim's sickness.
As the visitors stopped and returned the chief's unwinking regard the warriors packed themselves at their backs, blocking all chance of exit. When the shuffle of feet had died and no sound was audible, Yuara began to talk. In his deliberate way he told the complete narrative of his journey, which previously he had sketched only in outline.
Let Yuara breathe deeply, that the spirit of life remain in him to fight against the demon of death. Even now the poison rushes out of the arm of Yuara." "Yuara cannot live," was Yuara's cool reply. "Where once the poison has entered, there follows death." "Is Yuara then a coward, that he will die without a fight? Then he is no Mayoruna, for no Mayoruna is a coward. Let Yuara die if he will.
There the Americans found not only the open shed, or tambo, usually constructed by the Brazilians, but also a somewhat similar shelter erected by the Indians. In the latter stood two stout crotched stakes, firmly braced the handiwork of Pedro and Lourenço. And to these, with tough bush rope, the Indians fastened the litter of Yuara, thus forming a rude but effective hammock.
This run which we have just heard is always used first, and no message is sent until a reply is received." "Bush telegraph," nodded McKay. "First call your operator and then shoot the message in code. Pretty ingenious for a bunch of absolute savages." Lourenço turned to Yuara and asked a question. Yuara curtly replied. "He says, Capitao, that this is to tell Monitaya we come.
The men of Suba took them from us at their maloca; now they shall restore them before all these people." He addressed Monitaya affably, then spoke more brusquely to Yuara. That young man, whose previous austerity now had dissolved into open friendliness, uttered four words. Immediately his men returned to the canoes and brought up not only the packs, but the rifles.
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