Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 22, 2025
His three companions corroborated his tale from time to time by nods, and when the discovery of the slain hunter's bones was described one of those three stepped forward and laid the dead man's weapons on the ground before the chief. As Yuara went on he touched his bandaged arm and pointed to McKay and Knowlton. And as he concluded he motioned toward Lourenço.
And then, faint, mellow, far off, sounded the answer. While every man sat silent the bars boomed out their fateful news. Slow, brief, deep as a bell tolling a dirge, a reply rolled back. And with the solemnity of a funeral cortége the canoes once more moved on, unhurried, inexorable, the measured swing of the paddles beating like a pulse of doom. At length the crew of Yuara held their paddles.
Then his gaze returned to McKay. His mouth set and his countenance turned hard. He spoke curtly to Yuara, who replied with one word. After another long, unpleasant look at McKay, who stared coldly back at him, Rana grunted a few words and re-entered the house.
Lourenço, nonplussed by the frigidity of the subchief where he had expected gratitude or at least hospitality, glanced questioningly at Yuara. But the young man stood mute, looking straight ahead. "The subchief says we shall enter and see the chief. We must leave our guns outside." "Don't like that," muttered McKay. "That subchief looks ugly." "But we must obey or provoke a fight, Capitao.
So uncomfortably apt was his simile that the others grimaced and turned their eyes elsewhere until the savage meal was finished. Then their attention became riveted on a queer proceeding at the canoe wherein Yuara had journeyed yesterday. To the gunwales amidships two of the men fastened a couple of small crotched posts.
"I just put all these together, made the Indian do his own breathing and here he is. I'm going to sit up awhile longer and watch him, but the critical period is over. You chaps can turn in." But none turned in until midnight, when no doubt remained that Lourenço's prophecy would come true that Yuara would live to draw bow again.
McKay dived a hand into his haversack and brought forth a heavy hunting knife with a gaudy red-and-white bone handle, sheathed and attached to a leather belt. "Brought this along as a present for some Indian who might do us a good turn," he explained. "Been thinking of giving it to Yuara, but now I'll pass it to the chief. Might make a difference. All right, let's go."
Presently the absent five returned, two of the Mayorunas carrying a crude but strong litter constructed from saplings and giant-fern leaves. McKay rose stiffly on cramped legs. "All right. You can move him," he consented. Carefully Yuara was lifted to the litter and transported to the new camp.
Yuara himself had inserted feathers in his nose and donned a headband of tall parrot plumes a trifle more ornate than those worn by the ordinary fighters, and somehow the simple addition seemed to transform him into a bigger, fiercer man. Also, his eyes now held a smoldering light which had not been there before. The older man, Rana, the subchief, glanced swiftly along the line of new faces.
While Tim burrowed into his pack for the salt, Lourenço spoke, as much for the benefit of the other tribesmen as for that of Yuara; for the three Mayorunas stood in ominous silence, watching the outrush of blood caused by the knife of the white man. "The white man of the black beard, who is very wise, will save Yuara to draw many a good bow if Yuara will do as he says.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking