CHAPTER VIII--FIERCELY AND WILDLY BOTH SIDES FOUGHT

The gloomy event related in last chapter must not be allowed to cast a damper over our story.

Of course death is always and everywhere hovering near, but why should boys like you and me, reader, permit that truth to cloud our days or stand between us and happiness?

Two years, then, have elapsed since poor, brave Tom St. Clair's death.

He is buried near the edge of the forest in a beautiful enclosure where rare shrubs grow, and where flowers trail and climb far more beautiful than any we ever see in England.

At first Mrs. St. Clair had determined to sell all off and go back to the old country, but her overseer Jake Solomons and Mr. Peter persuaded her not to, or it seemed that it was their advice which kept her from carrying out her first intentions. But she had another reason, she found she could not leave that lonesome grave yet awhile.

So the years passed on.

The estate continued to thrive.

Roland was now a handsome young fellow in his eighteenth year, and Peggy, now beautiful beyond compare, was nearly fifteen.

Dick Temple, the bold and reckless huntsman and horseman, was quieter now in his attentions towards her. She was no longer the child that he could lift on to his broad young shoulders and carry, neighing and galloping like a frightened colt, round and round the lawn.

And Roland felt himself a man. He was more sober and sedate, and had taken over all his father's work and his father's responsibilities. But for all that, lightly enough lay the burden on his heart.

For he had youth on his side, and

"In the lexicon of youth which fate reserves For a bright manhood there is no such word As fail".

----

I do not, however, wish to be misunderstood. It must not be supposed that Roland had no difficulties to contend with, that all his business life was as fair and serene as a bright summer's day. On the contrary, he had many losses owing to the fluctuations of the markets and the failures of great firms, owing to fearful storms, and more than once owing to strikes or revolts among his Indians in the great india-rubber forest.

But Roland was light-hearted and young, and difficulties in life, I have often said, are just like nine-pins, they are put up to be bowled over.

Besides, be it remembered that if it were all plain sailing with us in this world we should not be able to appreciate how really happy our lives are. The sky is always bluest 'twixt the darkest clouds.

On the whole, Roland, who took stock, and, with honest Bill and Jake Solomons, went over the books every quarter, had but little reason to complain. This stock-taking consumed most of their spare time for the greater part of a week, and when it was finished Roland invariably gave a dinner-party, at which I need hardly say his dear friend Dick Temple was present. And this was always the happiest of happy nights to Dick, because the girl he loved more than all things on earth put together was here, and looked so innocent and beautiful in her simple dresses of white and blue.

There was no such thing as flirtation here, but Dick was fully and completely in earnest when he told himself that if he lived till he was three- or four-and-twenty he would ask Peggy to be his wife.

Ah! there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.

Dick, I might, could, would, or should have told you before, lived with a bachelor uncle, who, being rather old and infirm, seldom came out. He had good earnest men under him, however, as overseers, and his plantations were thriving, especially that in which tobacco was cultivated.

The old man was exceedingly fond of Dick, and Dick would be his heir.

Probably it was for his uncle's sake that Dick stayed in the country--and of course for Peggy's and Roland's--for, despite its grand field for sport and adventure, the lad had a strange longing to go to England and play cricket or football.

He had been born in Britain just as Roland was, and had visited his childhood's home more than once during his short life.

Now just about this time Don Pedro, or Mr. Peter as all called him, had asked for and obtained a holiday. He was going to Para for a change, he said, and to meet a friend from England.

That he did meet a friend from England there was little doubt, but their interview was a very short one. Where he spent the rest of his time was best known to himself.

In three months or a little less he turned up smiling again, and most effusive.

About a fortnight after his arrival he came to Jake one morning pretty early.

Jake was preparing to start on horseback for the great forest.

"I'm on the horns of a dilemma, Mr. Solomons," he said, laughing his best laugh. "During the night about twenty Bolivian Indians have encamped near to the forest. They ask for work on the india-rubber trees. They are well armed, and all sturdy warriors. They look as if fighting was more in their line than honest labour."

"Well, Mr. Peter, what is their excuse for being here anyhow?"

"They are bound for the sea-shore at the mouths of the river, and want to earn a few dollars to help them on."

"Well, where is the other horn of the dilemma?"

"Oh! if I give them work they may corrupt our fellows."

"Then, Mr. Peter, I'd give the whole blessed lot the boot and the sack."

"Ah! now, Mr. Solomons, you've got to the other horn. These savages, for they are little else, are revengeful."

"We're not afraid."

"No, we needn't be were they to make war openly, but they are sly, and as dangerous as sly. They would in all probability burn us down some dark night."

Jake mused for a minute. Then he said abruptly:

"Let the poor devils earn a few dollars, Mr. Peter, if they are stony-broke, and then send them on their way rejoicing."

"That's what I say, too," said Burly Bill, who had just come up. "I've been over yonder in the starlight. They look deuced uncouth and nasty. So does a bull-dog, Jake, but is there a softer-hearted, more kindly dog in all creation?"

So that very day the Indians set to work with the other squads.

The labour connected with the collecting of india-rubber is by no means very hard, but it requires a little skill, and is irksome to those not used to such toil.

But labour is scarce and Indians are often lazy, so on the whole Jake was not sorry to have the new hands, or "serinqueiros" as they are called.

The india-rubber trees are indigenous and grow in greatest profusion on that great tributary of the Amazon called the Madeira. But when poor Tom St. Clair came to the country he had an eye to business. He knew that india-rubber would always command a good market, and so he visited the distant forests, studied the growth and culture of the trees as conducted by Nature, and ventured to believe that he could improve upon her methods.

He was successful, and it was not a great many years before he had a splendid plantation of young trees in his forest, to say nothing of the older ones that had stood the brunt of many a wild tropical storm.

It will do no harm if I briefly describe the method of obtaining the india-rubber. Tiny pots of tin, holding about half a pint, are hung under an incision in the bark of the tree, and these are filled and emptied every day, the contents being delivered by the Indian labourers at the house or hut of an under-overseer.

The sap is all emptied into larger utensils, and a large smoking fire, made of the nuts of a curious kind of palm called the Motokoo, being built, the operators dip wooden shovels into the sap, twirling these round quickly and holding them in the smoke. Coagulation takes place very quickly. Again the shovel is dipped in the sap, and the same process is repeated until the coagulated rubber is about two inches thick, when it is cooled, cut, or sliced off, and is ready for the distant market.

Now, from the very day of their arrival, there was no love lost between the old and steady hands and this new band of independent and flighty ones.

The latter were willing enough to slice the bark and to hang up their pannikins, and they would even empty them when filled, and condescend to carry their contents to the preparing-house. But they were lazy in the extreme at gathering the nuts, and positively refused to smoke the sap and coagulate it.

It made them weep, they explained, and it was much more comfortable to lie and wait for the sap while they smoked and talked in their own strange language.

After a few days the permanent hands refused to work at the same trees, or even in the same part of the estrados or roads that led through the plantation of rubber-trees.

A storm was brewing, that was evident. Nor was it very long before it burst.

All unconscious that anything was wrong, Peggy, with Brawn, was romping about one day enjoying the busy scene, Peggy often entering into conversation with some of her old favourites, when one of the strange Indians, returning from the tub with an empty tin, happened to tread on Brawn's tail.

The dog snarled, but made no attempt to bite. Afraid, however, that he would spring upon the fellow, Peggy threw herself on the ground, encircling her arms around Brawn's shoulders, and it was she who received the blow that was meant for the dog.

It cut her across the arm, and she fainted with pain.

Brawn sprang at once upon his man and brought him down.

He shook the wretch as if he had been but a rat, and blood flowed freely.

Burly Bill was not far off, and just as the great hound had all but fixed the savage by the windpipe, which he would undoubtedly have torn out, Bill pulled him off by the collar and pacified him.

The blood-stained Indian started to his legs to make good his retreat, but as his back was turned in flight, Bill rushed after him and dealt him a kick that laid him prone on his face.

This was the signal for a general melee, and a terrible one it was!

Bill got Peggy pulled to one side, and gave her in charge to Dick, who had come thundering across on his huge horse towards the scene of conflict.

Under the shelter of a spreading tree Dick lifted his precious charge. But she speedily revived when he laid her flat on the ground. She smiled feebly and held out her hand, which Dick took and kissed, the tears positively trickling over his cheeks.

Perhaps it was a kind of boyish impulse that caused him to say what he now said:

"Oh, Peggy, my darling, how I love you! Whereever you are, dear, wherever I am--oh, always think of me a little!"

That was all.

A faint colour suffused Peggy's cheek for just a moment. Then she sat up, and the noble hound anxiously licked her face.

But she had made no reply.

Meanwhile the melee went merrily on, as a Donnybrook Irishman might remark.

Fiercely and wildly both sides fought, using as weapons whatsoever came handiest.

But soon the savages were beaten and discomfited with, sad to tell, the loss of one life--that of a savage.

Not only Jake himself, but Roland and Mr. Peter were now on the scene of the recent conflict. Close to Peter's side, watching every movement of his lips and eyes, stood Benee, the Indian who had saved the children.

Several times Peter looked as if he felt uneasy, and once he turned towards Benee as if about to speak.

He said nothing, and the man continued his watchful scrutiny.

After consulting for a short time together, Jake and Roland, with Burly Bill, determined to hold a court of inquiry on the spot.

But, strange to say, Peter kept aloof. He continued to walk to and fro, and Benee still hung in his rear. But this ex-savage was soon called upon to act as interpreter if his services should be needed, which they presently were.

Every one of the civilized Indians had the same story to tell of the laziness and insolence of the Bolivians, and now Jake ordered the chief of the other party to come forward.

They sulked for a short time.

But Jake drew his pistols, and, one in each hand, stepped out and ordered all to the front.

They made no verbal response to the questions put to them through Benee. Their only reply was scowling.

"Well, Mr. St. Clair," said Jake, "my advice is to pay these rascals and send them off."

"Good!" said Roland. "I have money."

The chief was ordered to draw nearer, and the dollars were counted into his claw-like fist.

The fellow drew up his men in a line and gave to each his pay, reserving his own.

Then at a signal, given by the chief, there was raised a terrible war-whoop and howl.

The chief spat on his dollars and dashed them into a neighbouring pool. Every man did the same.

Roland was looking curiously on. He was wondering what would happen next.

He had not very long to wait, for with his foot the chief turned the dead man on his back, and the blood from his death-stab poured out afresh.

He dipped his palm in the red stream and held it up on high. His men followed his example.

Then all turned to the sun, and in one voice uttered just one word, which, being interpreted by Benee, was understood to mean--REVENGE!

They licked the blood from their hands, and, turning round, marched in silence and in single file out and away from the forest and were seen no more.