CHAPTER XXVI

A FAMILIAR VOICE

“What is it, Joaquim?” asked the old man.

Joaquim’s tongue loosed in rapid-fire Portuguese for fully two minutes. Felice sat tense, her hands clenching the tablecloth and her face noticeably pale. And the old man, though apparently quite calm, had two patches of color that came and went at intervals in his bony cheeks.

When the Indian had finished Old Marcellus stood up, talked crisply in Portuguese, then dismissed the servant. That done, he turned to Hal.

“Just some visitors, young man,” he said courteously. “You will excuse me?”

“Of course,” Hal said smiling. “I’ve been taking up your time too long anyhow.”

“No doubt you feel fatigued still?” Felice asked in a strained manner.

Hal was not a little surprised but he managed to conceal it.

“I can always sleep, Miss Felice,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s why I’ve grown up to be such a big boy.”

She giggled, but grew instantly serious as he said goodnight. Old Marcellus bowed gravely and showed almost too palpably that he would feel immensely relieved when his guest was gone to his hut.

Hal felt the situation as one of his temperament feels everything—_intensely_. He knew that there was some deep, underlying motive for the strange behavior of his host and hostess. Too, he knew that the sudden visitors whom Joaquim announced must have given them cause for deep concern.

“But then that’s their business,” Hal told himself as he strolled toward the hut. “Why should it have anything to do with me? It’s been said that every family keeps a skeleton or two hidden in the closet. Maybe this is the night that the Pembertons are letting theirs out for a walk.”

Hal had quite forgotten the incident by the time he got into his hammock and under the net so solicitously provided by Joaquim. He was sleepier than he realized and after smoking another of Old Marcellus’ Brazilian cigarettes, he closed his eyes willingly.

He thought over all that had happened during the day, particularly his meeting with Felice. He liked saying her name aloud. There was something soft and soothing in the sound. He thought of her frailness and thin, pinched cheeks and immediately he wanted to do something for her that would make her look bright and healthy, not sad and weary-looking as he visualized her then.

He had a mind picture of her laughing along some unfrequented trail in Ramapo, whose picturesque hills took on its winter cloak when the Amazon was at its highest temperature. She would look pretty, he decided, when the wind blew hardest and the snow flew thickest. There wasn’t the slightest doubt about it—Felice belonged in Ramapo and he determined to tell her so.

Suddenly his thoughts switched to the immediate present. His uncle would soon hear that he was safe, and so would his mother. At last! His next move was to start back for _Manaos_. But as he had been gone this long he could defer it a few days, as long as no one was worrying about him.

The Pembertons interested him too much to leave right off. He chuckled. The Pembertons? Why fool himself! It was Felice who interested him and he knew that it was especially so because of the glamour of mystery surrounding her life in the wilderness.

In any event, he was inspired to do something manly and adventurous for this frail wilderness flower. And to sleep he went, with this generous and noble desire making peaceful his deep slumber.

That it was deep, Joaquim witnessed when he crept stealthily under the doorway of the hut of their honored guest. Soundlessly he stole up to Hal’s hammock and listened intently for fully five minutes to his soft, even breathing. Then, with a satisfied air, the Indian stole out again.

Hal, however, being temperamental, was often disturbed by another’s mere presence. It was so in this case, for he was awake and sitting up in his hammock before Joaquim’s stealthy figure had cleared the doorway. And though he was still dazed, he knew that the Indian’s presence was a sign that Old Marcellus and his granddaughter were up to something.

Hal got into his clothes in a minute and crept cautiously toward the door. He stood and listened there before he emerged and even then put out his head and looked about carefully.

There was no sound except the low murmur of voices from Pemberton’s hut. He could not distinguish them at all and proceeded to move further out into the clearing when he suddenly saw Joaquim’s squat figure move out of the shadows and down toward the river.

Hal moved noiselessly up to the Pemberton hut and drew close into its protecting shadows. Old Marcellus was talking in even tones, calm and distinct.

“Yes,” he was saying, “this used to be a _Pallida_ settlement. Why do you ask, Señor?”

“Curiosity, Señor Pemberton,” said a soft, purring voice. “And your son, his canoe, his camp was found here—no?”

“Yes. But surely you heard the story many times.”

“Not so thoroughly as I heard it lately, Señor. And the _Pallidas_ they did not come back to claim their settlement?”

“No,” answered Old Marcellus. “It’s their custom not to reclaim a settlement once they’re driven off by a white man. They have a reputation for superstition you know.”

“But your son, he drove them off, eh?”

“Yes; he believed there was a lode somewhere here worth a fortune. But poor man, he gave his life for that illusion. My grandson and I have hunted the length and breadth of this clearing in vain.”

“Ah, but that is the way of life, eh, Señor? Now we must be going.”

“But did you come only to ask me about my poor lost son? Have you no _message_?” Old Marcellus asked anxiously.

“None, Señor. Perhaps when next I come. _Adios!_”

Hal waited to hear no more and scooted back to the shadow of his doorway. Soon he saw the dark figures of men emerging from Pemberton’s hut and he heard the soft whisper of voices. Old Marcellus he distinguished by his white, silvery hair, but the rest he could not make out. Besides, Joaquim’s squat body came wobbling up from the river and escorted the two short visitors back to the bank.

Hal was puzzled, yet he could not help feeling that there was something familiar looking about the pair. Certainly, somewhere he had heard the speaker’s voice inside the hut. That soft, slow purring....