CHAPTER XXIII

MAGIC AGAINST MAGIC

“Go slow!” Cliff urged, detaining Tom before the latter could make an impetuous rush toward the large hut. “If your sister is in there, be sure you won’t spoil everything by telling her—before you do tell her.”

Tom loitered. For once Nicky saw eye to eye with Cliff, and realized that hasty action might endanger them all. He added his plea to Cliff’s and Tom, finally, agreed.

“Yes,” he said, “we are in the Chucunaque circle. We don’t know what they may be planning to do to us. We don’t trust Henry or Mort and we can’t count on them. The main thing is to rescue Margery, for I am sure she is in that hut; but we can do more, maybe, by going slow.”

They took up their pace again, following the Indian. Just ahead of them Henry Morgan and Mort Beecher were being led in.

When the chums entered the hut they saw that an Indian somewhat more powerful and stalwart than the others, for the Chucunaque’s were not a large type, sat in a hammock in the center of the hut. Close to him, squatting on the ground, were a dozen men, elderly, solemn, dignified: the youths judged them to be councillors, as they were. Off at one side sat two other men, surrounded by the now familiar implements of the doctors, or medicine men, who both worked spells and tried, by their witcheries, to cure disease: their small success was attested by the prevalence of sickness and diseased skins among their tribesmen.

But the point to which the youths’ eyes focused, and on which every bit of their attention concentrated was that where a girl sat—the only female figure in the hut; she was fairly tall, a little less than five feet and five inches, they guessed as she sat. Her clothing was of the same sort as that of the Indian women outside; a ragged, but clean waist of European or American style was the only feature of difference, and that was so faded and worn that it hardly looked like anything. Beside that a short petticoat of dull colored cloth completed the visible clothing: her head was bare, and so were her brown, dusky limbs, and her feet.

But she was an American, not an Indian! And the crown of long, bright golden hair, glittering and glistening in the wavering torch-light was all the proof that the three comrades needed to identify her.

Tom could hardly repress a cry. He held his lips tight shut. Nicky, clutching his arm, felt the muscles stiffen, and gave his biceps a reassuring, excited squeeze. Cliff, noting everything, saw that Tom had regained his control and would be careful not to do anything that could endanger their plans.

Tom saw Henry and Mort draw closer together and whisper: they, too, realized who the girl was, in spite of her dark skin and her expressionless face. She had been long enough among the impassive Indians to acquire their facial stillness. When she spoke, her voice was high and excited, like that of a girl of ten, and she talked in the same way that a child would, using simple words, instead of using the manners and conversation of a miss of sixteen. When the Indians took her, Tom mused, she stopped growing up with no one to talk to in her native language.

Henry and Mort, still whispering, were led to a point to the right of the hammock, a little in front of the medicine men. Tom, Cliff and Nicky were stationed at the other side, before the councillors. It was easy to see that they were considered as separate and not friendly, for some reason.

The girl could hardly wait until the ceremony of placing the white people was finished: then she said, eagerly:

“Hello, white men—and you, too, boys. I didn’t know you were here. My! It’s good to see so many people. I’m tired of Indians. They brought me from another village. I have to listen to you and tell them what you say. Then I will tell you what they say. How did you come here? Will you take me away? Don’t tell them. Don’t let them know. But will you take me away?”

“You bet!” cried Tom, forgetting himself for an instant: then he became silent again. But the girl, without changing her expression, nodded.

“I like you,” she said. “I didn’t know boys could get in here—or men either.”

“We’re not boys,” challenged Nicky. “We’re young fellows!”

Evidently the chief was impatient, for he could not understand what was being said. He spoke gruffly, one word. The girl turned and made some gestures, also speaking several strange words. Then she turned back toward Tom, and from then on she seemed, for some odd reason, to ignore Henry and Mort, almost—her whole mind seemed to be centered on Tom, and she studied him and appeared to be wondering about him and he, in turn, could not take his eyes off her face.

“The chief doesn’t like us to talk,” she explained. “But I’m glad you came. Will you take me away? Honest—cross-your-heart?”

Tom made the gesture, Nicky and Cliff following suit. Henry and Mort bent glowering looks on them and shook their heads at them vigorously.

For once, forgetting his manners, Nicky grinned back impudently.

“Listen,” said the girl. “The chief thinks the older men are big doctors and he thinks you boys—young fellows!——” and she laughed at them and clapped her hands like a teasing child of ten, “are bad doctors. He is going to make you show him which is strongest—magic, you know. So if you b—young men can do big magic, don’t waste any time. These Indians are cruel. Don’t joke with them.”

Tom nodded, keeping from his face the qualms of unease that clutched at his heart. What would the test be? How could they meet it? When they were so close to recovering the sister he loved, must strange customs interfere? Nicky and Cliff were perturbed, too, but they kept their faces as impassive as they could. The Indians were not going to win! Cliff regretted that he had left the rifle in the hut across the clearing but he hoped they would not need it. However, he made a secret plan to get out and secure it if things began to look black.

One of the councillors stood up and spoke briefly: the girl listened and then turned to the white parties and translated.

“They say word has come to them that great doctors wished to come into their country to heal their people,” she began.

“How could word come—there isn’t any newspaper or telegraph or telephone,” cried Nicky, incredulously. The girl merely nodded toward the medicine men as though they had secured the message in some way, and continued her translation.

“They say they wish to see the great doctors heal their tribe and so they let them come.”

She turned again to listen, and once more she translated.

“They say that you bo—young men—may be evil doctors. They say the first doctors told the San Blas Indians evil doctors would follow——” Nicky glared at Henry and Henry looked uncomfortable.

“Now they await your answers,” she said, turning first to Henry.

Henry gave out a string of pleading to establish the fact that he and Mort were the good doctors but that if their medicines had no power it was because of some evil influence. He did not quite dare to denounce the boys. Margery, as Tom already called her in his thoughts, did her duty in translating, and then she turned toward Tom, and waited.

Tom glanced swiftly toward Nicky and Cliff. He wanted to be sure they had no message to guide him. They looked anxious and earnest, but they had not thought out any answer. Tom, bending his head on his hands, tried to think what reply would show that they were not evil doctors, for it would not help much to declare it and stop: the Indians would ask proof, and he could not think of any way to prove his claim. The chief, his councillors and the medicine men waited without movement. They were used to tedious conferences. The girl watched without expression.

Think as hard as he would, Tom could find nothing to say.

“We are only three young fellows who got lost in the jungle,” he said, finally, a pleading look in his face as he confronted the sister he dared not name. “The Indians brought us here. We don’t know why!”

She translated by gestures and a few words. The chief looked at the councillors and they in turn consulted the medicine men. Finally one of the medicine men stood up and addressed the chief. After he had finished the chief spoke to the girl and she, in her turn, translated.

“The first man says the doctors told the San Blas Indians they healed by magic and the chief wishes to see some of their magic. But he says that the medicine men say the younger ones are magic doctors too and he had them brought here because one of them showed his magic in the woods.”

Henry stared toward the three chums and then, putting back his head, he laughed: Mort, in his puffy, chuckly voice, joined him.

“That’s a good one!” Henry said. “Tell the chief he can hit me for a punchin’ bag if they know any magic. They’re just kids.”

Margery frowned but as the chief questioned she had to translate. But it was easy to see that her sympathy was with the younger fellows.

“The chief says,” she told them all finally, “he will see which one has magic, and if you both have magic he will see whose magic is the most powerful.”

Suddenly Tom elevated his hand to caress his ear and Nicky and Cliff saw the sign and folded their arms. It was a call for the Mystery Boys’ council. Tom wanted to say something he did not wish to have the other two white men hear: he proposed to ask by their signs and they were ready.