# The Thirty Gang/Chapter 14
### XIV

JAIME and his men must have thought I had suddenly gone mad. I let out a wild screech of laughter.
"Welcome, Paco!" I yelled. "Welcome to the place where you burned helpless Maquiritares! Welcome to the pleasures of ——! I received your message written in the blood of those poor tortured ones, and my answer is marked on your belly in red and black. I trust that you will enjoy our meeting as much as I."
His face twisted, and he stooped toward his gun. But he did not pick it up. His hands went to his stomach, and he stood humped over.
"Ah-h-h!" he groaned. "Ah, Cristo! El veneno!"
A grunt ran among the men of Jaime. I struggled up to my feet, and nobody touched me. Standing on my one good leg, I laughed again. However I might have felt about the use of that poison before, I now could keenly enjoy the misery of this inhuman beast.
"It was most amusing, was it not, to watch my muchachos twist and writhe under the torment?" I went on. "But the rest of us were not here to see it, Paco. Will you not show us how they danced and sang for you? If you cannot think of anything to sing, there is a little sentence on each of those shafts which is most appropriate. Take one of them off, Carnicero mio, and read it, and then sing to us while you can. That will not be long, unfortunately."
He staggered, tried to straighten up, but did not touch the arrows. His men, no doubt, had told him what that message on the tabarí bark was. He groaned again and looked at me with eyes full of hate.
"Ah! Oh! Demonio!" he gasped. "León—you diablo del infierno—you are—— Ah! Dios!"
He doubled over again.
"What is this, León?" demanded Jaime. "Is it a snake there in the bush that has struck him? What is this talk?"
I gave him no answer. In another minute he was more puzzled than before.
Behind the Butcher arose other heads—those of his men, climbing the bank. They stopped, watched their master with faces growing harder, and pointed to the arrows, which they now could see. An ugly growl sounded in their throats. Then, as Paco began reeling about and groaning more loudly, they surrounded him.
There was a struggle. Paco fell and thrashed about. The men, dodging him as if he were a serpent, hurried toward us, lifting their hands high as they came. One held the Butcher's gun as well as his own. Another carried Paco's belt, with revolver, poniard and machete. They had taken all his weapons and were leaving him to die like a poisoned dog.
"Peace!" one said, shortly. "We join you, Pecoro. He dies, and he will be mad before he goes. It was so with the others. So we take his arms. You had best throw him into the river before he bursts and becomes foul."
"What is it?" Jaime demanded again.
"Poison of the Indios," the Butcher's man replied. "A most horrible poison found by this fiend of a León. You had best kill him too, and quickly."
"Diablo! So that is it?"
Jaime gave me a hard look. But before he could think more about it Paco became violent.
Yelling and foaming, he fought up upon his legs. Before any of us guessed what he would do, he had grabbed several of the long arrows into a bundle and swung the points toward us. He drew back his arm——
I dropped flat, and just in time. With a screech, Paco heaved his fistful of death at us, throwing the shafts all at once as if they were a spear. Then he fell, laughing horribly. The arrows separated in the air. A frightful yell of fear broke out behind me.
Turning, I found three men wounded by the black points. Two more arrows had dropped and stuck in the dirt. An instant later, gunshots roared.
The three doomed men were shot in their tracks by their companions. It was a merciful death for them. More bullets tore into Paco, rolling and kicking in the bushes. Some one shot at me too, and why he missed I do not know, unless his gun was knocked down in the confusion. As it was, the bullet spattered dirt into my face and eyes. For a few seconds I could not see.
When I had wiped the dirt away I saw men dragging the three bodies to the river. Paco was being lifted by four men, who held his hands and feet and yanked him to the bank. He was still twitching and making a low moaning noise. The four gave him a swing forward, back, forward—and let go. He went sprawling out into the air like a great toad.
A heavy splash sounded, followed by three more, as the other arrow-struck men were dropped. And then the cannibal caribe fish had a meal which, no doubt, killed them also.
I heard a grim chuckle overhead, and looked up at Jaime. He was unhurt, and cool as ever. I did not laugh with him, for my leg was hurting badly now, and I felt sick. But I did grin a little when he told the joke.
"Adios, Paco!" he said. "You had to blunder even in dying. You bumped into your own death without seeing it. And when you tried to kill me you only destroyed three of your own men. Not a man of mine was touched by an arrow. Ha, ha!"
Then he moved like a flash. His rifle covered somebody behind me.
"Alto!" he snapped. "What do you do with that?"
Turning my head, I saw one of Paco's brutes holding an arrow. Its point was directed at my back.
"I will give this accursed León his own dose," the man snarled. "I want to see him squirm as my cousin did last night."
"No, you will not," Jaime told him. "Throw that thing into the river! I take this man's head to San Fernando. I will have no poison in it. Throw that arrow!"
Muttering something, the man stepped to the bank and cast the deadly shaft outward.
"And remember that Jaime Pecoro commands here, you dog!" Jaime went on. "What I want done will be done, and nothing else. If you make one more move without my orders it will be your last. Do you understand me?"
He understood. So did the others left from the Butcher's gang. Not one of them even spoke in my hearing after that.
Jaime lowered his rifle and looked again at me.
"So you are the band of Indios," he said. "Are there more of those arrows?"
"That is for you to learn," I retorted. "Since you promise me only death, I need not tell you anything."
"As you like," he said, with a shrug. "I will not promise you life, since I came here to take your head. Men, look there in the bush for more arrows. If any are there, burn them."
Moving very carefully, men searched and found all the arrows left. Soon they, and my bow as well, were feeding a little fire.
"Now go and bring up the canoes," he ordered. "Move fast, for it will soon be dark. Heberto and Carlos, remain here to help me watch this mad león. I am afraid of him——"
He grinned again. But his joke was half-truth, for he stepped out of my reach and kept his eyes on me while the rest were gone; and the two who stayed with him also watched me steadily. Jaime squatted, made a cigarro, and smoked it, never losing sight of me for an instant.
"Since you will not talk," he said, "it was a waste of time to bind up your leg. I did not want you to bleed to death too soon. Why not talk awhile? You will live no longer by being sulky."
"When do you expect to kill me?" I asked, feeling a natural curiosity on that subject.
"Before I sleep. You are too dangerous to be kept alive over night. We shall smoke your head a little, so that it will not spoil before we reach San Fernando. I will save you until after I eat, because a beheaded man bleeds much, and it might spoil my appetite. After that—whenever I feel sleepy I will put you to sleep also."
"You are as cold as a fish!" I said. "But do not forget that you are likely to get into serious trouble with the Coronel for killing me without his order. I am worth something to him, with my balata tax."
"That does not worry me. You are worth a very good price—it has doubled since you killed Bayona and his men—and as soon as I collect my money I shall quit Funes. He is a madman and not to be trusted, and I work always for the good of Jaime Pecoro."
"I see. You are a man of business."
He nodded.
"Since that is so," I went on, "possibly I can overbid your employers. My head is worth more to me than to any one else. I have money——"
"Where? Here?"
"Not much here, but plenty in Bolívar——"
"Ha!" he sneered. "I do no business on credit. Let you go to Bolívar for your money? I am not such a fool! At San Fernando I shall get solid silver money for you. But I talk too much. What was that you said to Paco about torturing Maquiritares? And what was it about burning your house? I am curious."
"I will tell you that," I said, "if you will first tell me how you got behind me and caught me."
"It was very simple," he explained. "I brought from San Fernando one of your men who knows this place. Instead of coming by boat to your caño, we tied up at one farther down and walked overland. Then we came through the woods and looked around the clearing, and I sent men in different directions to hunt for signs. And here you stood against that tree, sound asleep. It was too easy."
He laughed again, and I cursed those howling monkeys which had spoiled my hearing; cursed that San Fernando mestizo who had led this gang here, too, though it was no more than could be expected—such a man would do anything for a few pesos. But I kept my curses inside my own head; I would not give him the fun of hearing me swear, as Paco had done.
Then I told him of the Butcher's treatment of my muchachos and his destruction of my place, as I had promised to do. But I said nothing of the people of Yaracuma or of how I had obtained my poison, nor did I deny that I had killed Bayona. There was no use in either. I held the talk to Paco and what I knew of him. And while I talked I was trying to see some way of escape—and finding none.
The canoes came, and after they reached the landing-place up the caño the men rejoined Jaime at the point. The sun now was down, and it would quickly be dark. Jaime arose and ordered me carried to the landing-place.
"Hold his arms tight, and when you let him go give him no chance to snatch a weapon from you," he commanded. "León, you had best try no tricks, or you will eat no cena tonight."
I was seized, firmly held, and borne along the path to the landing. There dry wood was quickly gathered and several good fires made. By the time darkness had come the whole place was well lit up, and more wood was piled at hand. I felt a little chilly when I noticed that some green stuff also was brought and laid near one fire. It was meant for smoking my head.
There was no chance for me. Men were all about, and I was kept in the brightest light. I looked longingly at the steep bushy bank just across the caño, now a black mass. If only I could reach it—but I could not.
So I made the best of it, determined that when the time came I would take it with my eyes open—and that I would make whatever poor fight I could. Hands and teeth could not do much damage, but I would leave a few marks behind me. And in the meantime I would eat and drink and keep my nerves steady. A man is never dead until he is a corpse.
Jaime and I ate facing each other, with men and fires in a ring around. He had some tapir-meat, plantains, and coffee, besides the usual farina; and after eating cassava alone for days I found those things good, especially the meat and the fried plantains. Both of us ate heavily, as if nothing further were to take place. And when the meal was done we both smoked cigarros.
"You are a better executioner than El Carnicero, Jaime," I said, with a laugh that I tried to make real. "Instead of eating and smoking with me he would have begun at my toes in cutting off my head."
"Si," he nodded. "That was his way. And where is he now? Such work is not business. To me it is not pleasure either. A clean, sure job with quick pay—that is the way of Jaime Pecoro."
"There are worse ways," I agreed.
And we smoked on.
It became very still. The men around us smoked and watched. None of them spoke. Jaime asked no more questions. My own tongue became dry. Something cold began to creep around my heart. Time seemed to drag, and yet to go all too fast.
I wanted to talk, but I could think of nothing to say. Never before had I been in such a position. Death is nothing, I told myself. But that slow silence, that unfeeling "business man" deliberately taking his time, that green pile ready to smoke my head in a few minutes more—those things gnawed at me.
Jaime's cigarro was smoked down to a butt before he moved. The quietness had become a cold horror. There seemed to be no animal noises in the night, and even the breathing of the men seemed to have stopped. Then Jaime dropped his burned-out roll of tobacco. His face stretched in a long yawn. Calmly he arose.
"I am sleepy," he said.
And he drew his machete.
"If you will bend over, León, and rest on your hands, it will be easier," he suggested. "A clean cut. I do not like ragged work."
I looked about me. No chance, no hope, was within reach. Jaime was raising the machete.
"Give me time to set my knees," I said.
I began to move my bad leg around. I drooped forward a little, but not enough for his swing. If I could brace my knees under me I meant to spring at him, to try to seize machete—revolver—anything—and fight till death. While I moved I kept my shoulders hunched, shortening my neck, giving no chance for the "clean cut" he wanted. I did not look up at him. I feared he would read my eye.
And then——
A harsh voice yelled. It was in the bush across the caño. Instantly flame spat from that bush.
Gunshots cracked my ears. Jaime staggered. Other men leaped and screamed. I jumped forward. Jaime fell over me. He stayed down.
The streaks of flame shot out again—again—again. The keen reports made a ragged rip that did not stop. The men of Jaime Pecoro jumped and yelled and fired and fell. The caño seemed bursting with noise.
I threw myself at Jaime, who lay still, a hole in his head. I wrenched out his revolver and emptied it at his men. And then there were no men. There was nothing but the blazing fires—sprawling bodies—another harsh yell—and sudden silence.
"Quién es?" I shouted, staring at that black bush.
A wild laugh screamed back at me. That same harsh voice tore across the water.
"Ha! ha! ha!" it yelled. "Dead men walking in the night! Dead men walking in the night! Poor murdered Indians with bows and arrows! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"