# The Thirty Gang/Chapter 10
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FOR a few minutes after reading that message from the Butcher I raved so that even my own men hastily got away from me. I could see those Indians of mine at Quencua writhing in flames, mutilated by the torturing knives of the Paco gang; and I was loco in truth.
The burning of my houses was nothing; they were palm structures which could easily be rebuilt. Even if all my concealed supplies had been found and looted, the loss was only that of goods. But that wicked work on my faithful muchachos made me burn to destroy the Butcher—and not to do it quickly, as the men of Yaracuma had destroyed Rodriguez, but poco á poco—bit by bit.
When I could again talk with sense, I told my men to make ready to travel at once. While they took down my hammock and made the other preparations I asked the newcomers—
"The people of the Uaychamo are safe?"
"We do not know. We left them days ago."
"Porqui? Why?"
"To find you and tell you. Then to tell El Blanco Negro."
"Black White? Why tell him? You are not his people."
They made no answer. They calmly picked up the abandoned pavas and began preparing to cook and eat them.
"And this is not the affair of Black White," I added. "It is the fight of Loco León, and Loco León pays his own debts. You will say nothing to Black White. You will return with me to your capitán."
They looked, at me and at one another, their mouths hardening.
"Do you hear me?" I snapped.
"We hear," said one.
"Then go to my curial. I will leave you at the Uaychamo when we pass. Vaya?"
One muttered something to the others. Carrying the birds, they walked away through the bush toward my canoe. I turned and growled at my men, who still were not ready. In a minute or two we followed the men of Yaracuma. But when we reached the boat they were not there.
"Aquí!" I yelled. "Here, you fools!"
"They are gone, capitán," one of my muchachos told me. "They will not come with us."
"Then let them go to the ——! Vamos!"
We shoved off and began struggling down through the rocks of the Tamara.
We traveled fast; so fast that we repeatedly bumped rocks in the raudales, which is not good treatment for even the stoutest curial. I was in 'a fever to reach my ravaged sitios and attack the whole Paco gang; and, though I knew that the distance from Tamara to Oso could, by hard paddling with the current, be covered in two days, I cursed because those two days were not two minutes. I feared that the Butcher would be gone when I arrived.
The men of Yaracuma had spent days in traveling to the Tamara. Probably Paco was already gone. I would get him, though, if I had to follow him to San Fernando and shoot him in Funes' own headquarters.
But then, as we surged away down the Ventuari itself, with both my Indians paddling fast and myself steering, I began to use my head. Was the Butcher likely to be satisfied with burning my houses and murdering a few Maquiritares? It was hardly probable. That would get him no pay at San Fernando. More than that, he now wanted my head on his own account, to avenge my ridicule of him on the Cunucunuma.
And, now that I thought of it, I saw a purpose in his work at Quencua and Oso. He probably had tried to torture from my Maquiritares some knowledge of where I was. The only thing they could tell him, if they would, was that I had gone up the river; for I myself never can be sure of what I shall do when I start into those hills—I make few plans, and often change those plans in a moment.
So then, not knowing where to look for me, he might have fired those houses in the hope that I should learn of it through Indians, just as I had done; and that I would do just what I now was doing—rush in rage to the place of his crimes.
The more I thought of it, the more I believed this was so. And if it was so, he now knew that his plan was succeeding: for he knew his message was gone from the stick he had left at Quencua. So he and his cutthroats would be waiting somewhere—perhaps at Oso, perhaps at Quencua, perhaps at both places—to get me when I plunged into their trap.
As for the question of how he had come to my place, that was simple enough. His message and the monkey showed that he had heard of the killing of Rodriguez and of my arrival on the Cunucunuma, and that he had gone there.
I did not believe he had followed us over the mountains. It was more likely that he had canoed back to the Ventuari, heard of the death of Bayona—which by then would be common gossip among all river-men and supposed it was I, not Black White, who led those avenging Maquiritares. So he had come up the Ventuari and found my sitios.
If he still waited for me, though, he might reasonably expect me to come with the same band of Maquiritares who had killed Bayona. Indeed, it seemed almost sure that he would expect this; for he himself always had a gang, he knew I was the friend of Maquiritares, and if he were in my place he would undoubtedly bring as many Indians as he could get. So he probably judged that I would do the same, and he would be alert.
With each of us seeking the blood of the other, the one who would live longest would be he who could trick his enemy.
His strength was in his gang and his guns. Mine was in the fact that I knew my ground much better than he did. Thinking further along the same line, I began to grin. A few minutes ago I had been telling myself that perhaps I should be a fool to go alone against Paco. Now I felt that it was not so foolish an idea. If it was foolish, then I would be a fool to the limit.
I would not even take these last two Maquiritares of mine with me. Worse yet, I would go to fight those gun-men without my rifle.
We traveled that day until darkness halted us, and at daybreak we were up and away. I had told my men I would go first to visit Yaracuma, and asked them whether they knew where he was to be found. One answered that he knew where Pepe had intended to lead the Cunucunuma men, and that he could guide me over the sabana to that spot.
So, when we drew near the Carlo Uaychamo, I looked for a hiding-place for the curial; found a little brook barely wide enough to hold it; slid the canoe in out of sight, tied it, covered it with bushes, and left it. Then we marched northwest, heading across the open land for the place where the new paragua might be.
My men thought, of course, that I meant to take the fighters of Yaracuma with me to Quencua, and I did not tell them of their mistake until we had reached the tribe-house. It was not at the exact place where Pepe had thought it ought to be made, but we had little trouble in finding it; for two armed men met us in the bush and led us to the right spot.
All was quiet there, but everyone was on the alert. While half of the men worked without noise at completing the house, the others scouted, watched for enemies, and hunted meat.
As soon as I arrived Yaracuma and every one else who was near gathered around me. I wasted no time in telling why I came. They knew.
"Where are those diablos who killed my men?" I asked.
"They are at Oso and Quencua," answered Yaracuma.
"Bueno! They wait for Loco León? They shall not wait long. You have many arrows?"
"Si."
"You have curare poison?"
"No."
"Como? No poison?"
"No. The poison we had is gone. We have not had time to trade for more."
I scowled. I knew well enough, of course, that the Maquiritares do not make that poison, though they use it on their blowgun darts for killing much of their meat. They trade for it with the Macos or the Piaroas. But I knew they had had some when they came from the Cunucunuma, and it had not occurred to me that none would be left now.
"That is bad," I grumbled. "I wanted gourds of that swift death for my arrows. I cannot wait until men are sent to the Piaroas for more."
Yaracuma looked puzzled. So did all the others.
"Yaracuma does not understand," said the capitán. "Loco León does not use arrows."
"Loco León will use arrows now!" I contradicted. "Listen to what I shall tell you.
"Yaracuma and his people thought I meant them to help me fight those evil men, is it not so? Yaracuma is wrong. This is not the fight of Yaracuma. It has nothing to do with Ramón Rodriguez and the Cunucunuma. It is true that if those men knew Yaracuma was here they would harm his people; but they do not know it, or they would have attacked before now. Those men strike at Loco León alone. Loco León will strike back alone.
"But Loco León is one man, and they are more than one."
"How many are they?"
"They are ten and seven."
"Seventeen? That is more than I thought. But it does not matter. It is all the more reason why I should use arrows. If Loco León, fighting alone, should use his gun, it would make much noise and a bright flash and blue smoke. So they would know where the gun was and would shoot their own guns at it, and soon Loco León would be dead. But the arrow flies with no noise. Now does Yaracuma understand?"
He stared as if he could not believe me. Men looked at one another. One of my own Maquiritares muttered—
"Es loco!"
"Are you just learning it, Frasco?" I laughed. "For what have I been called 'Loco' all these years? Crazy I may be, but I do what I say. I want no man with me. You and Gil both shall stay here."
They both scowled at that. But I gave them no more attention. Yaracuma was asking—
"Can Loco León shoot the bow?"
"Give me one and see," I said.
In my life among the Maquiritares I had amused myself more than once with their weapons, and, though I could not handle their long arrows as easily as if born to their use, I knew how to place them. Now a man standing near handed me his stiff bow and a long-headed tigre arrow. I picked a stump some distance away and drove the arrow at it. The missile struck at one side, gouged out bark, and stopped in the ground beyond.
"That is not a good shot," I said. "Yet if the stump were a man and the arrowhead carried curare, he would quickly die. I came here to ask Yaracuma to give me a good bow and many arrows and plenty of curare. I am sorry there is no poison. I want every arrow to kill."
Yaracuma thought. Men talked among themselves. I noticed that some of them looked at a thin, rather old man with bright, narrow eyes. Yaracuma also looked at that man.
"Loco León would kill his enemies with the poison," he said, as if thinking aloud.
"I would kill those enemies with poison," I corrected him. "Most men I would fight with lead and steel. But those fiends who tortured my poor muchachos with knife and fire, who for years have done every beastly crime known to men—the curare is too good for them! It does not hurt enough. If I knew of a worse thing I would use it. I would send those —— into —— with their master's torment already at work."
Faces grew grim, and more than one man nodded agreement. The capitán looked again at the narrow-eyed man, and that man looked back at him. Then Yaracuma said:
"If arrows are used those men will think it done by Indians. They will hunt for Indians and——"
"No!" I broke in. "When has Loco León hidden behind his friends? I shall mark every arrow so that those men will know it is Loco León who strikes them down. I want them to know it is Loco León, the man they hunt, who kills them and sneers at them. That is one more reason why I want arrows. They can read those arrows. They could not read bullets."
He smiled a little and walked to the thin man. The two went slowly away together, talking low. The others watched the pair, and a hum of Indian words passed among them. Something was coming, and the Maquiritares had guessed what it was.
Soon Yaracuma came back. The thin man disappeared around the paragua.
"Loco León shall have his wish," the capitán calmly told me. "Bows and arrows are here. Poison will be made."
"Curare?"
"No. We do not make the curare. But there is another poison. It is a very old poison of our race. It must be used only for killing enemies. On the day after tomorrow it shall be ready."
"It is as strong as the curare?"
"It is much worse. It is so bad that it has not been made among our people for many years. Loco León has said he wants a poison fit for devils. He shall have it."