eight men and boats go back to camp to other women and men. Then back to Macushi country. Understand?" At last Rosa spoke. "Macushi people no go with Pie-wie people." "I am not asking you to go with Pie-wie people. You and men take us as far as Pie-wies, then you go back to Macushi people. Understand?" Rosa raised her arm in an embracing circle which covered the camp and the road they had travelled and the broad savannahs behind them. "Macushi peoples there," she said. Then she raised the other arm and waved it down-stream towards the hidden country. "Pie-wie peoples there," she said. "Macushi peoples no go with Pie-wie peoples." "Now listen, Rosa. You are sensible woman. You lived two years with black gentleman, Mr. Forbes. You like cigarettes-" "Yes, give me cigarettes." "You come with men in boats, I give you plenty, plenty cigarettes." Rosa looked stolidly ahead of her and said nothing. "Listen. You will have your man and seven others to protect you. How can we talk with men without you?" "Men no go," said Rosa. "Of course the men will go. The only question is, will you come too?" "Macushi peoples no go with Pie-wie peoples," said Rosa. "Oh God," said Dr. Messinger Wearily. "All right we'll talk about it in the morning." "You give me cigarette..." "It's going to be awkward if that woman doesn't come." "It's going to be much more awkward if none of them come," said Tony. Next day the boats were ready. By noon they were launched and tied in to the bank. The Indians went silently about the business of preparing their dinner. Tony and Dr. Messinger ate tongue, boiled rice and some tinned peaches. "We're all right for stores," said Dr. Messinger. "There's enough for three weeks at the shortest and we are bound to come across the Pie-wies in a day or two. We will start tomorrow." The Indians' wages, in rifles, fish-hooks and rolls of cotton, had been left behind for them at their village. There were still half a dozen boxes of 'trade' for use during the later stages of the journey. A leg of bushpig was worth a handful of shot or twenty gun caps in that currency; a fat game bird cost a necklace. When dinner was over, at about one o'clock, Dr. Messinger called Rosa over to them. "We start tomorrow," he said. "Yes, just now." "Tell the men what I told you last night. Eight men to come in boats, others wait here. You come in boats. All these stores stay here. All these stores go in boats. You tell men that." Rosa said nothing. "Understand?" "No peoples go in boats," she said. "All peoples go this way," and she extended her arm towards the trail that they had lately followed. "Tomorrow or next day all people go back to village." There was a long pause; at last Dr. Messinger said, "You tell the men to come here... It's no use threatening them," he remarked to Tony when Rosa had waddled back to the fireside. "They are a queer, timid lot. If you threaten them they take fright and disappear leaving you stranded. Don't worry, I shall be able to persuade them." They could see Rosa talking at the fireside but none of the group moved. Presently, having delivered her message, she was silent and squatted down among them with the head of one of the women between her knees. She had been searching it for lice when Dr. Messinger's summons had interrupted her. "We'd better go across and talk to them." Some of the Indians were in hammocks. The others were squatting on their heels; they had scraped earth over the fire and extinguished it. They gazed at Tony and Dr. Messinger with slit, pig eyes. Only Rosa seemed incurious; her head was averted; all her attention went to her busy fingers as she picked and crunched the lice from her friend's hair. "What's the matter?" asked Dr. Messinger. "I told you to bring the men here." Rosa said nothing. "So Macushi people are cowards. They are afraid of Pie-wie people." "It's the cassava field," said Rosa. "We must go back to dig the cassava. Otherwise it will be bad." "Listen. I want the men for one, two weeks. No more. After that, all finish. They can go home." "It is the time to dig the cassava. Macushi people dig cassava before the big rains. All people go home just now." "It's pure blackmail," said Dr. Messinger. "Let's get out some trade goods." He and Tony together prised open one of the cases and began to spread out the contents on a blanket. They had chosen these things together at a cheap store in Oxford Street. The Indians watched the display in unbroken silence. There were bottles of scent and pills, bright celluloid combs set with glass jewels, mirrors, pocket knives with embossed aluminium handles, ribbons and necklaces and barter of more solid worth in the farm of axe-heads, brass cartridge cases and flat, red flasks of gunpowder. "You give me this," said Rosa picking out a pale blue rosette, that had been made as a boat-race favour. "Give me this," she repeated, rubbing some drops of scent into the palm of her hands and inhaling deeply. "Each man can choose three things from this box if he comes in the boats." But Rosa replied monotonously, "Macushi people dig cassava field just now." "It's no good," said Dr. Messinger after half an hour's fruitless negotiation. "We shall have to try with the mice. I wanted to keep them till we reached the Pie-wies. It's a pity. But they'll fall for the mice, you see. I know the Indian mind." These mice were comparatively expensive articles; they had cost three and sixpence each, and Tony remembered vividly the embarrassment with which he had witnessed their demonstration on the floor of the toy department. They were of German manufacture; the size of large rats but conspicuously painted in spots of green and white; they had large glass eyes, stiff whiskers and green and white ringed tails; they ran on hidden wheels, and inside them were little bells that jingled as they moved. Dr. Messinger took one out of their box, unwrapped the tissue paper and held it up to general scrutiny. There was no doubt that he had captured his audience's interest. Then he wound it up. The Indians stirred apprehensively at the sound. The ground where they were camping was hard mud, inundated at flood time. Dr. Messinger put the toy down at his feet and set it going; tinkling merrily it ran towards the group of Indians. For a moment Tony was afraid that it would turn over, or become stuck against a root but the mechanism was unimpaired and by good chance there was a clear course. The effect exceeded anything that he had expected. There was a loud intake of breath, a series of horrified, small grunts, a high wail of terror from the women, and a sudden stampede; a faint patter of bare brown feet among the fallen leaves, bare limbs, quiet as bats, pushed through the undergrowth, ragged cotton gowns caught and tore in the thorn bushes. Before the toy had run down, before it had jingled its way to the place where the nearest Indian had been squatting, the camp was empty. "Well I'm damned," said Dr. Messinger, "that's better than I expected." "More than you expected anyway." "Oh it's all right. They'll come back. I know them." But by sundown there was still no sign. Throughout the hot afternoon Tony and Dr. Messinger, shrouded from cabouri fly, sprawled in their hammocks. The empty canoes lay in the river; the mechanical mouse had been put away. At sundown Dr. Messinger said, "We'd better make a fire. They'll come back when it is dark." They brushed the earth away from the old embers, brought new wood and made a fire; they lit the storm lantern. "We'd better get some supper," said Tony. They boiled water and made some cocoa, opened a tin of salmon and finished the peaches that were left over from midday. They lit their pipes and drew the sheaths of mosquito netting across their hammocks. Most of this time they were silent. Presently they decided to go to sleep. "We shall find them all here in the morning," said Dr. Messinger. "They're an odd bunch." All round them the voices of the bush whistled and croaked, changing with the hours as the night wore on to morning. Dawn broke in London, clear and sweet, dove-grey and honey, with promise of good weather; the lamps in the streets paled and disappeared; the empty streets ran with water, and the rising sun caught it as it bubbled round the hydrants; the men in overalls swung the nozzles of their hoses from side to side and the water jetted and cascaded in a sparkle of light. "Let's have the window open," said Brenda. "It's stuffy in here." The waiter drew back the curtains, opened, the windows. "It's quite light," she added. "After five. Oughtn't we to go to bed." "Yes." "Only another week and then all the parties will be over," said Beaver. "Yes." "Well let's go." "All right. Can you pay? I just haven't any money." They had come on after the party, for breakfast at a club Daisy had opened. Beaver paid for the kippers and tea. "Eight shillings," he said. "How does Daisy expect to make a success of the place when she charges prices like that?" "It does seem a lot... So you really are going to America?" "I must. Mother has taken the tickets." "Nothing I've said tonight makes any difference?" "Darling, don't go on. We've been through all that. You know it's the only thing that can happen. Why spoil the last week?" "You have enjoyed the summer, haven't you." "Of course... well, shall we go?" "Yes. You needn't bother to see, me home." "Sure you don't mind? It is miles out of the way and it's late." "There's no knowing what I mind." "Brenda, darling, for heaven's sake... It isn't like you to go on like this." "I never was one for making myself expensive." The Indians returned during the night,. while Tony and Dr. Messinger were asleep; without a word spoken the little people crept out of hiding; the women had removed their clothes and left them at a distance so that no twig should betray their movements; their naked bodies moved soundlessly through the undergrowth; the glowing embers of the fire and the storm lantern twenty yards away were their only light; there was no moon. They collected their wicker baskets and their rations of farine, their bows and arrows, the gun and their broad-bladed knives; they rolled up their hammocks into compact cylinders. They took nothing with them that was not theirs. Then they crept back through the shadows, into the darkness. When Tony and Dr. Messinger awoke it was clear to them what had happened. "The situation is grave," said Dr. Messinger. "But not desperate."
Four
For four days Tony and Dr. Messinger paddled downstream. They sat, balancing themselves precariously, at the two ends of the canoe; between them they had piled the most essential of their stores; the remainder, with the other canoes, had been left at the camp, to be called for when they had recruited help from the Pie-wies. Even the minimum which Dr. Messinger had selected overweighted the craft so that it was dangerously low; and movement brought the water to the lip of the gunwale and threatened disaster; it was heavy to steer and they made slow progress, contenting themselves for the most part, with keeping end on, and drifting with the current. Twice they came to the stretches of cataract, and here they drew in to the bank, unloaded, and waded beside the boat, sometimes plunging waist deep, sometimes clambering over the rocks, guiding it by hand until they reached clear water again. Then they tied up to the bank and carried their cargo down to it through the bush. For the rest of the way the river was broad and smooth; a dark surface which reflected in fine detail the walls of forest on either. side, towering up from the undergrowth to their flowering crown a hundred or more feet above them. Sometimes they came to a stretch of water scattered with fallen petals and floated among them, moving scarcely less slowly than they, as though resting in a blossoming meadow. At night they spread their tarpaulin on stretches of dry beach, and hung their hammocks in the bush. Only the cabouri fly and rare, immobile alligators menaced the peace of their days. They kept a constant scrutiny of the banks but saw no sign of human life. Then Tony developed fever. It came on him quite suddenly, during the fourth afternoon. At their midday halt he was in complete health and had shot a small deer that came down to drink on the opposite bank; an hour later he was shivering so violently that he had to lay down his paddle; his head was flaming with heat, his body and limbs frigid; by sunset he was slightly delirious. Dr. Messinger took his temperature and found that it was a hundred and four degrees, Fahrenheit. He gave him twenty-five grains of quinine and lit a fire so close to his hammock that by morning it was singed and blacked with smoke. He told Tony to keep wrapped up in his blanket, but at intervals throughout that night he woke from sleep to find himself running with sweat; he was consumed with thirst and drank mug after mug of river water. Neither that evening nor next morning was he able to eat anything. But next morning his temperature was down again. He felt weak and exhausted but he was able to keep steady in his place and paddle a little. "It was just a passing attack, wasn't it?" he said. "I shall be perfectly fit tomorrow, shan't I?" "I hope so," said Dr. Messinger. At midday Tony drank some cocoa and ate a cupful of rice. "I feel grand," he said. "Good." That night the fever came on again. They were camping on a sand bank. Dr. Messinger heated stones and put them under Tony's feet and in the small of his back. He was awake most of the night fuelling the fire and refilling Tony's mug with water. At dawn Tony slept for an hour and woke feeling slightly better; he was taking frequent doses of quinine and his ears were filled with a muffled sound as though he were holding those shells to them in which, he had been told in childhood, one could hear the beat of the sea. "We've got to go on," said Dr., Messinger. "We can't be far from a village now." "I feel awful. Wouldn't it be better to wait a day till I am perfectly fit again." "It's no good waiting. We've got to get on. D'you think you can manage to get into the canoe?" Dr. Messinger knew that Tony was in for a long bout. For the first few hours of that day Tony lay limp in the bows. They had shifted the stores so that he could lie full length. Then the fever came on again and his teeth chattered. He sat up and crouched with his head in his knees, shaking all over; only his forehead and cheeks were burning hot under the noon sun. There was still no sign of a village. It was late in the afternoon when he first saw Brenda. For some time he had been staring intently at the odd shape amidships where the stores had been piled; then he realised that it was a human being. "So the Indians came back?" he said. "Yes." "I knew they would. Silly of them to be scared by a toy. I suppose the others are following." "Yes, I expect so. Try and sit still." "Damned fool, being frightened of a toy," Tony said derisively to the woman amidships. Then he saw that it was Brenda. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't see it was you. You wouldn't be frightened of a toy." But she did not answer him. She sat as she used often to sit when she came back from London, huddled over her bowl of bread and milk. Dr. Messinger steered the boat in to the side. They nearly capsized as he helped Tony out. Brenda got ashore without assistance. She stepped out in her delicate, competent way, keeping the balance of the boat. "That's what poise means," said Tony. "D'you know I once saw a questionnaire that people had to fill in when they applied for a job in an American firm, and one of the things they had to answer was 'Have you poise?' " Brenda was at the top of the bank waiting for him. "What was so absurd about the question was that they had only the applicant's word for it," he explained laboriously. "I mean-is it a sign of poise to think you have it." "Just sit quiet here while I sling your hammock." "Yes, I'll sit here with Brenda. I am so glad she could come. She must have caught the three-eighteen." She was with him all that night and all the next day. He talked to her ceaselessly but her replies were rare and enigmatic. On the succeeding evening he had another fit of sweating. Dr. Messinger kept a large fire burning by the hammock and wrapped Tony in his own blanket. An hour before dawn Tony fell asleep and when he awoke Brenda had gone. "You're down to normal again." "Thank God. I've been pretty ill, haven't I? I can't remember much." Dr. Messinger had made something of a camp. He had chopped a square clear of undergrowth, the size of a small room. Their two hammocks hung on opposite sides of it. The stores were all ashore, arranged in an orderly pile on the tarpaulin. "How d'you feel?" "Grand," said Tony, but when he got out of his hammock he found he could not stand without help. "Of course, I haven't eaten anything. I expect it will be a day or two before I'm really well." Dr. Messinger said nothing, but strained the tea clear of leaves by pouring it slowly from one mug into another; he stirred into it a large spoonful of condensed milk. "See if you can drink this." Tony drank it with pleasure and ate some biscuits. "Are we going on today?" he asked. "We'll think about it." He took the mugs down to the bank and washed them in the river. When he came back he said; "I think I'd better explain things. It's no use your thinking you are cured because you are out of fever for one day. That's the way it goes. One day fever and one day normal. It may take a week or it may take much longer. That's a thing we've got to face. I can't risk taking you in the canoe. You nearly upset us several times the day before yesterday." "I thought there was someone there I knew." "You thought a lot of things. It'll go on like that. Meanwhile we've provisions for about ten days. There's no immediate anxiety there but it's a thing to remember. Besides what you need is a roof over your head and constant nursing. If only we were at a village..." I'm afraid I'm being a great nuisance." "That's not the point. The thing is to find what is best for us to do." But Tony felt too tired to think; he dozed for an hour or so. When he awoke Dr. Messinger was cutting back the bush further. "I'm going to fix up the tarpaulin as a roof." (He had marked this place on his map Temporary Emergency Base Camp.) Tony watched him listlessly. Presently he said, "Look here, why don't you leave me here and go down the river for help?" "I thought of that. It's too big a risk." That afternoon Brenda was back at Tony's side and he was shivering and tossing in his hammock. When he was next able to observe things, Tony noted that there was a tarpaulin over his head, slung to the tree-trunks. He asked, "How long have we been here?" "Only three days." "What time is it now?" "Getting on for ten in the morning." "I feel awful." Dr. Messinger gave him some soup. "I am going downstream for the day," he said, "to see if there's any sign of a village. I hate leaving you but it's a chance worth taking. I shall be able to get a long way in the canoe now it's empty. Lie quiet. Don't move from the hammock. I shall be back before night. I hope with some Indians to help." "All right," said Tony and fell asleep. Dr. Messinger went down to the river's edge and untied the canoe; he brought with him a rifle, a drinking cup and a day's provisions. He sat in the stern and pushed out from the bank; the current carried the bow down and in a few strokes of the paddle he was in midstream. The sun was high and its reflection in the water dazzled and scorched him; he paddled on with regular, leisurely strokes; he was travelling fast. For a mile's stretch the river narrowed and the water raced so that all he had to do was to trail the blade of the paddle as a rudder; then the walls of forest on either side of him fell back and he drifted into a great open lake, where he had to work heavily to keep in motion; all the time he watched keenly to right and left for the column of smoke, the thatched domes, the sly brown figure in the undergrowth, the drinking cattle, that would disclose the village he sought. But there was no sign. In the open water he took up his field glasses and studied the whole wooded margin. But there was no sign. Later the river narrowed once more and the canoe shot forward in the swift current. Ahead of him the surface was broken by rapids; the smooth water seethed and eddied; a low monotone warned him that beyond the rapids was a fall. Dr. Messinger began to steer for the bank. The current was running strongly and he exerted his full strength; ten yards from the beginning of this rapids his bow ran in under the bank. There was a dense growth of thorn here, overhanging the river; the canoe slid under them and bit into the beach; very cautiously Dr. Messinger knelt forward in his place and stretched up to a bough over his head. It was at that moment he came to grief; the stern swung out downstream and as he snatched at the paddle the craft was swept broadside into the troubled water; there it adopted an eccentric course, spinning and tumbling to the falls. Dr. Messinger was tipped into the water; it was quite shallow in places and he caught at the rocks but they were worn smooth as ivory and afforded no hold for his hands; he rolled over twice, found himself in deep water and attempted to swim, found himself among boulders again and attempted to grapple with them. Then he reached the falls. They were unspectacular as falls in that country go-a drop of ten feet or less-but they were enough for Dr. Messinger. At their foot the foam subsided into a great pool, almost still, and strewn with blossoms from the forest trees that encircled it. Dr. Messinger's hat floated very slowly towards the Amazon and the water closed over his bald head. Brenda went to see the family solicitors. "Mr. Graceful," she said, "I've got to have some more money." Mr. Graceful looked at her sadly. "I should have thought that was really a question for your bank manager. I understand that your securities are to your own name and that the dividends are paid into your account." "They never seem to pay dividends nowadays. Besides it's really very difficult to live on so little." "No doubt. No doubt." "Mr. Last left you with power of attorney, didn't he?" "With strictly limited powers, Lady Brenda. I am instructed to pay the wage bill at Hetton and all expenses connected with the upkeep of the estate-he is putting in new bathrooms and restoring some decorations in the morning room which had been demolished. But I am afraid that I have no authority to draw on Mr. Last's account for other charges." "But, Mr. Graceful, I am sure he didn't intend to stay abroad so long. He can't possibly have meant to leave me stranded like this, can he?... Can he?" Mr. Graceful paused and fidgeted a little. "To be quite frank, Lady Brenda, I fear that was his intention. I raised this particular point shortly before his departure. He was quite resolved on the subject." "But is he allowed to do that? I mean haven't I got any rights under the marriage settlement or anything?" "Nothing which you can claim without application to the Courts. You might find solicitors who would advise you to take action. I cannot say that I should be one of them. Mr. Last would oppose any such order to the utmost and I think that, in the present circumstances, the Courts would undoubtedly find for him. In any case it would be a prolonged, costly and slightly undignified proceeding." "Oh, I see... well, that's that, isn't it?" "It certainly looks as though it were." Brenda rose to go. It was high summer and through the open windows she could see the sun-bathed gardens of Lincoln's Inn. "There's one thing. Do you know, I mean, can you tell me whether Mr. Last made another will?" "I'm afraid that is a thing I cannot discuss." "No, I suppose not. I'm sorry if it was wrong to ask. I just wanted to know how I am with him." She still stood between the door and the table looking lost, in her bright summer clothes. "Perhaps I can say as much as this to guide you. The heirs presumptive to Hetton are now his cousins, the Richard Lasts at Princes Risborough. I think that your knowledge of Mr. Last's character and opinions will tell you that he would always wish his fortune to go with the estate, in order that it may be preserved in what he holds to be its right condition." "Yes," said Brenda, "I ought to have thought of that. Well, goodbye." And she went out alone into the sunshine. All that day Tony lay alone, fitfully oblivious of the passage of time. He slept a little; once or twice he left his hammock and found himself weak and dizzy. He tried to eat some of the food which Dr. Messinger had left out for him, but without success. It was not until it grew dark that he realised the day was over. He lit the lantern and began to collect wood for the fire, but the sticks kept slipping from his fingers and each time that he stooped he felt giddy, so that after a few fretful efforts he left them where they had fallen and returned to his hammock. And lying there, wrapped in his blanket, he began to cry. After some hours of darkness the lamp began to burn low; he leant painfully over, and shook it. It needed refilling. He knew where the oil was kept, crept to it, supporting himself first on the hammock rope and then on a pile of boxes. He found the keg, pulled