It snakes and courses through the mighty Braziallan rainforest, a splendid serpent of gray-blue, giving living to the teeming jungle. Along its banks are told many strange legends—of lost kingdoms deep in the jungle, of a hidden realm where primitive monsters roamed and ranged, of a forg. tten race of powerful blonde warrior-goddesses, that to the many scattered tribes are a legend of terror. And many, many others. This is a tale of one such legend. It is called……
The white man ran and ran. The jungle night seemed endless, and black as the depths of eternity. Eerie night calls sounded all about him—the calls of the howler monkeys raged throughout the treetops, though these were less numerous than in the daytime, the weird cries of night birds, the distant scream of a puma or the deep throaty rumble of that lord of the Amazon, the mighty jaguar.
Thorns and vines scraped the man’s arms and legs. His clothes were now in tatters. Clouds of hostile insects stung him. But on he ran, sweat oozing out of every pore.
At last, when the rosey fingers of a new dawn began to color the sky over the leafy canopy, and the first rays of the new sun shot through the emerald aisles, the man stumbled into a clearing. It turned out it was a compound of some sort. The man looked up and gasped with relief, for he knew then that he had at last reached the nearest outpost of civilization. Where he was, he did not know, could not even guess. But in his situation, it hardly mattered.
He stumbled to the door of the compound. There was a jeep parked nearby. From its insigna, the man noted that it was a ranger vehicle. This must be a ranger station—or maybe a veterinary hospital. The man’s approach set off a chorus from the caged birds nearby—toucans, quetzals, carasous, mawcaws, cocks-of –the-rock, and others. Then he saw the cats—caged pumas and jaguars, and an ocelot, pacing angerly behind wire mesh. All of the caged carnivores wore red or blue tags. Surely, this must be a conservation building, or something of the sort.
The man banged loudly on the door. “Open up!” he cried. “Help me! Help me!” His voice came out hoarse, crack, and barely audible, though he was shouting at the top of his lungs.
The door opened as the man fell weakly to his knees. A man in a kacky uniform stood in the door. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Just take me in!” the man begged.
The man—a ranger or a conservation officer by the look of him—hauled the other man into the building and laif him out on a couch. “Take it easy,” he said. “I’m Dr. Ben Cooper, and this is my animal hospital. I mostly treat animals, but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll need to run some blood tsts. You look like you might have a fever.”
Dr. Cooper drew blood from the man’s arm. He then ran some tests in the lanoratory, while the man fell into a deep sleep on the couch. The tests showed, unfortunately, that the man had indeed, picked up one of the local viruses, but it was a comparatetively mild strain, one he should recover from in about a week of rest. Who was this man? Where had he come from? The doctor wanted to know. He was definately a white man, not a red or Hispanic, and from his clothes, the doctor gathered that he might be an American. What he had was doing lost in the jungle he couldn’t say.
After nearly a week of bed rest, the man had almost recovered. The fever had run its course, but still, the doctor told him to remain where he was. In that time, he had managed to learn a great deal about the man, and why he was here. And one evening, a week later, three strangers entered the compound.
Dr. Cooper led them to the man’s bedside. The traveler was still sleeping, when Dr. Cooper roused him, and told him that they had guests.
The man wearily opened his eyes. At first, he coulnd’t quite credit what they were telling him.
Just a few feet from him stood a beautiful blonde girl,either in her late teens or early twenties. She as strikingly attractive in her features and porprtions, which were accentuated by the tight animal skin she wore. Her silky mane of hair was a startling white-blond, and her almond-shaped eyes
Sparkled a sharp mint green. There was some kind of odd necklass about her slender throat, banded red and black, possibly of native design. The small, gray animal was riding the girl’s rounded shoulder.
The man blinked and sat up. “Whoa! Lady, are you really there, or have I died and gone to heaven?”
“Take it easy.” Said Ben. “You’re still sick.”
“Yeah, right. But—“
“Don’t worry.” The girl laughed. “I’m just as real as you are. My name is Jana—Jana of the Jungle. This are my friends Montaro and Ghost.” The small animal on the girl’s shouldered chirruped loudly, as though in annoyance. The man got a closer look at the girl’s small companion, saw for the first time that it was a yapok, or water possum, a small aquatic marsupial.
“Oh, yes, and this is Tiko.” The girl said. “I wouldn’t want to forget her.”
Montarro was the tall man standing by Jana’s side. The traveler saw that he was a red man, from his regal headgear and garb he guessed he might be a chief, or some high ranking official in one of the local tribes, only he couldn’t recognize what tribe he was from.
A loud “Hrrrumph!” caused the man to look down. He gasped loudly, and nearly jumped back on the bed. A huge cat stood at the jungle girl’s feet. From its size and porprtions, it could only be a jaguar, but it was like no other jaguar the man had ever seen, for its coat bore not the gaudy rosette pattern of the common jaguar, nor the glossy midnight sheen of its melanistic counterpart, but was the glistening white of polished ivory. Not the yellow-hued ivory, but ivory that was near white as polar snow. The big cat’s eyes blazed with the fire of emeralds, as a rumble escaped from his deep chest.
“My god!” the man cried. “A white jaguar! Is—is it real?”
“Real as anything.” Dr. Ben Cooper laughed.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Well, white jaguars that aren’t albinos do exist. There’s record of them. But they’re very rare, as you might guess. Much rarer than the black ones that are actually quite common.”
“I found Ghost in a hunter’s trap when he was just a cub.” Jana explained. “And I rasied him to adulthood. I wasn’t about to let him be exploited.”
“Well, that’s a most impressive cat, you’ve got there, girl, I must say. But what about about you?”
“When I was a child, I was on a trip down the Amazon with my father, when there was an accident. We were thrown overboard, and I would have drowned if Montaro hadn’t rescued me. He is the last member of his tribe, and he was living alone with the animals of the jungle. His tribe is an ancient one, and remembers the days when men and beasts could communicate. They still practiced the ancient magic that was put into this land in times too far gone for any save his people to remember. He showed me the ways of nature, and I grew up with the animals of the jungle. They are like family to us. I spent years trying to find my father, but we never succeeded.”
The man rasied an eyebrow skeptically. “Magic? Come one now, girl, I’m not that gullible.”
“Then you may be surprised what the Staff of Power is capable of.” Montaro said, speaking for the first time. He lifted a long staff that looked rather liked a ceremonial spear. “The Shamans who made it channeled the elemental powers of earth, wind and fire into it. The Staff is nearly a thousand years old. I received the Staff from my father when I became chief, and he from his father, he from his, back once thousand years, when the magic of this land was waning, and the shamans found a way to preserve it by creating this staff. Only one of my bloodline my safely wield it, thoug, so take caution.”
The man looked at the staff unbelievingly for several long moments, then said uneasily, “Okay, okay if you say so. I’m the stranger here after all. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet. My name is Tom Richardson. It’s quite a coincidence that you’re looking for your father, Jana. I happen to be looking for my son.”
“Your son?”
“Yes. Let’s see. Where should I begin? It happened three years ago, when I was taking a plane over a remote region of the Amazon with my wife and twelve-year-old son Todd. We were over the mountains of the Ricardo Franco chain, I believe, when our plane crashed. I told Todd to grab one of the emergency parachutes and save himself. He jumped out and parachuted to safety—at least I hope he landed safely. The plane crashed some long miles South of the region we were over when Todd bailed out. We survived, thanks to the thick canopy of trees we landed in. But it was weeks before we saw any sign of civilization. That place is filled with jaguars, giant snakes, and hostile Indian tribes. But we never saw Todd again. I spent months in a hospital in Rio recuperating. When I had enough of my strength back, I insisted on going back into that accursed jungle and looking for him. But my wife and coworkers persuaded me to get an expedition together, which we did, soon as I could. And for two whole years we spent exploring that region, but we never found a trace of him. There was no sign of where he had landed, no trace of his parachute, and thank God, no bones. None of the local tribes knew anything of his possible whereabouts. But we still hadn’t penetrated far enough yet. As far as I know the spot we were over when Todd bailed out is still inaccessible to us. “
“You mean the Madaharra region?” Jana inquired.
“Ah.” Said Montaro. “It is indeed a place of terrible danger, Jana.”
“Yes, I know.” Jana said. “The Mandahara are a terrible tribe. Shunned by most other people of the Amazon., because of their cannibalistic ways.”
“That’s true.” Said Tom Richardson. “But that wasn’t half our problem. The exact spot our plane was over when Todd parachuted is in a region even the Mandahara won’t go near. It is place out of tribal legend, that part of the Ricardo Franco chain called the Mountains of the Mist by the locals.”
Montaro and Jana each looked at each other. “Uh. It is indeed a strange and mysterious place, Jana. And one surrounded by untold danger. We dare not go there.”
“We may have to, Montaro.” said Jana. “if the life of this man’s son is in danger.”
“I’m not going to get you involved.” Said Tom Richardson. “it’s something I need to do myself. I’m the only one who returned from our last expedition. The rest were either killed or captured. I don’t want to endanger any more people. But I’ve got to go myself, until I find out what happened to my son.”
“We’ll go with you.” Said Jana. “But what happened to your men? Who captured them? The Manaharra?”
“No.” Tom Richardson said. “That’s the strange part. We had penetrated further into the interior than we ever had before. We had with us a native guide, one of the few who was fairly familiar with the regions. He agreed to guide us to the Mountains of the Mists. It is that region of mountains with high cliffs. They are not high enough to be snow peaked. But sides of those are so incredibly sheer and smooth, that scaling them is impossible. But this man said he knew a secret passage into them. I had my doubts, but he even drew us a map showing where it was located. I even still have it with me.”
Richardson produced the rolled up map form his pocket, and handed it to Jana. Jana looked it over. Indeed it was a map of the remote region, with the villages of the Mandaharra, mapped out. It showed the Mountains of the Mist, and the their extent. Richardson had marked on the map where he thought his son had parachuted. And there was another mark where the pass through the cliffs was supposed to be.
“We were over that area where Todd would have to have landed. “ Richardson explained. I remember that when directly over the mountains, we could not see anything below. Everything was veiled in thick mist. That’s how the mountains got their name.”
“I’ve heard of those mountains,” said Jana. “But no one has ever gotten close to them. Even the tribes of that region stay away. But they have their legends….”
“Yes.” Said Montaro. “I have heard them. They tell of a place beyond the high cliffs where primitive monsters roam, and strange tribes who are unlike other men.”
“Yes, I know.” Ben Cooper said laughingly. “It was those selfsame cliffs that gave Sir Arthur Conan Doyle the idea for his “Lost World” novel. I’ve never put much stock in those stories myself. But apparently some people have.”
“Right.” Agreed Richardson. “He got the idea from the famed explorer Colonel Percy Fawcett, who believed they were the sight of a lost world, where lost cites from the time of Atlantis might still thrive, and strange beasts like dinosaurs might still live. Fawcett went on several expeditons into the heart of the Matto Grosso region, until he and his men mysteriously vanished in 1925.
“Yes, that’s right.” Said Ben. “He had been near those mountains, and was about to take his most dangerous plunge yet into that unknown country. Fawcett must have thought he knew where those lost cities or dinosaurs were, because he sent a message to his wife saying that he had found what he was looking for.”
“And then Fawcett and his men vanished.” Richardson finished. “Every last one of them. There were rumors, of course. Some reports claimed he was alive, and ruling a tribe of cannibals somewhere. Others said he had been killed, and one explorer claimed to have seen Fawcett’s shrunken head on a chief’s hut. I once suggested to one of my own party that maybe Fawcett ended up eaten by one of those dinosaurs he was searching for. “ he laughed weakly. “The native trackers among us, all of whom knew the region better than any of us whites, didn’t seem to share the humor. I guess it is a rather tasteless joke, given the circumstances.”
“Well, I don’t believe in lost cites or dinosaurs.” Said Ben. “But I do believe that your son may well be alive in the Mato Grosso area. I doubt he’s anywhere near the Ricardo Franco Mountains though. The winds probably blew him south toward the jungle. It could be he was adapted by one of the tribes. There have been cases of white children adopted by the Indians, you know.”
“Todd was a pretty tough kid.” Richardson said. “I think he is capable of surviving. I just hope I can find him.”
“About not believing in those lost cities, Ben,” Jana said. “Howcan you be sure? There are legends of lost cities all over South America. Some of them are true, as you and I both know.” She thought of the lost city of the Gorgas, a native civilization, and Alkan, the forgotten Aztec colony in the heart of Brazil, once presided over by a white-skinned god Quetzalcoatl Jana had once mistaken for her father, and the city of the Amazons, tall, white-skinned warriors of Greek descent. And there were stranger secrets still in the heart of the vastness, such as the forbidden land of the Katuchi, a tribe of giant hairy warriors.
The tales that had lured Col. Fawcett to his mysterious end were no stranger, no less steeped in mystery to the outside world, than were these.
“Well,” said Ben “tell us what happened next. Who captured your men?”
“If you have trouble believing in legends,” said Richardson,”Then you may find what I’m about to tell you hard to swallow.”
“Go on.” Ben said.
“It was on the third week of the expedition. Already, we were deep within the Matro Grosso region, further than any white man had before ventured, except perhaps Col. Fawcett himself. We had not yet reached the Mountains of the Mist. Our head native guide told us that before we reached the foot of those fabled cliffs, we were to pass through a mysterious land called the Vale of Hidden Men.”
“Vale of Hidden Men.” Murmured Ben Cooper thoughtfully. “Seems I’ve heard of that before.”
“I have heard of it.” Said Montaro. “My tribal elders knew well of that land. They called it a place of bad spirits.”
“That’s what my native guides said. They feared to enter it, or even go near it boundaries, far more than they feared the Mountains of the Mist. They said spirits inhabited that place—evil spirits who once were flesh-and=blood mortals, but whom the gods had cursed to dwell in that country forever. They said they could recognize these spirits because their bodies were of metal flashed like the sun.
“Go on.” Said Ben.
Richardson sighed. “Well, mostly I try to respect tribal superstition. But I didn’t want to turn back now, since I was feeling confident I was really close to finding Todd. There were other ways around the Vale, as they kept calling it, but all of them were inhabited by the Mandahara, or by other equally hostile tribes. Finally, we reached an agreement. They would not lead my directly through the vale, but there was a way to circle around the borders. They hated doing that, and told me so, but I kept pressing, and at last they agreed. The place they called the vale turned out to be a series of vast, perpendicular cliffs—not nearly so huge as those that gird the Mountains where we were headed, but awesome, nonetheless. I assumed they were a crater of what must have at one time have been an active volcanoe. As we circumscribed them, we noticed there were a number of cracks and fissures in the sides of the cliffs. Most looked natural, but some looked at least partially man-made. We figured at least some of them might lead deep within the cliffs, and if I weren’t headed elsewhere, they might well be of interest to the archeologist or explorer. Maybe some mysterious lost tribe or race did inhabit the crater.
“But like I said, my own business lay in the Mist region of the Ricardo Franco chain, still many miles distant. And for the first two days circumscribing the Vale, nothing befell our party, except for the usual insects, leeches, and the vampire bats which plagued us when we slept. On the third day, however…..” he paused.
“On the third day, what?” Jana pressed.
“It was around noon. We had stopped for a brief rest, and were now continuing around the west die of the wall, when we were attacked. We readied our rifles, as the sounds of a large party of men reached our ears. We were astonished to find that the men that emerged from the jungle were not Indians, though some of their number looked as though they had a trace of Indian blood in them. They were incontestably white men. But the most amazing thing about them was that they were wearing armor.”
“Armor?” asked Ben “Are sure you and your men didn’t have too much to drink? No offense.”
“We had no alcohol with us.” Richardson replied sternly. “These men were wearing steel-plate armor. And helmets. They carried iron shields with a scarlet eagle emblem on them. Some of them also carried swords, for the love of God. Others carried steel-shafted spears. It was as though a time portal had been thrown open, warriors of another age had stepped through. I rembered what my guides had warned me of, of men whose bodies flashed like the sun.They reminded me vaguely of pictures I’d seen of the early Roman empire, but they weren’t entirely the same. Their armor and helmets were somewhat different in design, and if they had counterparts anywhere in the ancient world, I couldn’t place them. Not that I cared, at the moment. My men were at a loss. For a moment we just stood staring at these warriors from another time who had materialized out of the jungle before us. For an instant, they did the same, as though they were astonished to see us. Then one of them gave an order—I suppose he was their captain or something. They surged foreward, obviously meaning to attack. My men opened fire. Our bullets grazed harmlessly off their amrmored uniform, though one or two of them fell, so we must have found a vulnerable spot on two of them. But at least four of us got skewered on those long spears. Then we broke and scattered. They hunted us down. It became apparent, now that I think about it, that they weren’t trying to kill us, so long as we didn’t try to kill them. Their purpose was to capture, but for what purpose I can’t guess. There were far more of them behind those trees then we had first supposed, perhaps dozens. A small army. They had us far outnumbered. They chased us down, and we were foced to hide in the jungle. My companions, the ones I know about, were captured. There are a few that I hope made it back to civilization, or back to their native tribes. But as far as I know, I’m the only one who actually made it back this far. For days I wandered in the region. I might have continued on, in the hope of somehow finding my son, but I lost all sense of direction. Finally, I made it to your hospital. But I’m determined to go back, once I recover, and get some supplies—even if I must go alone.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to.” Said Jana. “Ghost and I will go with
you, and be your guard. You will go too, won’t you Montaro?”
“Perhaps.” Montaro
answered. “But I would like a word with you first, Jana.” He turned and walked
out of the room. Jana followed, as Ghost sat down next to the hospital bed, and
absently licked Tom Richarson’s arm. Richardson
winced at the sand=paper feel of the cat’s fibers. “We’ll see to it, that you
find you missing son.” Ben assured him.
In the other room, Montaro said to Jana. “Like you, I wish to help this man. But are you certain, Jana, that we can trust him?”
“Is there any reason not to?” Jana asked.
“Remember the time that couple claimed to have been looking for their missing son? We escoted them to the hidden city of the Gorgas, only to learn that it was the Gorgas’ golden sun-god they were after all along. And hear is another man claiming to be searching for his missing child.”
“Hmmmmm. You do have a point Montaro. Do you know of any hidden treasure in the Matto Grosso region?”
“None that I know of. But there are many legends of lost cities, just as the man has told us. And where there are lost cities, treasure is always a possibility. And I know that he lost Colonel Fawcett of whom he speaks once lived with a tribe called the Tapuyas, who he reported as fair-skinned with light or auburn hair, unlike other tribes. They are also reported to be skilled at working gold and jewelry. Perhaps the Tapuys are related to the tribe who captured Richardsopn’s men. And perhaps their jewel and gold working skills have more reason for his being here than his story of a missing son.”
That may be Montaro. I do not wish to make the same mistake twice. But suppose his son realy is missing.”
“Uh. Then we would be doing the man a great dishonor in not trusting him.”
“Exactly.” Said Jana. “Let’s escort him to the Ricardo Franco chain as far as we can. And this time, we’ll watch out for any signs of treachery.”
“That we must, Jana. I do not like to say it, but all strangers do not come to the jungle in peace. We knew well of the golden god of the Gorgas, and those thieves’ habit of gold collecting, yet we allowed their lies to lead us there anyway. This time, we must make sure nothing like that happens.”
When they reentered the room, Tom Richardson was already back on his feet. “I hope you’ve decided to help me?” he asked.
“We have.” said Montaro. “We cannot allow you to do this on your own. But do not leave our sight during the track to the Mountains of the Mist. The jungle holds too many dangers.”
The next day they gathered their provisions, and went forward on foot to a nearby trading post, on the banks of the Rio Teles. There, Ben Cooper rented a steamboat, and they traveled South in the direction of the Brazilian-Bolivian border, separated with hundreds of miles of dense dark rainforest, some of which no outsider had ever set foot. The shores of the great river teemed with water birds, including flamingos, cranes, and flocks of vivid scarlet ibis. There were droves of capybaras peccaries frequenting the shores, and the occasional tapir and brocket deer. As the river wound its way deeper and deeper into the unexplored realm, they sighted caimans sunning themselves on the river banks, and the larger, more savage Oronoco crocodile.
“Any chance of those things getting us, Jana?” Paul Richardson asked.
“Not as long as we respect them, and do not jump overboard when they are hungry.”
“Then remind me to stay out of their way.” He laughed.
They had not gone much further, however, when Jana’s assurances were put to the test. The boat struck a protruding rock. The entire boat shook, though the jar was slight compared to the one that had separated Jana from her father. But it was enough to knock paul Richardson off the the deck and into the now turbulent water. Jana and Montaro were not certain what had casued this—perhaps the man had just been leaning over too far, and in his still weakened condition when they had hit. Not that that mattered now. The man was splashing asn yeeling to be rescued.
“Richardson is overboard, Jana.” Montaro said. “I shall use my staff—or perhaps Ghost can jump in and save him.”
“I will use my neckless,” said Jana. She unfastened the neckless and tossed it at a large, overhanging branch. The neckless sawed through the branch, causing it to crash into the water.
“Thanks, Jana.” Richardson gasped as he splashed for it. The necklass circled through the air to saor back over the boatt. Ghost, who was lying on the deck with Tiko sprang up and seized it in his jaws and retrieved it for Jana.
But then they all noticed something else. A long, sinister shape was gliding through the turgid water in the direction of the flailing explorer. At first, Jana thought it must be one of the great crocodiles that frequented the river, or perhaps a large jackery, but soon she recognized the shape for what it was. And it was overtaking Richardson fast. Even it he reached the branch, it might easily have him.
“It is a giant anaconda.” Said Montaro. “Richardson may be done for.”
“Not if I can help it.” Said Jana. The jungle girl ran to the edge of the rail. She could not leap in and save Richardson in time. But she knew there was something she could do. She raised her head to the sky and voiced her weird call—the call that was known to all jungle animals since the days when men and beasts spoke the same tongue.
Ghost bounded to her side. The great ivory cat snarled down at the water, voicing a feline’s natural revulsion of all things reptilian.
“No, Ghost!” said Jana, stroking the cat’s neck and shoulders. “Stay.” She sensed the cat was about to plunge into the turgid water to do battle with the giant snake. Jaguars being one of the few cats who were at home in the water, he might have been able to overwhelm the mighty reptile. But anacondas were even more at home in the water, and it was possible even a cat as huge and fierce as Ghost would hav ebeen bested, and Jana did not want to lose him. Besides, if she could communicate with the serpent, then perhaps no animals blood would have to be shed, and that was the way Jana wanted it, if at all possible.
She agains voiced her cry, and she saw that the giant river serpent was responding. The great swimming reptile bypassed the floundering Richardson, just as the man was able to reach the safety of the log. The snake undulated toward the side of the boat, and the great triangular head lifted out of the water, surmounted on several feet of glistening neck.
“Slithor!” Jana addressed the mammoth water boa. “Listen to me, Slithor! You will hunt elsewhere for your meal. But I need your help! I want you to help that man. Breing that man to me, Slithor!”
The anaconda flashed around in a tremendous arch. Richardson gasped in horror as what looked like 32 feet of glistening coils undulating back through the water toward him.
“Do not swim away, Richardson!” Jana called. “He will help you.”
Richardson looked on the bring of panicing anyhow, but even as he gasped in fright and revulsion, the monster’s gleaming coils rose out of the water beneath his arms. He realized the animal was not treating him like a potential meal, so he clung to the beast, as Jana had instructed. The anaconda bore him back to the baot where Jana and Montaro pulled him aboard.
“My thanks, Slithor.” called Jana, as the mighty river serpent undulated away.
“My thanks to you, Jana.” Gasped Richardson.“You…..you really comunicated with that snake. I’d never have believed it!”
“ Can communicate with all animals—even the insects respond to the ancient tongue.”
“I’m certainly grateful that you can.” Richardson said.
“Good.” Said Montaro. “See that you don’t fall overboard again. The river holds many other dangers besides the giant snake. There are the crocodiles we have seen. And the piranha.”
“We will be traveling into piranha infested water very shortly.” Jana said. “So be cauntioned.”
“Then I certainly hope your “magic” or whatever you call it, works on fish.”
“Piranha attacks on large mammals are actaully quite rare,” Jana informed him. “but there are several areas coming up where large schools congregate. Anything in the water may be a target.”
They traveled further downriver where the dangerous fish lived. Once they passed a savage school of piranha, which leaped and savagely clicked their steel-trap jaws at the sides of the boat, but nothing else happened.
As evening drew near, they went ashore and made camp. Manuel Pedarez, the boat captian turn the boat around and sailed back the way they had come. They told him to meet them here, on this exact spot, at the end of next week.
As the fire blazed, casting eerie shapes dancing against the thick boles of tree trunks. They sat around in a semicircle. Jana lay against Ghost, who was stretched and relaxed, the light of the fire shimmering of his brilliant alabaster coat. Jana sratched him behind his ears, and the jaguar responded with a purring rumble deep witin his throat. Tiko lay nestled within Ghost’s paws, the little yapok having nothing to fear from the mighty jaguar.
Before they had gathered wood for the fire, Ghost had gone hunting into the surrounding jungle, where he captured a squealing white-lipped pecary in a battle royal that left a jagged scar rent by one savage tusk in the peccary last draw in defending his life. The peccary now was skewered on the spit, having been skinned and eviscerated by the humans. Dr. Cooper had treated the wound the jaguar’s kill had inflicted with the antiseptic he had brought with him. Ghost had winced and growled but he knew Ben Cooper, and he allowed the veternarian to treat him.
“That pork looks mighty good.” Richardson comented. “But does it trouble you for us to eat one of your animals friends.” He asked Jana.
“Sometimes.” Jana admitted. “I usually try to limit myself to fruit, or at least fish. But I know that Ghost must eat meat, and he often can’t resist showing me his prowness as a hunter.”
“Like a regular housecat bringing home a captured mouse.” Said Ben.
“I guess so.” Said Jana. “Remebr let’s not let any of this meat go to waste.”
“I’m with you on that.” Said Richardson. They cut slices of meat from the slain peccary, and ate. As they were finishing up their meal, they got to talking about the earlier encounter with the anaconda.
“That was some snake,” Rciharson said. “Almost had me too, before you talked him out of it.”
“I’m glad I was there.” Jana laughed. “But there are stranger legends in these parts about sankes growing even biogger than that monster.”
Richardson raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, I might have heard of one of them myself—about the explorers who come to a gigantic wall in the jungle. It’s too high to climb so they try to circle around it. When they finally reach the end two or three days later they find the gigantic head of giant serpent.”
“A native superstition.” Montaro said.
“I’m well aware of that.” Said Richardson.
“But one based in fact. Many are the legends of giant serpents among the Amazon tribes. Especailly in this region.”
“And what exactly are some of them?” Richardson asked.
“Well, I’ve that around these parts, there’s tribes believe that a giant serpent, three or four times the size of that monster that almost got you lives around here in the river, but no one has ever seen it up close.”
“Or lived to tell about it.” Montaro grimly added.
“What’s it supposed to be?” Richardson asked. “A survior
from prehistoric times?”
“Just a local legend, I’m afraid.”
Dr. Cooper said.
“But most legends have basis in facts.” Said Montaro.
“So I keep hearing.” Said Ben.
“Any chance of us running into it?” Richardson asked.
“I doubt it.” Said Ben. “But….well there is always the possibility. “Some of the local tribes say it slithers out on land after dark to swallow their livestock and children whole.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have can’t this close to the river.” Offered Richardson.
“Don’t worry.” Said Jana “I think we camped far enough away. The crocodiles and jackeries don’t come this far on alnd, and neither do the big snakes. And anyway, the fire will keep them away. Even the anaconda fears it.”
“I’ll say amhen to that.” Said Richardson. “By the way, how many marches is it before we reach the Vale of Lost Men form this river? The last time I was there, my men and I were traveling over land, from the east.”
“We’ve come as far as we can on the river.” Said Montaro. “The place you seek to cross is still many marches from here, but we should get there within three days, if we keep moving.”
“You know something,” said Richardson.”I’ve been thinking about Col. Fawcett. There was one tribe he visited in this area who shoed him a plaque with a picture of man dressed in a toga and sandals on it—you know something like the ancient Greeks or Romans might wear. They claimed it came for the lost city Fawcett was seeking. Do you suppose it could have been the same lost city those strange men were from.”
“It is indeed possible.” said Montaro.”
“But I’ll have to see them first before I believe them.” Said Ben. “Not that I doubt your story, Mr. Richardson. It’s just that I’m still not sure you saw what you thought you saw.”
That night, they took turns watching the campfire, the night interrupted only by the screams of night birds, and hisses of reptilian life from the great river.
When they awoke the next morning, the rosey light of dawn was painting the western sky over the trees. The rich throaty sounds of howler monkeys greeted them. They traveled the rest of the day through the emerald depths of the jungle, fighting off swarms of stinging insects, and the occasionl constrictor or poisonous snake. Once, Richardson nearly stepped on a bushmaster that laid coiled against a rotton stump. The snake had lain camofaged, but only Jana and Ghost had heeded the snake’s toxic hiss, before she grabed Richardson by the arm, and pointed out the danger. By now, Richardson was a veteran explorer, and jungle was no stranger to him. But he still marveled at the ultra keen senses of the jungle girl, and how they had saved his life once again.
By mid morning of the third day, they could see the rim of the extinct crater marking the Vale of Hidden Men. There were some well-worn game trails in this area, some frequented by the local tribesmen, and Richardson kept checking the forest floor for any trace of the prints of sandaled feet, which might verify the story of him and his comrades. But though the barefoot prints of local local villagers were fairly common, there was no sign of the strange armor-clad men Richardson claimed to have seen. Then, sometime around midday with the sun high in the sky there was a shill, sharp whistle in the air.
They all saw its source. Some concealed human foe had fired a native dart into Ben Cooper’s neck.
“My God!” cried Ben. “A dart. Arrow poison—“ Already, he felt faint, and collapsed to his knees. “Get my medical kit! I’ve got anti-venhom in there!”
There was another whistle through the air, this one narrowly missing Richardson. “God!” he exclaimed. “Who’s shooting at us.”
“Someone who is unhappy with our presence here!” answered Montaro, gripping his staff of power. He recited an ancient incantion in his native tonque. All at once brilleint streams of colored light erupted from the ancient staff. They filled the jungle with unnatural briillince chasing back the shadows.
They still did not see who their foes were. But from the surrounding jungle came exclamations of awe and ectasy. The light faded, and they all stood in abject awe, as they saw forms swinging through the trees at them. The movements seemed human, but too dimunitive, and the ease at which they swung throught he trees was so pronounced that it gave jana the impression they were being attacked by some sort of intelligent apes.
But as the first one of them swung down and lighted on the forest floor, Jana could see that he was a man, only a very dimunitive one. Tehn another of the arboreal warrior wung down, and another and yet another. Who were these people? They were unlike any men they had ever seen. They must be members of a local tribe of Indians, Jana reasoned. They were incontestably red men. But the tallest among them reached below her shoulders. All of them wore red and indigo war-paint, and carried bows and quivers, as well as blowguns and darts.
“Montaro….” Whispered Jana. “Who are these people?”
“They are forest pygmies. I have heard legends of them.”
“I knew there were pygmies among the tribes of the African Congo.” Said Jana. “but I’ve never heard of any race of dwarves in the Americas before.”
“I’ve heard of them.” Richardson said. “Col. Fawcett wrote of them in his diary.”
Montaro looked at him sharply. “Is this so?”
Richardson nodded. “He didn’t actually encounter them. But he heard rumors of them from the other tribes in this region.”
“Then they are indeed a secretive people, I gather. I imagine they are the kind to deal harshly with outsiders.”
“Thanks for making me more nervous .” Richardson said.
“Do not worry.”said Montaro. “I have them calmed—for the moment.”
The forest pygmies were reacting strongly to Ghost. Though they lowered their arrows in the presence of the humans, several kept them trained on the cat. Tough they were treated the feline with even greater reverance, staring open-mouthed at his gleaming alabaster coat. The white jaguar snarled and narred his fangs at them, causing some of the pygmy Indians to retreat in his presence.
Montaro spoke some words of his native dialect to the man whom he percieved as their leader. The man returned with a few words in his own. Soon Montaro and the pygmy were converseing.
“What did he say?” Jana asked, when he had finished.
“The language is similar enough to my own that I can make it out. He asks us to forgive his people for firing at us. It was a grave error.”
“Why did they fire at us, Montaro?”
This is their jungle, and they have sworn to keep all intruders out. But they see now that we are emissaries from the Gods. They know from the Staff of Power, and that we walk in the company of a jaguar whose coat shines like the full moon. And you Jana, of the white hair, and green eyes, a girl who runs with the great white cat, they have never seen your like before either. The two white men they are more suspicious of, as they are too like the other seekers who have come to their land before. But they will remain safe as long as they are in our company.”
“What about Ben?”
“They will allow us to treat him.”
Montaro opened Dr. Cooper’s medical kit, and applied the anit-vehnom. The poison of the arrow-poison frongs was especaiily potent—it is easily fatal once it enters the system of most small prey. On an adult man, the affect was far less sever, at least of the variety carried on the pygmies’ darts. The pygmy Indians allowed Ben to rest for several minutes, then they were able to carry him tto the pygmies’ village, where they were able to treat him further with antidotes made from special herbs. In the presence of Jana, Ghost, and Montaro they were treated with respect and reverence.
Many of the small children—the eight and nine yearolds among them were barely over three feet high—took a great interest in Ghost. The adults, too, were awed into hushed reverance at the presence of the white jaguar. Jana spoke reassuring words to them, and coaxed some of the village children to approach the cat and stroke his sides and along his neck and strong back, even to give him a good scratch behind the ears. Ghost purred rumbling ly and nuzzled some of the kids, allowing them to continue to pet him. He even tried licking some of them, though jana restrained him, fearing the bristles on the cat’s tongue might leave sores open to infection.
That night they shared the chief’s hut, and Ben recovered swiftly. The next day spent in the village, Jana began to notice things. Most of the rugs and pottery in the village looked native made. But there were other items which gave her cause for curiousity. Among these were large vaces, and urns, which looked like they had been forged in a kilm, the like of which she did not see in the village. Then there were certain clothes and textiles that she felt quite sure had been spun on a loom, and were not hand-woven.
And then there were the coins which Ben was able to procure from the chief. They were made of gold and copper. There did not appear to be an abundance of gold or copper jewery among these people, and no sign of metal working. They must have been traded from another tribe. And Montaro had found out that these secretive people did not trade with any neighboring tribes except in times of dire stress, with the exception of one tribe in particular tribe with whom they carried on a trade on an annual basis. This tribe gave them many of the textiles, and the metal coins, among other things, and these items were prized above all else. These people inhabited a country which lay to the west, beyond the rim of the great crater. Their country was called the vale of Hidden Men, ofr they seldom left it, except to trade, and occasional secure captives, for some unguessed rituals. The never took captives from the Forest Pygmies, or the Nuravi, as they called themselves, because they were on friendly terms with them.
Realizing that thse people knew a way around the vale of Hidden men, Montaro and Jana were finally able to persuade the chief to allow one of his warriors to guide them around the vale. With some measure of reluctance, he agreed.
The man sent with them was anmed Aru, and he was chief among the Nuravi warriors. He was rumored to have killed a jackari with only a flint knife. And though a jackari is a small version of a crocodile, for so dimunitive a warrior, it was an impressive accomplishment.
They resumed their treck, and Aru led them around the vast escarpment. On the evening of the third day however, Aru informed them that he would go no further. He had shown them the way, and tomorrow he would return to his village.
They slept soundly that night, but in the morning they got a rude awakening.
They found themselves surrounded by apparently hostile Nuravi warriors, with arrows and blowguns trained on them. The chief was there as well, grinning nastily at them. Aru was there too, his own bow trained on them.
“Leave us alone!” aid Jana. “We are your friends. We told you we mean you and your people no harm.”
“I don’t think they’re listening,” said Richardson.
“But what happened? Did we offend them some way?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Richardson, pointing at Aru. “That little bugger there betrayed us!” Aru, for his part looked a bit embarrassed by the accusation, but returned the man’s gaze as best he could.
“Then I will ask them—“ Montaro said, reaching for his fabled staff. ”Wait! The Staff of Power! Where is it?” he searched the ground frantically. Some of the Nuravi laughed at his confusion.
“I have it, brave warrior.” Said the chief. Montaro looked and saw that he spoke the truth.
“You are in the Gods favor no longer, now that I possess your fabled staff.”
“You must return it,” Montaro warned. “only one of my lineage may wield that staff.”
The chief laughed. “Not anymore. I now hold the power of the gods in my hands. Now you will do as I say.”
Montaro noticed that some of the warriors seemed reluctant, but were more afraid not to obye the chief. It had been the chief who had coveted Montaros’ staff, and he must have arranged this entire thing, they now realized. But his followers had no choice but to obey.
“What do you mean to do with us?” asked Jana.
“Like I told you. We trade once a year with the men of the vale. This is that time of year. And you are our trade items. Go quietly and you shall not be harmed. The Men of the vale will look on us with much favor to bring them these humans with strange powers, and a white jaguar.”
Montaro, Ben, Jana, Ghost Tiko, and Richardson were marched along the side of the towering escarptment, in the way they had intended to continue, until they reached a narrow fissure in the cliff wall. This the chief told them was the entrance to the Vale of Hidden Men.
“Now go on!” the pygmy chief told them in his native language. Montaro translated. Soon they had disappeared into the crack, and darkness swallowed them up.
