bright, shiny avenue. I could even make out flies and spiders on the walls and ceiling of the low hut.
And the giant came again to kneel in the doorway and peer at me.
It was not Don Carlos. I could see his face more clearly now and it was an old face, full of wrinkles, with a scraggly, undernourished beard. His eyes, though, seemed young and sparkled like agates. He also was not as big as I had thought last night. His bulk came mainly from several layers of coarse clothing that looked as though he might have woven the fabric himself.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"The question, Senor, is who are you? I found you on the trail, lying with your head in a bush and your body burning up with fever. I found nothing on you to say who you are."
"Well, I'm hardly someone to be staked out like an animal," I said, jangling the vine ropes that still held my arms, legs and head.
"There is no law," he said, "that says only the good and the friendly can be wounded and lost in the jungle. You could be one from the mountain. Your wound could have come from one of his enemies. Until I know who you are, you remain tied, as you say, like an animal."
I began to breathe easier then. He was obviously referring to Alto Arete and Don Carlos. Just as obviously, he was an enemy of Don Carlos. Even more obvious, he was a highly educated and articulate man. His Spanish was of the academic class.
I saw no reason to lie to this man. I told him who I was and described my mission to him. I told him about the Cortez family and how I had saved Elicia and Antonio, only to see Antonio's friends killed in an ambush while following my directions. The old man listened patiently, fixing his attention on each word, regarding me with those glowing eyes. The glow, however, seemed to become warmer as I talked. When I was finished, he remained in his crouch just inside the doorway. I hardly noticed the odor of his body now; I was becoming accustomed to it.
"So I am not an enemy," I continued. "I need your help. The people of Nicarxa need your help. We have only six days to stop Don Carlos from virtually setting the country on fire."
"Four days," he said. "You have slept for two days."
"I was afraid of that," I said. "Why did you drug me?"
He smiled through his wrinkles. "For the healing," he said. "I made a poultice of herbs for your wound, but you were thrashing about in your fever. You would have offset the good of the herbs. I gave you peyote to make your muscles calm themselves."
I didn't ask him how he got the peyote into me when I was unconscious. I had seen Indians in other jungles use primitive bamboo needles to inject themselves with medicines and drugs. I didn't even want to think of the contraption this man might have used to inject peyote into my veins.
"All right," I said, gazing from him to the vines tied to my wrists. "Will you help me? Do you trust me? Do you know that I'm a friend and not an enemy?"
"I will help by keeping you tied for yet another day. If you move now, you will open the wound. Next time, you might die on the trail."
I was starting to feel panicky. Two precious days had already slipped by. I had only four days to reach Alto Arete and stop Don Carlos. I needed time to organize Antonio and his remaining friends, enlist more loyal supporters and find a way through the impregnable defenses of Mount Toro and Alto Arete.
"I must move around a little," I said, pleading with the old man, "or my whole body will become useless. If I promise to stay here with you, to get my body in shape gradually and leave tomorrow, will you untie me?"
He considered the request, apparently saw the logic of it and leaned forward to untie the vines. I sat up slowly, feeling woozy and weak, fighting the dizziness that threatened consciousness. I sat there for a long time, pumping my arms and legs to restore circulation. One more day in that position and I wouldn't have been able to blink my eyes without making plans for it first.
Outside the hut, I
And the giant came again to kneel in the doorway and peer at me.
It was not Don Carlos. I could see his face more clearly now and it was an old face, full of wrinkles, with a scraggly, undernourished beard. His eyes, though, seemed young and sparkled like agates. He also was not as big as I had thought last night. His bulk came mainly from several layers of coarse clothing that looked as though he might have woven the fabric himself.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"The question, Senor, is who are you? I found you on the trail, lying with your head in a bush and your body burning up with fever. I found nothing on you to say who you are."
"Well, I'm hardly someone to be staked out like an animal," I said, jangling the vine ropes that still held my arms, legs and head.
"There is no law," he said, "that says only the good and the friendly can be wounded and lost in the jungle. You could be one from the mountain. Your wound could have come from one of his enemies. Until I know who you are, you remain tied, as you say, like an animal."
I began to breathe easier then. He was obviously referring to Alto Arete and Don Carlos. Just as obviously, he was an enemy of Don Carlos. Even more obvious, he was a highly educated and articulate man. His Spanish was of the academic class.
I saw no reason to lie to this man. I told him who I was and described my mission to him. I told him about the Cortez family and how I had saved Elicia and Antonio, only to see Antonio's friends killed in an ambush while following my directions. The old man listened patiently, fixing his attention on each word, regarding me with those glowing eyes. The glow, however, seemed to become warmer as I talked. When I was finished, he remained in his crouch just inside the doorway. I hardly noticed the odor of his body now; I was becoming accustomed to it.
"So I am not an enemy," I continued. "I need your help. The people of Nicarxa need your help. We have only six days to stop Don Carlos from virtually setting the country on fire."
"Four days," he said. "You have slept for two days."
"I was afraid of that," I said. "Why did you drug me?"
He smiled through his wrinkles. "For the healing," he said. "I made a poultice of herbs for your wound, but you were thrashing about in your fever. You would have offset the good of the herbs. I gave you peyote to make your muscles calm themselves."
I didn't ask him how he got the peyote into me when I was unconscious. I had seen Indians in other jungles use primitive bamboo needles to inject themselves with medicines and drugs. I didn't even want to think of the contraption this man might have used to inject peyote into my veins.
"All right," I said, gazing from him to the vines tied to my wrists. "Will you help me? Do you trust me? Do you know that I'm a friend and not an enemy?"
"I will help by keeping you tied for yet another day. If you move now, you will open the wound. Next time, you might die on the trail."
I was starting to feel panicky. Two precious days had already slipped by. I had only four days to reach Alto Arete and stop Don Carlos. I needed time to organize Antonio and his remaining friends, enlist more loyal supporters and find a way through the impregnable defenses of Mount Toro and Alto Arete.
"I must move around a little," I said, pleading with the old man, "or my whole body will become useless. If I promise to stay here with you, to get my body in shape gradually and leave tomorrow, will you untie me?"
He considered the request, apparently saw the logic of it and leaned forward to untie the vines. I sat up slowly, feeling woozy and weak, fighting the dizziness that threatened consciousness. I sat there for a long time, pumping my arms and legs to restore circulation. One more day in that position and I wouldn't have been able to blink my eyes without making plans for it first.
Outside the hut, I
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