Wings of the Wind Part 25

A scrub jay, in a near-by thicket of mangroves, mocked my solitude with a raucous note; yet it gave me heart, for I saw in it the call of the land and knew that thoughts of the _Whim_ must be put aside. So I went back to Smilax, and together we strode through the fringe of palms into a shadowy jungle; our faces set toward a mysterious place, unknown to us, where Death river meets the sea.

CHAPTER XIV

SMILAX BRINGS NEWS

Intuitively I dropped behind and walked at the heels of Smilax who, as if he were treading a well-defined trail instead of unknown jungle land, moved with a free stride that challenged my endurance. Clinging vines pulled at my clothes as things alive, causing both noise and annoyance.

Silence was a virtue on our present expedition.

After an hour of this we came to a cypress swamp, and for several miles waded through water ankle-deep although on a bottom of firm sand. Hardly any undergrowth was here, but in all directions stood gray, dismal cypress trees, coa.r.s.ely b.u.t.tressed at the water's edge and tapering to slender tips. Draped in long streamers of Spanish moss which were delicately swayed by an almost imperceptible current of air, this was a ghoulish place--suggesting a rookery for shrouded spirits which perched along the bonelike branches awaiting their resurrection. Here, too, upon some convenient root of these gray ancients--perhaps the longest lived of our southern trees--lay coiled the dozing moccasin. And from this grim place we merged once more into the jungle where my clothes again became the prey of clawing things.

But Smilax, never faltering, moved with the ease of a shadow. At last, by watching him I, too, came to learn his secret and was charmed to find that it made my pace both quiet and swift. Indeed, I took great care to practice this silent trail walking--a knack that can be acquired only by the closest observation; for a hundred books could not teach a hundredth part as much as a ten-mile hike at the heels of a trained woodsman when he is trying to go noiselessly. Finally he turned and looked at me, saying:

"You do good now."

Noon brought us to a higher country whose beauty could not be surpa.s.sed.

Dark and cool it was, even dismal without bringing depression. The mid-day suns of a hundred years must have been tempered to the aisles of this wild cathedral by venerable specimens of mahogany and black olive trees; and, where the branches of these did not touch, rose the slenderer red ironwood. The mahoganies, alone, stood as a proof that we were entering a region which had escaped the eyes of white man for--how long? It was even seventy years ago that bands of wood pirates, known as "the mahogany cutters," invaded southern Florida from the Bahamas and ruthlessly pillaged this desirable wood for foreign markets; so here, at least, was a spot that had remained undiscovered, where perhaps a white foot had never trod.

Charmed as I was, a greater enchantment awaited, when the next few steps brought me to a pool; a pool of crystal transparency, though dark for reflecting the black bowl of earth in which it lay. Without a ripple it nestled close against the roots of a golden-fig tree--an unfruitful parasitic giant of squat stature and tremendous girth; while, pendant from one gnarled out-reaching branch, and almost touching the mirror-like surface into which it looked, hung a solitary streamer of Spanish moss.

One might have fancied that this pure water slept in the tranquillity of being forever blessed by a gaunt old friar, the gray sleeve of whose cowl hung from an arm perpetually outstretched in silent benediction.

Around the bank, and leaning their purple flowers above the more purple depths, grew a fringe of wild iris; while sprinkled at random farther out were a few blooms of "bonnet"--the yellow water-lily of southern ponds. And then, in a darker nook, erect and motionless upon one leg, a pink flamingo stood. I caught my breath in amazement at the beauty of this place!

To me it possessed a soul; and the soul, arms, that were amorously held out, inviting, pleading. This was the spot, and not by the green waves, to strip my mind of culture, to tear a club from nature's forest and do battle for existence! Here, in the very birthplace of silence where I could smell the loam of untouched wilderness, would be the haunt of my re-created, or pre-created, self. Throughout the days I would hunt--and slay; in the nights I would sleep among the branches. But there would come dawns and sunsets when in some corner of this wild temple I would raise a pagan altar, light a tiny wish-wood flame, and conjure the forest's soul of many arms to reach across the earth, bringing me a living, breathing Psyche with iris-colored eyes to gaze into the limpid pool!

In the contemplation of such an Eden I had forgotten Smilax, who now shattered my illusion by swinging down the pack and saying, as he turned to me:

"We eat."

O, mundane worm, that he could think of food while my spirit was communing with our common ancestor! However, without much reluctance, I arrived at his point of view when, filling my pipe, I stretched out to watch his savory preparations. And now to my surprise, but increasing admiration for his woodcraft, he raised a hand as I was about to strike the match.

"Wait," he said. "Wind wrong; maybe some one smell; me go see."

"Never mind," I protested, wanting to spare him additional work after the amount he had already accomplished. "I don't care about smoking."

"Cook fire smell," he said, rather pityingly that I should have overlooked this obvious fact. "Me go see; get good wood." Then, grinning broadly, he added: "Maybe Efaw Kotee somewhere."

I knew that if he went for wood he must mean b.u.t.tonwood, because there was no end of other kinds about; but b.u.t.tonwood is the only fuel in Florida--dry mangrove being a close second--that, burning slowly like charcoal, is both very hot and smokeless, and he was evidently taking no chances. I knew, too, that he would have to go far toward the coast for it, since only on tidewater sh.o.r.es may it be found; and with a pleasant feeling of excitement I wondered if he would also bring back news of--her; some sign, a thin line of smoke above the trees! It was not the excitement of battle, or a skirmish; no, it was the approaching reality of a dream that had gripped me with soft fingers since the moment I entered this forest. Since my eyes had rested on that pool, my heart had called afresh for her. The arms of the place were about me.

Softly I arose and went back to it. The pink flamingo was there, but as I approached, nearer this time, he gave signs of uneasiness and at last clumsily took wing for some other sanctuary where his solitude might be untroubled by strange beings.

Standing on the flowery bank, I looked deep into the water. No fish, nor life of any kind, disturbed its sweet serenity. So like her soul, I thought, was the soul of this! Yet could her soul be undisturbed? Was it not, indeed, turbulent with apprehensions? Did it--I asked the question eagerly--did it sometimes hope that I would come? And something in the water answered yes. So I picked a blossom of the iris--that had taken its color from her eyes--and put it carefully away. By the spirit of her glance, by the unspoken message of this place, I swore--oh, why put down here all I swore? Men have stood beside solemn pools before, and women, too. Those who commune in the woods think more sublimely than they speak, so I can not speak now, in written words, my immeasurable longing.

Soon Smilax, grinning broadly, emerged from the shadows.

"All right," he said. "You smoke; me cook."

"Did you see anything? How far did you go?" I asked, and he answered in the curious way he had of dealing with one question at a time.

"No see signs of Efaw Kotee. Long way."

While the combined aroma of bacon and coffee was for the moment throwing its cloak of materialism about the romance of my forest, I asked again:

"Why are we heading so far inland, when they must be somewhere along the coast?"

"Best go this way. All right; you smoke."

I was smoking, but that seemed to be his way of telling me to put my mind at rest. Yet I persisted with another question:

"How do you know we haven't pa.s.sed them already?"

"Me know," he grinned. "All right; you smoke."

He was a funny cuss, but I let it go at that.

Biscuits, bacon and coffee might properly be called the Woodsmen's Ambrosia, but it is not a feast over which man is inclined to loiter, and Smilax was soon re-wrapping the pack.

Up to this time I had walked practically empty handed, yet now I conscientiously rebelled, insisting that a share of the load must rest upon my shoulders. But here he showed himself as obdurate as a mule until, arbitrarily, I strapped on our second automatic, took out our second rifle, and filled my pockets with extra cartridges. He raised no objection to this; he even approved it. We were getting down into the Death river country and ready fire-arms made agreeable companions.

Furthermore, at his direction I tied the rather goodly supply of b.u.t.tonwood into a bundle and swung it to my back.

Toward evening we saw on our left evidences of open country and bore in that direction, for when one has walked many hours in the shadows of interlocking branches it is as natural to be drawn toward a spot of sunlight as it would be to approach an open window after having been confined in a dismal room. So we bore in that direction and came to the edge of a vast prairie stretching before us as a sea of lifeless gra.s.s.

Except for a gray line on its horizon, marking, I afterward learned, the boundary of the Great Cypress Swamp, there was but a single break on this expansive waste. That was a rich growth of trees about two miles out, to the southeast of us; an oasis, it would have been called in the Sahara, but in the Florida prairies known as an "island." Whether this term of "island" finds origin in the similarity of these verdant places to real islands, seeming as they do to float upon an inland sea of gra.s.s, or whether because, being of higher ground, they actually become islands during rainy seasons when much of the prairie land is inundated, the native "cracker" is unable to explain. At any rate, fanned by the prairie breeze, they afford agreeable shelter where, in perfect seclusion, one may look out upon the surrounding country for great distances.

"We camp there," Smilax nodded.

"A good place," I affirmed.

"You stay hide," he said again. "Me find out if n.o.body 'round to see us go."

"Why can't I look with you?" I asked, wanting to study more of his methods, but he squelched me by answering:

"You look whole lot; no see anything."

I would have given him a good piece of my mind had he not suddenly disappeared; returning soon with his usual smile and saying:

"Come."

Single file, as before, we pushed into the breast-high gra.s.s, and the walking was easy. Once we crossed a patch of oozy turf from which arose a score of jack-snipe; again we skirted a drying pond whose boggy edges were the hunting ground of marsh hens. Yet other trails could be read here: deer, wildcat, racc.o.o.n, and innumerable wee things. And here, too, around the "bonnet" leaves, the silent moccasin lay coiled, so it was well to step with caution in a place like this.

A wound by the cotton-mouth moccasin, if treated properly, may not result in death. Like other viperine bites, however, it so affects the surrounding flesh that blood poisoning may follow days after the first crisis has been pa.s.sed. Yet, even with this two-fold menace lurking in its fangs, it is not the most feared of Florida snakes. Preeminent in that capacity stands the diamond-back rattler, largest of the world's venomous species and second to none in point of deadliness. Smilax insisted--on I do not know what authority--that more dangerous than either of these is the beautiful little coral snake, _elaps fulvius_, whose victim becomes ravingly insane and invariably dies. That he possessed some uncanny knowledge of the creature must be admitted because of its close relations.h.i.+p to the Cobra-de-Capello, of Asiatic fame, whose poison, we know, flies directly to the nerve centers and almost entirely ignores the tissue. Four days later I had good reason to remember this.

"Are there many snakes hereabouts?" I asked.

"Winter, not much; summer, heap."