The Jungle Trail

By Johnston McCulley

In this present story Mr McCulley takes the reader back into the adventurous past; back to the days of Vasco Nunez de Balboa, the hardy discoverer of the Pacific Ocean, and his gallant band of unconquerable heroes; to Panama in 1513 at the very beginning of Spanish rule.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Jun 3, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547054252

Johnston McCulley

Johnston McCulley (1883-1958) was an American novelist and short story writer. Born and raised in Illinois, McCulley began his career with The Police Gazette as a police reporter. During World War I, he served as a public affairs author for the United States Army. After the war, he began writing stories for such pulp magazines as Argosy and All-Story Weekly. His novel The Curse of Capistrano, serialized in 1919, marked the first appearance in print of his beloved character Zorro, a masked vigilante fighting on behalf of California’s Chicano and indigenous populations. Spawning countless adaptations for film and television, Zorro made McCulley’s name as a leading popular fiction writer of the early twentieth century.

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Johnston McCulley

The Jungle Trail

EAN 8596547054252

DigiCat, 2022

Contact: [e-mail]

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I. IN THE PLAZA AT ANTIGUA.

CHAPTER II. ANOTHER TATTER.

CHAPTER III. THE STOCKADE.

CHAPTER IV. IN THE GOVERNOR'S HOUSE.

CHAPTER V. IN THE HUT OF FRAY FELIPE.

CHAPTER VI. BOTH PRIEST AND MAN.

CHAPTER VII. IN THE GREAT WILDERNESS.

CHAPTER VIII. THE SYMBOL OF THE GREAT CACIQUE.

CHAPTER IX. CARLOTTA SPEAKS.

CHAPTER X. IN PARADISE.

CHAPTER I.

IN THE PLAZA AT ANTIGUA.

Table of Contents

NOW the siesta hour was at an end and the shadows lengthened on eastern sides of the buildings, and in these shadows sat sundry caballeros , some in purple and silks and others out-at-elbows, but all brave-hearted gentlemen, ready for a jest or a joust, a guzzle of wine, or the flashing look of admiration from the dark eyes of some señorita new-come from Spain.

'Twas pleasant weather for this little town of Santa Maria de Antigua del Darien, on the west coast of the Gulf of Uraba, a blue arm of the ever-sparkling Caribbean. Twas a pleasant time also, with the new governor and his following, loose of purse and free with supplies, and not exacting of labor to such an extent as the governor newly gone to Seville, his legs trembling in his boots because he knew King Ferdinand would propound queries for which he had no satisfactory answers.

Wherefore dice now rattled and men roared with laughter at each luckless cast, and the bottoms of many flagons of wine were seen quickly after those flagons had been filled. Here was a momentary joy in Antigua, frowned upon by certain caballeros who for years had followed Vasco Nunez de Balboa, and who now thought of their illustrious chief on the banks of the Rio Sabanas. where it flowed into the Great South Sea he had found, trying to build him some ships from rotten timbers that had been hauled through the jungle wilderness, to the cost of some thousands of native slaves.

These were the ones in rags, their uniforms in tatters, their metal body-casings tarnished—but their swords ever bright and easily slipped from scabbards. As they diced, they watched the gentlemen who recently had come with the governor and now flaunted their gorgeous raiment, ready to act if they saw a curling lip.

On the day when the ships arrived there had been divers combats because these gentlemen preferred to sneer at the tatters, forgetting for the time the blood flowing in the bodies the tatters clothed. And recently, because he had lost three good friends in this manner, the new governor had issued an edict anent brawling, promising all manner of evil consequences to any caballero who used his blade save for the profit of said governor and the glory of Spain.

Hence, a truce to a certain extent; yet the gentlemen of gorgeous raiment did not need force combat to demonstrate what they fondly believed to be their superiority. They paced the plaza with their noses in the air, expressing scorn for these others who had spent some years in the wilderness, and spoke among themselves in tones easily overheard of how a time away from civilization had caused some men to forget birth and breeding.

Yet always did they cease at the line of safety, for there were certain hot-headed ones who might forget the governor's edict in their anger; and the wilderness, moreover, had taught these ragged men courage and persistence and skill with a blade.

Now, one Señor Pasqual Garabito strode by arm-in-arm with a friend, depressing the hilt of his rapier with the one hand, while with the other he flicked a dainty handkerchief as he made gestures both graceful and elegant.

’Tis the truth you speak. he said to his companion, but in a voice all near could hear. ’Tis no less than a shame to our governor that such ragamuffins be termed Spanish gentlemen. Ha! By the saints, it would be well if all them were sent with their ragged leader of a De Balboa to some far quarter from whence they'd ne'er return to plague us!

One of the dicers arose from his place next the wall and stepped before the fastidious Garabito.

"‘Were that done, caballero, he replied, no doubt the ragged De Balboa, as you term him, would discover yet another sea for the glory of Spain. I have yet to hear of any fair deed that will link the name of Pasqual Barabito with some famous page of history."

Some of them, doubtless, are misfits in their own families, Garabito said, bending toward his friend and so ignoring the ragged dicer. I take it many a proud father in Seville thanks the saints daily that an unworthy son remains across the seas.

"Caballeros, I call upon you to witness the truth of the words I spoke but yesterday. cried the other. Did I not say that each ship from Spain fetched a worse cargo than the one before?"

Well spoken, Rodrigo Ruiz; it is indeed true! another dicer called.

Of a truth, though, said this same Rodrigo Ruiz, we fail to keep abreast the times. Here in the wilderness how can a man know the latest manner of twirling a handkerchief? 'Tis, I understand, to be done so at this day—

He tore a tatter from his ragged garment and twirled it merrily in imitation of Pasqual Garabito's handkerchief, while the dicers roared with raucous laughter and the face of Garabito turned almost purple because of his fury. Yet he would not admit the presence of Rodrigo Ruiz on the earth.

Could I prevail upon our worthy governor to renounce his edict, he explained to his friend, it would be a great pleasure to teach some of these ragged ones good manners.

A man must have knowledge before he may dispense it, observed Ruiz, to no one in particular. Could I prevail upon our governor to remove said edict, it would be a great pleasure to rip some new garments with the point of my blade. Yet the governor will not: he must protect his friends.

Careful, Rodrigo, another dicer warned in a low voice. Nothing would please certain gentlemen more than to make a cry of high treason.

I fear me for my good friend Bartolmeo Botello, Ruiz went on, his back now turned to Garabito. He has issued certain orders, I understand, and may be forced to see them carried out, edict or no edict.

Now the face of Pasqual Garabito turned purple again, and this time he did not reply as if speaking to his friend, but grasped his companion by the arm and turned to one side, toward the shore of the gulf.

Let us hasten, good friend, before I forget myself in my anger and disobey the governor's new regulation, he said. This thing is not to be endured for long without action.

Ruiz roared with his companions, and as Garabito and his friend departed, he sat down again in the shadow of the wall and picked up the dice.

What is that, one asked, concerning Bartolmeo Botello?

You do not know? Ruiz queried in surprise. Hah! 'Twas but yesterday, and you should have seen it.

"Yesterday, caballero, I was in the midst of the wilderness seeking a native thief."

I had forgotten. It was a royal happening. Know, then, that Bartolmeo Botello, my good friend and friend to Vasco Nunez de Balboa, arrived from the coast of the Great South Sea some ten days ago with certain reports.

"We all know that, señor."

Allow me sufficient breath to tell this tale in my own manner. He arrived ten days ago, as I have said, a month after the last ships came from Spain: and on his first clay here this Bartolmeo—may the saints prosper his suit!—meets the sparkling eyes of Señorita Inez Malpartida—

Whom may the saints preserve! an admirer interrupted.

Did I ever see infatuation at first glance, I saw it then, Ruiz continued. "My friend Bartolmeo, being of a blood, immediately sought the señorita's father, and by some manner of means obtained an introduction to the lady. I doubt not that within two suns he had held speech with her outside the range of her