"thing" over that lay in a hairy mass at our feet.
We had never seen such a monster before. It stood about four feet high, resembling a Gibbon ape more than anything else I could recall. It was of a brownish color, except for its face, which was white. Among the natives, it is known as the "Jalingo," a thing to be dreaded when encountered in the jungle. The male possesses a long, white beard, not unlike the Great Wanderoo, and walks erect most of the time. The female fondles and nurses the young in her arms. They are seldom seen in the daytime, but roam the forest at night and are very ferocious in combat.
The mystery of the log-adobe was solved! There was no devil in the cabin, after all.
I had moved back to examine the Jalingo more carefully, when I felt something soft under my stockinged foot, like the body of a snake. I quickly looked down and found that I had stepped upon the arm of a man. The upper portion was red and bloody. The fingers were crooked and distorted in a convulsive grip that clutched several tufts of coarse hair. There was nothing else in sight as I glanced about for the body.
Bill and I looked at each other in horror.
"I'll say there was a devil in here, all right!" he gasped. Then, suddenly:
"Look out, pard! What's that behind you?"
I wheeled about, instantly.
"Where?" I gulped, a sickening sensation quivering within me.
"There," he said, pointing at a large rent in the floor. "Wait! I'll turn this log over."
As he did so, the crouching form of a huge male Jalingo was revealed beneath the flooring. A prodding with the rifle convinced us that he was quite dead.
"Turn it over if you can," I suggested, leaning closer. "We'll—"
"Look!" suddenly exclaimed Bill drawing back. "The greaser—the beast! Great God!"
I peered eagerly into the dark cavity beneath the flooring. The sight that met my eyes recalled scenes I had witnessed in the bloody trenches of France.
I never want to see such a sight again. Before me lay La Fiera and one of the Jalingos, both devils that they were, locked in the grim embrace of death's struggle. The long, yellow fangs of the fierce ape had bitten clear through the neck of the halfbreed and all but severed the head from the body. Through the chest of each, a bullet from my revolver, had put an end to the struggle!
I shuddered in horror at the thought of what might have happened to me, and turned away.
"How do you suppose Rodriquez came to be in here?" I finally asked, wiping the moisture from my face. "I didn't see him in the room."
"Don't ask me," replied my partner. "I'm no detective. The last I saw the greaser, he and the mozo were talking near the camp-fire. I heard the native accuse the peon of being a coward and dared him to enter the cabin and give you a scare. They were still arguing when I fell asleep. How about it, Alamondo?"
We both turned to the mozo for an explanation. The little fellow stepped forward as straight as an Indian and as steady in eye and nerve. There was not the slightest indication of fear in the man.
"Alamondo is avenged!" he spoke in the vernacular, hissing the words through clenched teeth. "La Fiera was big and strong, while Alamondo is little and not so strong as the beast. But I kill him, carrion in the mud beneath my feet! Kill him with my mind!"
"How do you mean, Alamondo?" I asked, greatly interested.
"Si, Senor! I kill him with my mind. Alamondo knows much of the ways of the jungle. Jalingo does not like the smell of roasted monkey meat. Jalingo becomes a devil—gran diablo!—goes mad and tears the flesh of those who eat it.
"See, senores, the scar on Alamondo's arm—shoulder—neck—Caramba! Alamondo knows from experience. Ay, yi! When La Fiera ate the monkey meat Alamondo all the time smiled to himself.
"And, senores, once when the beast did not see, Alamondo filled his pocket with the odor of roasted monkey. Aha-a! Si, all the time Alamondo knew the Jalingo devils haunted the jackal. And—and—
"De veras! Si, senores," he grated, glaring at the gruesome sight that lay before us. "He who lives as a beast shall die like a beast! Sabe, senores? Sangre de Cristo! La Fiera is dead! Alamondo is avenged! The beast is dead!"
"Bueno! Bueno!" approved Bill, who was never known to be serious long. "Clever you are, Alamondo. But I'm thinking it's mighty queer those Jalingo devils didn't make it hot for this fat-headed pard of mine. How about that?"
"Ah! Nombre de Dios!" muttered the mozo, crossing himself and bending to his knees at my feet. "Si, senor. Dios! Dios!" he continued, indicating that the Jalingo could not harm me so long as I wore the little red sack he had placed about my neck. "Alamondo knows much in his brain. See, senores? I will show you."
So saying, he took from his neck a little red sack, similar to the one he had given me. He tore it open, exposing its contents; a light-yellow powder, made from the leaves of some jungle plant.
"See! Cayamuela! Smell! Ugh! Jalingo fears the odor. Cayamuela makes his teeth fall out when he eats it and he will die. Si, senores. Alamondo. knows much. Perfectamente!"
Bill and I stood staring at each other, marveling at the strategy of the tropical mind in wreaking its vengeance.
The score between La Fiera, the beast, and Alamondo, the mozo, was settled!
