Treason

More than ten days had passed since Smuga's arrival at the looted camp on the banks of the Putumayo. During this time, Smuga had been diligently searching for clues that would help him unravel the mystery of the crime. However, the task was not an easy one. In the weeks that had passed since the attack on the camp, almost all traces of the perpetrators had been erased. Of the four capangos, only Mateo, a mestizo, remained alive, but he was unable to provide any useful information. He claimed that he had woken up when he heard gunshots and the sound of fighting, and after seeing his three comrades killed, he had fled into the woods. Several of the Subéo Indians also fled, but they returned to the camp, and they were unable to provide any information about the attack.

It was early in the morning. Smuga sat on the trunk of a fallen tree at the edge of the camp. He watched the Indians as they worked on building a new barracks. Mateo, a tall and broad-shouldered man, was impatient and threatened the Indians with a long and heavy whip whenever they made a mistake. He allowed the Indians to rest only during the hottest hours of the day. Therefore, next to the barracks where the office was located, the walls of the rubber warehouse were almost complete. All that remained was to finish the rooms for the seringeros and their families.

Nixon, the owner of the company, was working in the office with Wilson since early morning. They were discussing the method of paying for the collected rubber and the possibility of delivering it to Manaus. After the tragic death of his nephew, Nixon had appointed Wilson as the camp's supervisor. The rubber plantations could be reopened at any time, because in addition to the Indians who had returned to the camp from the jungle after the attack, Nixon had ordered workers from the camp on the Yapure River to go to he puffed on his pipe, Smuga watched the Indians working and pondered the insignificance of the investigation. One thing was certain: the attack had been carried out by the Jaguar Indians. But who were their white companions and leaders? Was it possible that they were Alvarez's men? How did they know that Wilson, who rarely left the inexperienced Nixon alone, was not in the camp? Smuga struggled to find answers to these troubling questions. Frustrated by the lack of results, Smuga reached into his pocket for his tobacco pouch. Suddenly, he felt someone staring at him. Smuga quickly turned around. Standing in the shade of a large rosewood tree was an Indian boy with a dark brown face and thick black hair cut in a circle. Seeing Smuga's encouraging smile, the boy ran over to him.

"What's the matter, Little Pathfinder?" Smuga asked.

"Señor, there are many capibaras on the riverbank!"[27]

"I see that you are very eager to hunt them!" said Smuga.

"Yes, señor! Quickly take your gun, and I will show you a place whereSmuga thought about it. The capybara is not a very tempting game. Only Indians and Negroes eat the meat of old capybaras. Perhaps only the loin of young capybaras is edible to European tastes. Smuga watched the boy who was standing next to him, waiting for his approval. The bandits who attacked the camp had taken the boy's parents with them. The boy had hidden in a ruined hut and escaped their fate. He had nowhere to go, so Nixon left the boy at the camp. When Smuga arrived, the boy wouldn't leave his side. As a child of nature, the Indian boy instinctively felt that Smuga was one of those honest people who stood up for what was right and protected those who were wronged. Smuga, being an experienced man, saw that the boy needed friendship and protection, and so he clung to the older white man. The boy was very fond of hunting and spent a lot of time exploring the forest in search of animal tracks. How could he refuse such a small thing as hunting capybaras?

   — Fine, let's go hunting! Smuga agreed. — Wait for me at the barracks.

   — I'm on my way, — the boy replied.

   Smuga stood up from where he was sitting and went to get his rifle. He was well aware of the habits of the world's largest rodents and their tendency to feast at night.

   Within an hour, our hunters were already walking through the dense forest. It was just the busiest time in the tropical forest. Nocturnal animals and birds hurried to rest in their nests, burrows and dens, while daytime birds went for morning fattening. Therefore, countless voices, noise, and rustling could be heard in the forest. Above, in the crowns of wild fruit trees, fabulously colorful, huge red, blue macaws and somewhat smaller red-helmeted macaws bustled animatedly[28]. The Macaws, or rather the Arars, easily dealt with the strongest nuts and the stone-hard fruits of various palm trees. They crushed the hard shell with their powerful, downward-curved beaks. Green Amazonian parrots made even more noise[29], distinguished by the light blue color of the head and beak tips, the yellow color of the neck and the red feathers in the curve of the wings. They scurried back and forth noisily, and with loud cries perched on the fruit-laden branches.Our hunters were well aware of the secrets of the rainforest, so they paid no attention to the bustling atmosphere around them. They carefully chose their footing as they moved quickly through the forest. The lush greenery, illuminated by the morning dew, concealed numerous traps that were not immediately apparent.were not immediately apparent.