Coqui picked out his second victim, and fired. But the second one cried as he fell, giving warning to the others. One turned, and Coqui had to leap quickly out of the way of a machete swing. There was no longer any question of reloading the blowgun. And the hatchet was a good weapon, but not the equal of a machete. Coqui backed up rapidly, a move that would have been dangerous for anyone lacking his wilderness senses. The machete wielder followed and, in his haste, stepped in an armadillo hole, turning his ankle. Coqui finished him off.
One of the surviving slavers decided he had enough, and fled downriver on foot, running past the boat. Coqui hesitated, then decided he couldn’t take the chance that the man would summon reinforcements. He gave chase.
Henrique and his last opponent gradually shifted deeper into the forest, out of sight of the others.
Maurício and his foe wandered onto the beach. Both were tired, and bleeding from small cuts, but neither had been able to strike a decisive blow. They circled each other warily.
One of the slavers struck down on the beach earlier was not dead, as Maurício had assumed. As soon as Maurício’s back was to him, the injured man slowly crawled to where his musket had skittered earlier in the action. It was still loaded. He only had one good hand, so he braced the musket on a rock.
Maurício’s more obvious foe could see what was happening, and did his best to keep Maurício’s attention directed forward.
The musketeer took aim at Maurício’s back . . . then slumped, an arrow in his neck.
Kasiri was holding her brother’s bow in her left hand; a fresh arrow was already in her right.
Maurício’s other foe was taken aback, and just stood, open-mouthed. Kasiri’s second shot killed him.
A few seconds later, Henrique struggled out of the bush and gave Maurício a nod. Henrique grabbed a leaf and wiped his blade clean.
“Where’s Coqui?”
Kasiri crossed the river and told them she had caught a glimpse of him heading downriver, pursuing the last of the slavers.
“We better not take chances. Grab a musket, Maurício, and I’ll get my bow.” They all concealed themselves, not knowing if more slavers might be on their way.
Soon, Coqui returned, smiling. Until he saw Kasiri, still holding the bow.
They were soon screaming bloody murder at each other.
Maurício gave Henrique an anguished look. “What are they saying? They’re talking too fast for me to make out more than one word in three.”
“He’s angry at her, because she used his bow.”
“I’m not complaining! She saved my life.”
“He says, ‘Picking up a man’s bow makes a woman sterile, everyone knows that.’ And that means that she can never marry, because by Manao law, a man and woman cannot marry until she is pregnant.”
“What about Raleigh’s Amazons? They use the bow, according to legend.” Coqui turned to look at Maurício, his face suddenly a frightening mask. He shouted an insult, and brandished his hatchet. Kasiri shoved him and did some shouting of her own.
“Ouch, you shouldn’t have mentioned that. He remembers now that you spoke of them publicly once. He thinks that Kasiri must have overheard, that you put the idea of female archery into her head. Thereby ruining her marital prospects.
“He also says that the Spanish story of the Amazons is complete nonsense, that the Spaniards must have seen one of the tribes whose men wear their hair long.”
Henrique paused to listen to Kasiri’s response. “And she said that she made her own little bow years ago and has been sneaking off and practicing with it for years. And then he said that explains why she hasn’t ever gotten pregnant, despite, uh, never mind.”
Maurício said, “I’ll settle this.”
He confronted the quarreling siblings.
“So, Coqui, you think she’s unable to bear children.” The Indian nodded.
“Well, perhaps that means that only with an Indian father. But I’m not Indian.”
She ran over and hugged him. Then dragged him off into the bushes.
* * *
“Brother, when my tummy comes out, so you know I am right and you are wrong, I expect you to make me a real bow, not the toy I had to sneak around with.” The “real bow” was six feet tall, and used eight-foot arrows.
“You mean if your tummy comes out.”
“I said, ‘when.’”
“Fine. When. In the meantime, I’m going hunting.”
* * *
“Stop tickling my toe, Kasiri. Kasiri?” Maurício awoke to find a vampire bat feeding happily on the appendage in question. “Get the fuck off my foot,” he screamed, and started kicking, to persuade it to move along.