One of
them aimed a dart. It missed the object overhead, glanced off the
tree, and fell down on the hunter himself. This is how the other
native reported the result:
"'Quacca takes the dart out of his shoulder. Never a word. Puts it
in his quiver and throws it in the stream. Gives me his blow-pipe
for his little son. Says to me good-bye for his wife and the
village. Then he lies down. His tongue talks no longer. No sight
in his eyes. He folds his arms. He rolls over slowly. His mouth
moves without sound. I feel his heart. It goes fast and then slow.
It stops. Quacca has shot his last woorali dart.'"
Leslie and I looked at Kennedy, and the horror of the thing sank
deep into our minds. Woorali. What was it?
"Woorali, or curare," explained Craig slowly, "is the well-known
poison with which the South American Indians of the upper Orinoco
tip their arrows. Its principal ingredient is derived from the
Strychnos toxifera tree, which yields also the drug nux vomica,
which you, Dr. Leslie, have mentioned. On the tip of that Inca
dagger must have been a large dose of the dread curare, this fatal
South American Indian arrow poison."
"Say," ejaculated Leslie, "this thing begins to look eerie to me.
Pages:
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99