How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (21 page)

The men retraced their path upriver, slipping hurriedly through the forbidding jungle with rifles readied and their eyes and ears trained upon the dense green barrier hindering their advance. Roosevelt saw the Amazon in a different light these past few hours, discarding any romantic notions of a lush paradise full of colorful birds and slithering reptiles, replaced with the suffocating feeling of a tightening noose looped around his neck and pulled snug, starving him of life effusing breath and crushing his world-famous resolve. Roosevelt could only guess Rondon and Cherrie felt the same as they pushed through the tangled foliage, halting upon any odd noise from places distant and unseen; although Martin appeared the least concerned about the prospect of a chance encounter with a ferocious and monstrous stalking beast. Teddy Roosevelt watched the emaciated Englishman with cautious fascination—whereupon their frequent stops to catch their breath, Martin’s eyes twinkled with glee and his face glowed in nearly raptured joy.
The man is obviously insane
, Roosevelt mused.
It appeared Cherrie may have been right all along; although Martin seemed competent in his many assigned tasks, there remained hidden beneath his gnarled exterior a mind lacking solidity and purposeful consistency. The man was certainly an enigma.

They found the dugouts loaded and ready for launch upon arriving back at camp. The crew stood anxious and eager to be on their way, looking to Colonel Rondon to issue the much anticipated order. Roosevelt observed that Rondon said nothing of finding the immense tracks, even to his trusted Lieutenant Lyra while they prepared to board the boats. Taking his cue from Rondon, Roosevelt deflected a few questions from an inquisitive Kermit before getting underway. George Cherrie simply donned his hat and settled into his usual seat with his head held low. Roosevelt had never seen the normally stalwart naturalist so subdued and contemplative.
He looked like he had just seen his grandmother’s ghost!

Colonel Rondon issued a single terse command and the men hurriedly launched the canoes. Moments later, the last of the dugouts drifted freely down the Rio Roosevelt, and Theodore Roosevelt could almost taste the undeniable sense of relief amongst the entire crew as they took to the relative safety of the river, away from the tangled shore and the darkness therein.

They floated along the meandering waterway for over an hour as the midday sun bore directly through the forest’s canopy beneath the deep blue Brazilian sky. The air was still and the heat unbearable to the asthmatic Roosevelt, who fanned his perspiring face continuously while the dugout skidded over the somber waters. And still, although the camaradas labored under excruciating heat, none to a man suggested they pull to shore for a brief respite beneath a grove of shady palms or within the shadow of a giant rubber. Teddy Roosevelt calculated they had progressed several kilometers beyond the sandy beach where they had found the creature’s tracks.

 
Moving steadily along a peaceful stretch of river, Roosevelt was overwhelmed by a strange calm as his thoughts synchronized with the paddler’s rhythmic strokes. Breaking his spell, he gently wiped his spectacles and glanced over at the lead canoe carrying Lieutenant Martin, who pushed his vessel forward with great and purposeful ease, no doubt cognizant of any stirring or strange sounds emanating from the mysterious jungle.
What must Martin be thinking, passing so very near to his personal obsession? What must occupy his thoughts, being so near the beast for which he had sacrificed so many long years in the wilderness, and yet not granted permission to carry his individual crusade to its rightful conclusion?
Roosevelt suddenly bore great empathy for the erratic Englishman, who had so far served the expedition with the utmost skill and diligence. Roosevelt felt both saddened and guilty to rob a man of his mortal goal after living such a privileged and adventurous life himself, even if the man was quite possibly a certifiable lunatic
. If Martin were to get up and leave upon their next encampment to pursue his dream, I would not in the least think any worse of him. He had certainly earned the opportunity in my eyes.

Theodore Roosevelt once again felt the water picking up pace as the dugouts rounded a sharp corner in the river. He noticed another series of impassable rapids several hundred yards ahead. Even above the din of rushing water, Teddy could hear open grumbling amongst the camaradas.

The western shoreline appeared the most accessible to Roosevelt—flat stones formed a gradual shoreline ending at the water’s edge. The land was somewhat elevated, split by a pass that funneled into the wilderness beyond. Roosevelt could clearly see a man-height pile of stones guarding the pass’s gateway.

Colonel Rondon pointed to the west. “To the shore!” he cried.

The camaradas hesitated upon Rondon’s command—
in a near mutinous mood
, Roosevelt deduced. Many of the dispirited camaradas shook their heads and jabbered to their crewmates while paddling upstream, holding their battered craft steady against the river’s flow.

“You cannot paddle upriver forever,” Rondon hollered. “The rapids ahead will shred your canoes if you dare attempt its decent. We all stand a much better chance by taking to shore.”

Slowly, and with great reluctance, the camaradas beached their canoes upon the stony bank. Lieutenant Martin was the first man to step ashore followed by Rondon, Roosevelt, and then Cherrie. All of the officer’s attention was drawn to the odd stone tower standing just a few yards above the floodplain.

Teddy Roosevelt approached the artifact and rubbed his chin. Before him, the monument towered ten feet from base to apex.

“Obviously a marker of some sort,” Rondon noted, “constructed by men.”

“Yes,” Martin said excitedly, “and with a well-defined purpose, do you not agree?” He pointed. “Clearly it serves as a beacon to the lands beyond and testament to the sacred traditions of the Wide Belt people.”

“Quite possibly,” Colonel Rondon muttered. “But we have little time for such distractions. We must bypass these rapids quickly and be on our way before nightfall.” Rondon waved his hand. “Get those dugouts unloaded!”

Roosevelt took note of Martin’s surprisingly indifferent response to Colonel Rondon’s abrupt dismissal of the Englishman’s adept observation. Roosevelt caught George Cherrie’s skeptical eye and shook his head.

The camaradas emptied the dugouts in less than fifteen minutes, stacking the modest provisions on the rocky shore. Colonel Rondon set out immediately with Dr.
Cajazeira
and four camaradas to hack a path through the brush and bypass the rapids. Like countless times before, Kermit and Lieutenant Lyra collected ropes to lower the empty boats down the most serious of the white-water chutes.

Teddy Roosevelt and George Cherrie grabbed their rifles and stalked the group’s periphery while Paishon and the remaining camaradas began to stage the supplies a short way into the jungle near the area where Rondon had started his supply pathway. Roosevelt noticed several camaradas securing rifles, no doubt leery of the Wide Belt’s legend or hopeful of taking a monkey or two for dinner. Last in line, Julio de Lima grabbed a rifle and full box of ammunition.

“Good,” Roosevelt said, leaning close to George Cherrie. “It’s about time Julio pitched in to harvest some fresh meat for his comrades. Could this be an optimistic sign that he has finally decided to lend a hand?”

“Indeed,” Cherrie said, pointing his nose toward Martin. “But what of him?”

Roosevelt watched the wiry Englishman strap the heaviest of the provisions upon his back and meander away from the river. “He is undoubtedly our most tireless worker. How can a man sporting such a rail-thin physique be as strong as an ox?”

“And yet, Colonel, have you not noticed that he has not taken a shred of food in several days?”

Roosevelt rubbed his chin. “Curious…”

“I do wonder where he gets the strength—”

A sharp bang echoed from the nearby jungle. Roosevelt and Cherrie flinched and ducked defensively. Moments later, Roosevelt heard a ruckus behind a grove of palms, followed by several men’s screams.

Suddenly, Antonio and two unarmed camaradas leaped from the brush waving their arms in sheer panic. “
Julio mato Paishon
!” Antonio cried. “
Julio mato Paishon!
”

Roosevelt turned quickly to Cherrie for translation.

“Julio has killed Paishon,” the naturalist hissed. “By God, what more could go wrong on this bedeviled mission? Julio has just murdered Paishon.”

The men froze in place with their heads held low for several tense minutes, unsure whether Julio lurked just inside the jungle’s folds and would emerge shooting indiscriminately. Kermit and Lyra joined Roosevelt and Cherrie, training their eyes and rifles on the deceivingly tranquil forest.

Antonio grabbed his hat’s brim and scampered over to the officers. “He just pointed his rifle straight at Paishon’s chest and pulled the trigger,
senhors
,” the camarada said breathlessly. “I could not believe my eyes! He just pulled the trigger and murdered Paishon in cold blood.”

Roosevelt seethed. “Mark my words, Antonio, Julio will pay for his crime, and he will pay dearly.” Roosevelt scanned the jungle’s periphery. “And yet, we must be very patient and cautious until he shows his hand.”

“Yes,” Kermit added. “He may seek revenge on us all, picking us off one by one using the jungle as cover. An unstable mind is capable of anything!”

“
Sim, senhor
.”

Roosevelt noticed Lieutenant Martin grabbing a rifle and a box of ammunition. Seemingly undeterred by the danger, the lanky Englishman advanced slowly toward the jungle.

“No,” Roosevelt hissed. “It’s not safe, Lieutenant. Get back!”

Martin ignored Roosevelt’s order and continued onward.

“Blasted!” Roosevelt shook his head. He grasped is rifle and started after Martin. Moments later, Kermit, Cherrie, and Lyra followed Roosevelt.

They came upon Paishon’s lifeless body a short way into the forest. Colonel Rondon, still breathing heavily, stood over the bury camarada, who lay face down in a pool of spreading blood. Roosevelt glanced down. He noticed several shattered supply boxes.

 
Dr. Cajazeira bent to his knee, examining Paishon’s wounds. “Straight through the heart,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “He dropped dead instantly where he stood, never having a chance to defend himself.”

Rondon caught Roosevelt’s eye. “Who did this?” The Brazilian Colonel pulled his revolver from his holster.

“Julio.” Roosevelt spat the name like a poisonous viper.

Rondon acknowledged with a firm nod. “Lieutenant Lyra, stay here and guard the doctor. We must secure the nearby forest and assign guards if necessary. Julio must not be allowed to strike again.”

“And look,” Cherrie added, pointing toward a few cans spread upon the forest’s floor. “Julio must have murdered Paishon simply to steal food.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Kermit said. “Where does he intend to go?”

“A madman defies common logic,” Rondon replied.

Dr. Cajazeira rose to his feet and unbuckled his revolver. “Go,
senhor
Lyra. I can defend myself.” He brushed his hand. “Go!”

Theodore Roosevelt’s blood boiled. “And we shoot upon sight, correct?”

Colonel Rondon shook his head, pulling nose to nose with the former president. “Absolutely not, Colonel Roosevelt, doing so will be impossible in Brazil. We bring suspected criminals to court for trial in this country. We don’t allow our citizens to be murdered by a vengeful mob.”

Roosevelt thrust his fingers downward. “He who kills must die! That is how we do things in America—an eye for an eye. Paishon was too good a man to have died without being avenged.”

“You are not in the United States, Colonel. You are in my republic, and here, you will obey our laws.”

Roosevelt waved his hand. “Time is being wasted talking nonsense. Let us fan out in these woods. If Julio is taken alive, I suppose we must drag him back to camp in time for tea and crumpets.”

The entire expedition team searched the surrounding forest for a good half-hour before Lieutenant Martin reported finding human footprints a few hundred yards beyond the crude stone monument. “He was heading away from the river and deep into the jungle to the west,” the Englishman said with an odd gleam in his eye. “There is little doubt he is hell-bent on stealing the Wide Belt’s sacrificial treasures.”

“Diamonds?” Cherrie said, nearly apologetically. The naturalist eyed Martin directly.

Martin nodded playfully. “Any fool entering the Wide Belt realm would have noticed the land’s potential for mining precious gems. The village was literally over-flowing with sparkling trinkets.”

Roosevelt, in no mood for evasive answers, sighed deeply. “Is this why you brought us all to this juncture, Mr. Martin, simply to plunder these native’s gemstones?”

“I can assure you my own intentions are purely scientific, Colonel. Only today did I see the true breadth of Julio’s treachery.”

“You should be aware,” Cherrie said, “that Julio has divulged some interesting stories about your own past, Lieutenant.”

Martin’s inane grin evaporated. “Julio is a born liar and a greedy fool. And, if you hadn’t yet noticed, he has proven his willingness to commit cold-hearted murder. What additional proof do you need?”

“I did not mean to imply—”

“I, on the other hand, have performed every task assigned to me. And now, you inform me that you find it more suitable to believe him than me?”

Cherrie caught Roosevelt’s eye. Roosevelt shook his head subtly.

“Well, it appears Julio is gone now,” Rondon said. “He will die alone in the jungle and cradling his treasure; that is, if he is lucky enough to escape the jaws of some predator yet encountered.”

Roosevelt breathed fire. “Are you telling me that we are not sending a posse to find and arrest this… this murderer?”

“We simply do not have the time or—”

“This is completely unacceptable.”

Rondon shrugged. “It is, what is must be, Colonel Roosevelt.”

Roosevelt checked his rifle and hurriedly inventoried his ammunition. “Well I am going after him, alone if I must. Mr. Cherrie, would you care to accompany me?”

“
Senhor
Roosevelt, be reasonable,
sim
?”

George Cherrie stepped forward. “I am ready, Colonel.”

“I am also, father,” Kermit said. “You are not going anywhere without me by your side.”

Roosevelt hesitated before offering his son an approving nod. He thought first of Edith and then of Belle. Shaking aside these concerns, he turned finally to the Englishman. “Lieutenant Martin, would you care to lead the way?”

Martin grinned. “Of course, Colonel, I will be absolutely enthralled to offer my tracking skills to your grand posse.”

Colonel Cândido Rondon sighed with resignation. “Very well, Mr. Roosevelt, but the expedition cannot be held back for longer than twenty-four hours. We must press onward by sundown tomorrow, with or without you and your contingent.”

“Understood,” Roosevelt replied. “I would think less of you, commander, if you failed to act otherwise. I would like to state openly that I alone have decided to pursue Julio, and please note such in your personal logs.” Roosevelt waved his hand. “Now, let us be on our way. Julio’s trail grows colder each minute we dawdle.”

Martin and Cherrie led the way into the deep jungle to the west and away from the river. Theodore Roosevelt lagged twenty or thirty steps behind followed by Kermit, guarding the rear. The ground tilted upward as they meandered above the river basin, and Roosevelt began to stagger before coming to a complete halt, absent his breath. Mercifully, the others waited patiently, allowing the asthmatic former president some time to recover.

Roosevelt noticed George Cherrie listening intently to the sounds of the surrounding jungle. The naturalist turned his head in every direction before sitting down and lowering his hat in thought. “Anything of particular note?” Roosevelt asked, tipping back his canteen to drink.

“Just the usual monkey-calls and insects, Colonel, nothing extraordinary…”

“And if it were… something…?”

Cherrie took a swig of water and wiped his mouth. “In my experience, an abrupt silence would indicate the presence of an outsider.”

“Or a large predator?”

“Yes, possibly.”

Lieutenant Martin chuckled hysterically, waving the others forward. “I have found Julio’s tracks. The prints are no more than an hour or two old. We shan’t have to wait long before catching him now!”

Roosevelt noticed the strangest gleam in Martin’s eyes. “He must be one of the oddest men I have ever met,” he whispered to Kermit. “The man does not appear the least concerned with encountering the beast of the Wide Belt’s legend.”

“Or even about coming face to face with a hostile and dangerous Julio,” Kermit replied.

Roosevelt felt a sudden chill, catching both Kermit’s and Cherrie’s sudden glances; apparently they too were struck by the same dispiriting unease. “Keep your rifles handy and your mind alert for any possibilities,” Roosevelt hissed tersely.

Kermit and Cherrie nodded in agreement.

The four men continued to penetrate deeper into the jungle as the landscape flattened and the terrain became cluttered with huge boulders surrounded by towering trees with thick, twisting trunks. Roosevelt checked his watch, noting that it had been nearly an hour since they had left the Rio Roosevelt’s bank in pursuit of the renegade Julio de Lima.

Suddenly, Lieutenant Martin halted and motioned for silence. Carefully pushing aside some palm fronds, the Englishman gathered the others and pointed ahead toward a wide clearing in the forest. Roosevelt noticed a man-made stone building amid the overgrown meadow; it was approximately fifteen paces long by ten wide with a narrow entrance facing south.

“The Wide Belt’s stone house,” Martin whispered with almost giddy zeal, “built in deference to the
Arawuua
beast and to protect their gallant warriors from harm during their yearly hunts. How magnificent! And precisely like the chief described. We must be at this very moment treading upon the very center of the creature’s abode!”

“What about Julio?” Roosevelt asked. “Do not forget that he still carries a rifle and enough ammunition to kill us all. I fear Julio more at this moment than I do a monster.”

Martin bowed dutifully. “Of course, Colonel, please allow me to secure the building before you proceed.”

“Be careful, Lieutenant.”

Martin grinned. “Always!”

The three men watched Lieutenant Martin creep toward the Wide Belt’s shelter. Peering around, the Englishman slipped through the door and quickly out of sight. Roosevelt counted to fifteen before Martin reemerged. Martin motioned the others forward. “Come, it is quite safe.”

Roosevelt, Cherrie, and Kermit moved cautiously into the clearing. Kermit lagged behind with his rifle trained on the outlying forest. Roosevelt noticed a deep pit—possibly natural, possibly man-made—surrounded by several equally-spaced fire-pits. The far side of the pit faced the open forest, leaving an opening at ground level; thus forming three steep walls and no escape for anyone or anything lured within, except for retreat.
Could the Wide Belts have used this pit to corner and trap the beast?
Roosevelt mused.

“Come,” Martin beckoned impatiently. “Julio is not here. You will be quite astonished when you see what lies within these walls, I promise. Come.”

 
Theodore Roosevelt squeezed inside the doorway followed by George Cherrie. The room was draped in shadow, yet a few rays of sunlight penetrated the patchy and worn roof.
 
Roosevelt could clearly see a stone vat filled with sparkling jewels near the opposite wall. “George, look—”

Roosevelt suddenly felt a cold presence to his right. He glanced upon a glint of a rifle’s barrel pointed directly toward his temple.

A voice hissed from the shadows: “Drop your rifle, Colonel.”

Theodore Roosevelt froze. The voice was all too familiar. “And you also, Mr. Cherrie. Drop your gun now or
senhor
Roosevelt’s brains will be splattered across these walls and you will be burdened with that grim image for as long as you live, which incidentally may be mercifully brief.”

With their hands held above their heads, Roosevelt followed Cherrie out the doorway and back into daylight. Roosevelt’s heart sank to untested levels of despair when he noticed Lieutenant Martin pointing his rifle directly at the temple of a prone and unarmed Kermit.