I
dodged behind another tree and saw how the branches were swept aside
as he rushed towards me.
Then I fired point-blank, sending three bullets into his head. He
fell on his face at my feet. As I bent over him, I saw that he had
a blow-gun arrow in his left thigh; he was therefore a doomed man
before he attacked me. This was my first and only victim, during this
brief but horrible slaughter. As I was already thoroughly sick from
the noise of cracking rifles and the thumping of clubs smashing their
way into the brains of the Peruvians, I rushed toward the centre of
the valley where the first attack on the advance guard of the enemy
had taken place, but even more revolting was the sight that revealed
itself. Here and there bushes were shaking as some _caboclo_ crawled
along on all fours in his death agony. Those who were struck by the
blow-gun arrows seemed simply to fall asleep without much pain or
struggle, but the victims of the club-men and the bow-and-arrow men had
a terrible death. They could not die by the merciful wourahli poison,
like those shot by the blow-gun, but expired from hemorrhages caused
by the injuries of the ruder weapons. One poor fellow was groaning
most pitifully. He had received a well-directed big-game arrow in
the upper part of the abdomen, the arrow having been shot with such
terrible force that about a foot of the shaft projected from the
man's back.
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