stake."
The tall fellow came dropping swiftly downward. At the same time the
other Brazilian stepped back and was gone.
With a dexterous twist the man of Nunes moored the boat to the
designated stake. Then he reached a hand toward Tim to help him out.
"I ain't no old woman, feller," Tim refused, and hopped aground
unassisted. McKay and Knowlton followed. But Jose, after moving
languidly forward and contemplating the sharp slope, hesitated and then
shrugged his shoulders.
"I am tired, senores," he said. "And perhaps it would be well for one to
stay here and watch."
The tall Brazilian's eyes narrowed.
"There is no danger of loss," he asserted, with dignity. "We men of the
coronel are not thieves."
The slight emphasis of his last sentence might have been taken as an
intimation that some one else not far away would bear watching. Jose's
mouth tightened. For a moment Brazilian and Peruvian eyed each other in
obvious dislike. Then, with a glance at his crippled arm, Jose shrugged
again.
"Better come along, Jose," McKay said. "Stuff's safe enough."
"As you will, Capitan."
He lounged to the edge, hesitated, wavered slightly. At once the
Brazilian darted out a hand and gave him support. And while the four
clambered up the slope he retained a grip on the Peruvian's arm, aiding
him to the top. When they emerged on the level, however, he dropped his
hand immediately. Jose gave him a half-mocking bow of thanks, to which
he replied with a short nod. Then he stepped back and let the Peruvian
precede him toward a number of substantial pole-supported houses a
hundred yards away.
"No love lost between them two," thought Tim, who had watched it all.
"Good skate, though, this new feller. Ready to help a guy that needs it,
whether he likes him or not; ready to knock his block off, too, if he
needs that. Bet he'd be a hellion in a scrap. Dang good-lookin' lad,
too."
Wherewith he introduced himself.
"Don't git sore because I growled at ye down below," he said, with a
friendly grin. "Sounded rough, mebbe, but that's my style. I'm Tim Ryan,
from the States. I bark more 'n I bite."
The overture met with instant response--a quick smile and a twinkle in
the warm eyes.
"It is not words that give offense, senhor, but the way they are
spoken--and the man who speaks them. One man may growl, but you like
him. Another may speak smoothly, but you itch to strike him. Is it not
so? I am Pedro Andrada, a _seringueiro_ who
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