tles of ginger ale and one of North
American whisky--the best. Cigars also. Out on the piazza."

"Si, senhores."

Schwandorf got up.

"If you will pardon me, I will drink my kuemmel. Frankly, I do not like
whisky."

"And frankly, we do not like kuemmel. All a matter of taste."

"Truly. So let each of us drink his own preference. I will join you in a
moment."

The Americans sauntered to the door, while the German strode into his
room.

"Blunt sort of cuss," Knowlton commented.

"Ay, blunt. But not candid. Knows more than he's telling."

Disposing themselves comfortably, they sat watching the lights of the
town and the jungle--the first pouring from windows and open doors, the
latter streaking across the darkness where the big fire beetles of the
tropics winged their way. As Knowlton had predicted, the night noise of
forest and stream had diminished; but now from the village itself rose a
new discord--a babel of vocal and instrumental efforts at music
emanating from the badly worn records of dozens of cheap phonographs
grinding away in the stilt-poled huts.

"Good Lord!" groaned McKay. "Even here at the end of the world one can't
get away from those beastly instruments."

A throaty chuckle from the doorway followed the words. Schwandorf
emerged, carrying a big bottle.

"Yet there is one thing to be thankful for, gentlemen," he said. "In all
this town there is not one man who attempts to play a trombone."

The others laughed. Thomaz appeared with bottles and thick cups. Corks
were drawn, liquids gurgled, matches flared, cigars glowed. Without
warning Schwandorf shot a question through the gloom:

"Have you seen Cabral--the superintendent?"

"Yes."

"Ask him about the wild man?"

"Yes."

"Get any information?"

"Nothing definite. He suggested that we see you."

"So."

A pause, while Schwandorf's cigar end glowed like a flaming eye.

"The Red Bones live well up the river," he began, abruptly. "Twenty-four
days by canoe, five days through the bush on the east shore. That would
bring you to their main settlement--if you were not wiped out before
then. They're a big tribe, as tribes go. Ever been here before?"

"No. Not here," Knowlton told him. "I've been in Rio, and McKay here has
knocked around in--"

A stealthy kick from McKay halted him an instant. Then, deftly shifting
the sentence, he concluded, "--in a number of places."

"So." Another pause. "Then I should explain about tribes. Tribes