f his women built up the royal fire and fell to work on the
things handed over by the young warrior. Tim and his mates took one
squint at what they were doing. Then they moved between the fire and the
two officers, blocking the view.

"'Bout time ye woke up and listened to the birdies," Tim chaffed.
"Fight's over, and we been hangin' round waitin' for ye to quit snorin'
so's we could hear ourselves think. Lay still, now! Ye're all plastered
up nice and comfy--and don't preach to me no more about the girls. Ye
had every dang one o' the big chief's wives hangin' over ye and kissin'
ye so hard it sounded like a machine gun. Ain't that right, fellers? Me,
I'm so jealous I could bite the both of ye."

"Schwandorf dead?" hoarsely queried McKay.

"Huh? Oh, him? Sure. Ye fixed him right, Cap. The pretty li'l'
blackbirds has flew away with him by now. Say, ye mind that feller
Yuarry? Know what he done? Wal--"

And while he talked, behind his back the wives of Monitaya completed
their task and dropped into the great chief's stewpot the flesh of the
black-bearded slaver and slayer who would menace them no more.

CHAPTER XXVI.

PARTNERS

Seven men squatted around a camp fire on the river bank. Beyond them,
half revealed by the flickering light of the flames, rose the poles of a
_tambo_ wherein empty hammocks hung waiting. At the edge of the water
lay two canoes.

Five of the men wore the habiliments of civilized beings, though their
shirts and breeches were so tattered and stained that a civilized
community would have looked askance at them. The other two were nude as
savages, but their beards and tanned skins were those of white men.
Beards of varying length seemed, in fact, to be the fashion, for
everyone present wore one, and all but two were very dark. Of the odd
pair, one's thin face was partly covered by stubby, blond hair, while
the other's jaw was masked by a growth of unmistakable red.

Lifting their cigarettes, the blond man and a tall, eagle-faced comrade
moved their arms stiffly, as if still hampered by injuries. Newly healed
scars showed on the skins of the rest.

"Injuns are a funny lot," declared the red-haired one. "There's
Monitaya, now. Keeps us a couple weeks, doctors us half to death, feeds
us till we gag, gives us new canoes, sends a platoon o' hard guys with
us to see that we git to the river safe--and don't even say good-by. No
handshake, no 'Good luck, fellers'--jest a grin like we was go