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It is a long story, but these are the facts: "There was in Peru a gang of killers, robbers and worse who called themselves the Peccaries. They raided one of the coronel's camps where I was in charge, killed all my gang except myself and one other, and used us two as slaves and beasts of burden. "The other man died from poison. I lived only to revenge myself on those foul outlaws.
At that moment 'Tonio re-entered with a larger tray than before, bearing more coffee, long cigars, and squat glasses in which glowed a golden liquid. Tim sat up with a grunt and helped himself with both hands. When the coronel's turn came he disregarded the drinks, but lit the cigar as if he needed it. "De noite todos os gatos sao pardos," he said. "At night all cats are gray.
Gimme another one, feller, and make it man's size!" The black fellow struggled with his quick mirth and then laughed outright the throaty, infectious laugh of his race. The coronel's eyes twinkled.
Tim, who had listened with casual interest to the coronel's music, now grinned happily. And when the plaintive Scotch song became "Kathleen Mavourneen" he closed his eyes and lay back in pure enjoyment. "The River Shannon" flowed into "The Suwanee River," and this in turn blended into other heart-tugging airs of Dixieland.
There was much rubber of the coronel's, worth much money at that time, in the camp they had raided. So, after driving me like a beast to their stronghold in the hills of Peru, they came back with boats and Indian porters to get out that rubber. "On that return journey I tried to kill the leader, who was called El Amarillo yellow-skinned.
Wherefore they were somewhat taken aback when informed that nice white nets were decidedly not the thing in this part of the world. "Up to this place, senhores, they have done no harm," Pedro said, before leaving the coronel's grounds. "But from here on they will not do at all. The weakest moonlight yes, even starlight would make them stand out in the darkness like tombstones.
From the time of the landing at Remate de Males, however, he narrated events more fully, giving complete details of Schwandorf's activities, Francisco's offense, and the final attack by the crew. While he talked the coronel's frown deepened. Also, José gradually assumed the expression of a thundercloud. And when the tale was done the puntero exploded. "Sangre de Cristo!" he yelled.
Each felt that he had glimpsed something of this man's past; felt, too, that he who now was a bloody-handed borderer had once been a caballero, moving in a much higher circle. Certainly he could not play like this unless he had been of the upper class in his youth. The coronel's face was thoughtful as he took back the violin.
Now, in this year nineteen-twenty, the price is only one-thirteenth of what it was in those days. It scarcely pays for the gathering. I hope you have not come expecting to make fortunes in rubber." "No. We are here to find a race of men known as Red Bones." The coronel's brows lifted. They kept on lifting, and he opened his lips twice without speaking.
"It may change everything for us. We saw a lone Indian go past the coronel's place, traveling fast, three days before you came. I would give much to know where he is now and what word he carries. A short man with a bad left leg, you say. We shall keep watch for such a man. Perhaps we may meet him." Wherein he predicted more accurately than he knew.
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