o Bermudez, thence over the Andes to the
coast, and northward to a New York address memorized from Knowlton's
notebook, already had gone this message:

McKay expedition killed by Indians. Rand search most dangerous, but
if empowered I attempt locate him for fifty thousand gold payable
on safe delivery Rand at Manaos. Reply soon a possible.

KARL SCHWANDORF.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DOUBLE-CROSS

Noon, sweltering hot. A blazing sun pouring vertical rays down on a
blinding river. A long canoe wearily creeping up the glaring waters,
minus a lookout, heedless of the ever-present danger of sunken tree
trunks; propelled by three sun-blistered white men, one of whom wore a
bandage around his head; steered perfunctorily by a pallid pirate whose
left arm hung in a sling. Atop the right bank an unbroken, endless
tangle of jungle growth. Ahead, on the left shore, a gap gouged out of
the forest and a number of boats at the water's edge.

"Guess that's it," panted Knowlton, shielding his eyes and squinting at
the clearing. "One more day's journey, the Brazilian chap said. We've
been two and a half."

"One day's journey for six hardened rivermen, senor," corrected Jose.
"Not for three men doing six men's work and hampered by a cripple."

"Aw, ye're no crip, Hozy," dissented Tim. "Any guy that can steer a tub
like this here one-handed after losin' a couple gallons o' juice is in
good shape yet, I'll say. If ye had both legs shot off and yer arms
broke and yer head stove in, now, ye might call yourself sort o'
helpless. Ease her over to the left a li'l' more, so's we'll hit the
bank right at the corner o' that gap. Me, I don't want to take one
stroke more 'n I have to. Every muscle in me is so sore it squeaks."

"Same here," admitted Knowlton. "I'm one solid ache."

Jose nodded. The clumsy craft veered a bit. The three put a little more
punch into their lagging strokes, noting, as they neared the steep bank,
that a couple of men had appeared at its top and were staring at them.
Gradually the long dugout worked in to the muddy shore, where the
paddlers stabbed their blades into the clay and held it firm.

"Ahoy, up there! This the Nunes _seringal_?"

From the edge, some thirty feet above, the taller of the two watchers
answered:

"_Si_, senhor. The headquarters of the coronel. Do you come to visit
him?"

"Right."

"Then permit me to help you. The path is a little ahead. Pull up and tie
to this