en eyes hung on McKay's face again; but, as before, no answer
came in word, movement, or expression.

"No good, Rod," said Knowlton, who could not see the rescued man's face,
but watched McKay's. "'Fraid I knocked his last brains down his throat.
Dead from the neck up."

"I don't know about that. He doesn't look vacant. See here, Rand. We're
going to land and eat! You hungry? Uh-huh. Thought you'd understand
that. He's alive, Merry. Maybe not all here, but enough to get us."

"Good!"

The blond man turned his attention downstream again. Soon he suggested,
"How about landing at that little open space down there at the left,
Lourenco?"

"Very good, senhor. It looks dry."

The canoe swerved and floated down to a spot on the left shore where
bright light poured down from an opening in the overhead wall of
foliage.

"Now look here, Rand," warned the captain. "We'll untie you. But if you
try to duck into the bush, now or later, you get shot. Shot!
Understand?"

He tapped his pistol, and the gray eyes boring into the green ones were
hard as chilled steel. For the first time Rand responded--a slow, short
nod.

McKay cut the cord around the wild man's ankles, then stepped ashore and
held out a hand. Rand arose quietly, jumped to the earth unassisted,
lifted his bad foot and stared at it, then limped onward into a spot
where the sun now shone bright and warm, and sat down to bask.

"Have to fix that foot, I expect," yawned Knowlton. "But my eyes right
now are one solid ache, and I'm going to rest them. Watch him, will you,
Rod? Can't tell what he might do. Of course you wouldn't shoot him,
but--"

"Wouldn't I? Not to kill, no. But if he makes one break I'll drill a leg
for him. He's going to the States!"

"Sure. I'm with you all the way. Now beat it and let me repose myself."

He bathed his eyes, then lay down in the canoe with a wet handkerchief
across them. Pedro and Lourenco already were ashore and raiding the
slender packs for food. The Mayorunas were debarking and watching each
new boat as it drew up, their eyes on the women who had wielded paddles
with them but whose faces they now saw closely for the first time. In
the shaft of sunlight McKay stood tall and forbidding, rifle in the
crook of one arm, hat pulled low, guarding the gaunt man at his feet and
viewing the landing of the expedition.

The women, all young, numbered eleven. Their skins looked slightly
pallid, their eyes too big and black, their fa