ed. At once he snarled curses and commands. Slowly the knives
slipped out of sight. The paddlers edged backward to their own shack,
leaving their _puntero_ alone.

"The capitan has it wrong," asserted Jose. "We awake to find our
_popero_ being kicked in the head. We want to know why. If Francisco has
done what you say I will deal with him. That I may be sure, allow me to
look."

"Very well. Look."

Jose advanced, stooped, studied the ground, the position of Francisco's
body, the knife still clutched in the nerveless hand. Tim growlingly
vouchsafed a brief explanation of the incident. When Jose straightened
up, his mouth was a hard line and his eyes hot coals.

"_Si. Es verdad._ To-morrow we shall have a new _popero_."

With which he stooped again, grasped the prone man by the hair, dragged
him into the moonlit space between the huts, and flung him down. "Juan,
bring water!" he ordered.

One of the paddlers, looking queerly at him, did so. Jose deluged the
senseless man. Francisco, reviving, sat up and scowled about him. His
eyes rested on the three Americans standing grimly ready, shoulder to
shoulder, before their hut; veered to his mates bunched in sinister
silence beside their own quarters; shifted again to meet the baleful
glare of Jose. His hand stole to his empty sheath.

"Your knife, Francisco _mio_?" queried Jose, a menacing purr in his
tone. "I have it. It seems that you are in haste to use it. Too much
haste, Francisco. But if you will stand instead of crawling as before,
you may have your knife again--and use it, too."

Francisco, staring sullenly up, seemed to read in the words more than
was evident to the Americans. He lurched to his feet, staggered, caught
his balance, braced himself, stood waiting.

"You know who commands here," Jose went on. "You disobey. You seek to
stab in the night--"

"Now or later--what is the difference?"

"--and now the boat is too small for both of us." Jose ignored the
interruption. "Here is your knife. Now use it!"

He flipped the weapon at the other, who caught it deftly. Jose dropped
his right hand to his waist. An instant later naked steel licked out at
Francisco's throat.

The steersman's knife flashed up, caught the reaching blade, knocked it
with a scraping clink. For a few seconds the two weapons seemed welded
together, their owners each striving to bear down the other's wrist.
Then they parted as the combatants sprang back.

Jose side-stepped twice to