"Not so good," the old gentleman replied, with a deprecatory gesture. "In truth, it is very poor since the war--so poor that soon I shall abandon this _seringal_ and go out to spend the rest of my life on the coast. With rubber selling at a mere five hundred dollars a ton in New York and the artificial plantations of the Far East growing greater yearly, there is no longer much profit in bleeding the wild trees of our jungle. I really do not know why I stay here now, unless it is because I have become so much accustomed to this life." "Why, I understood that there was much money in rubber!" "You speak truth--there was. Now there is not. The world moves and times change. Years ago foreigners came into Brazil, helped themselves to the seed of our wild trees, and planted it in Ceylon and the Malay region. That seed now bears such fruit that the world is flooded with rubber. Ten years ago, senhores, a ton sold for six thousand five hundred dollars. 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. After a long stare at Knowlton he looked at McKay, at Tim, and finally at José. A frown grew on his face. And the Americans, following his look at the Peruvian, were surprised to see that José himself was staring blankly at the speaker. "José Martinez!" snapped the coronel, leveling a finger pistollike at the _puntero_. "What devil's game are you working now?" José recovered himself and lifted his coffee cup. "I do not understand you, Nunes," he replied, languidly. "I am but the humble _puntero_ of the crew engaged by these señores. My only work has been to earn my pay. And you may ask _el capitan_ whether I have earned it." "Ay, he has," corroborated McKay. "Killed two of his own crew in our defense." The coronel's jaw dropped. He blinked as if disbelieving his ears. "He--José? Not possible!" he stuttered. "José--this man--defended you against his companions?" "Exactly." The Brazilian slowly shook his head. Then suddenly he nodded as if an illuminating thought had crossed his mind. "I see. José is very well paid." "One dollar a day," was McKay's dry retort. 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. I am much in the dark, gentlemen. If you would be so good as to enlighten me--" He paused, looking sidewise again at José as if the _puntero_ had suddenly grown wings or horns.