"I know no reason why we should be killed," he declared. "I do not believe you," the coronel declared, bluntly. José shrugged, calmly drank the coronel's wine, lighted the coronel's cigar, leaned back in the coronel's chair, and eyed the coronel with imperturbable insolence. "See here, José," demanded McKay, "you've had something up your sleeve all along. Now come clean! What is it?" José puffed airily at the cigar, saying nothing. "What orders did Schwandorf give you?" This time the reply came readily enough. "To take you twenty-four days up the river and put you ashore. To prevent any trouble before that time." "Ah! And after that?" "Nothing. At least, nothing to me. What may have been said to the other men I do not know. Schwandorf came to me last, after he had picked all the others." "And what do you know about Schwandorf?" "What is between me and Schwandorf will be settled between me and Schwandorf. My duty to you señores lies only in handling the crew. Now that there is no crew my duty ends. Also, Capitan, I would like my pay now." "You quit?" "Why not? I have done my best. I can do no more. I am crippled. I am of no further use to you. Give me my pay, a little food, a small canoe, and I go." "It is possible, Senhor José," spoke the coronel, with ironic politeness, "that you may not go so soon. You have killed two men recently. You refuse to reveal some things which should be known about the German. Perhaps the law--" José burst into a jeering laugh. "Law? You speak of law? There is no law up the river but the law of the gun and the knife. And if there were, señor, what then? I killed in a fair fight. I killed men who would do murder. I killed on the west bank of the river--Peru. Neither you nor any other Brazilian can lay hand on me. And though I now have only one good arm, it will not be well for anyone to try to hold me. My knife and my right hand still are ready." "By cripes! the lad's right!" Tim blurted, impulsively. "And I'll tell the world I'm for him. He's got a right to keep his mouth shut if he wants to. He don't owe us nothin'. Mebbe he's got somethin' up his sleeve, at that; but he stuck with us in the pinch, and--" "And we'll give him a square deal, of course," Knowlton cut in. "José, your own wages to this point, at a dollar a day, are eighteen dollars. The wages of the five other men to the place where they--quit--would aggregate seventy-five dollars. Grand total, ninety-three. The others chose to take their pay in lead instead of gold, so their account is closed. Therefore I suggest that their pay go to you as _puntero_, _popero_, and good sport. What say, Rod?" "Make it a hundred flat," McKay agreed. "Right. A hundred in gold. Satisfy you, José?" "Indeed yes, señor. I did not expect such generosity." "That's all right, then. We'll fix you up before we move on, and--Say! Are you in Schwandorf's pay, too?" José hesitated. Then he replied: