Just how and when the _puntero_ cat-footed his way out that night none ever knew but himself. But before the next dawn he had vanished from the Brazilian shore. CHAPTER X. BY THE LIGHT OF STORM "One thing I can't understand," Knowlton said, toying with his coffee cup the next morning, "is why Schwandorf should double-cross us. We never did anything to him. Another thing I don't quite get is how he expected to have the Peruvians wiped out when he knew blamed well they were aware of the enmity of the cannibals. They'd hardly be likely to go into the bush with us under those circumstances." "My guess is this," McKay replied. "He set a trap. He is on a friendly footing with some of the savages above here, no doubt. He dispatched that Indian messenger to stir them up with some false tale and bring them to some place where they'd be pretty sure to get us. He primed the crew to jump us at the same place, perhaps. Then the crew would kill us or we'd kill them, and whichever side won would be smeared by the Indians. Sort of a trap within a trap. Why he did it doesn't matter much. He double-crossed us, he double-crossed the crew, he double-crossed José. First thing he knows he'll find he's double-crossed himself." "Yeah," Tim grunted. "He better beat it before we git back!" "He wanted no killing before we reached the cannibal country," McKay went on, "because then it would all be blamed on the savages and he could show clean hands. Francisco's vengefulness tipped over his cart." "Still, he might have known we'd stop here for a call on the coronel, and that there was a big chance for us to be warned here about the feud between Mayorunas and Peruvians." "That probably was provided for. Crew doubtless had orders to prevent any such visit, by lying to us or in other ways. We probably would have gone surging past here at top speed." "Wal, it don't git us nothin' to talk about things that 'ain't happened," interposed the practical Tim. "Question is, where do we go from here? And how?" All eyes went to the coronel, who sat languidly smoking his morning cigar. "Coronel, we are in your hands," McKay said, bluntly. "Your men, I presume, are all out at work in various parts of the bush. We want a crew and, if possible, guides. Can you help us?" The coronel flicked off an ash and spoke slowly: "I have two men, senhores, who have no peers as bushmen. They are the two whom you saw yesterday. Frankly, they are most valuable to me, and I hesitate about sending them on so dangerous a mission as yours. Yet they might succeed where most men would fail, for they have repeatedly gone into the bush on risky journeys and returned unharmed. Their adventures would fill books.