Arthur O. Friel

“ Every day we saw signs of men—a pole tripod where a tapir had been roasted, a tiny rancheria among the trees where Indians had camped while fishing, a few charred butt-ends of sticks, and such things—but nothing of the men themselves. This did not surprize me, for I knew that the Indians of this river were very wary by nature and had become much more so since the Funes gang had been in control at San Fernando; the Indians soon learn of such things, and when they know we Venezuelans are killing one another along the Orinoco they move still farther away from it and its tributaries. ”

“ As I said, I do my own scouting, because Indians will not always tell you about all they find. What I myself have seen, that I know. I can not see clearly through another man’s eyes. Furthermore, I will not live in San Fernando—I do not like it. Every foot of its ground is soaked with human blood. Its very air is poisonous. So when other balata men are spending the dry season there drinking up their money, I am out in the wilds cruising about for new finds. ”

“ I have a way of getting along well with most Indians—else I could not work balata, for all my men are Indians—but with those Guaharibos no man can get along. They are killers.
Besides this, I had tired of the Padamo country and had decided to prospect up the Rio Ventuari, which enters the Orinoco not many days above San Fernando: a river little known even to us men of Amazonas, and, I am very sure, known not at all to any one else, except the Indians who live there. That upland country is the homeland of the Maquiritares, with whom I have long been friendly. ”