Arthur O. Friel

“ Black though his world was, he had forgotten himself already. He staggered up out of his hammock, his right fist on his revolver-butt.
“Jump!” he roared. “Find her—and put me in front of the man! —— him, I'll kill him if I'm blind, deaf, dumb and paralyzed! ”

“ It was the camp of a man without a canoe and with few cartridges, forced to exist on what little he could kill by stealth. He had seen or heard us arrive, spied on our camp while we two were away, taken a desperate chance and succeeded.
Pedro, searching the dirt floor, picked up an old cartridge-shell. It was of the same caliber as our own. We looked at each other and nodded. The thief now had plenty of ammunition, for we had left most of our bullets in the stolen canoes. ”

“ Pedro rumbled. “We have no mercy for snakes. Come. This meat is roasted enough to eat, and we can chew it as we travel.”
“Right! Let's go!”
Down the bank we guided him to the raft. Then we rushed our hammocks and meat and weapons from the camp to the logs and got aboard. A minute later we two were poling our sluggish craft out into the creek. Between us, silent and sightless, Senhor Tom sat grimly fingering his gun. ”