"Truly. Most of the Brazilian savages do not torture. The Red Bones do."
"Pleasant prospect."
"Very. Nothing to be gained among them, either. If you're hunting gold, try the hills over west of the Huallaga. None here."
Knowlton filled and lit a pipe. McKay slowly drank the last of his syrupy coffee and rolled a cigarette. Schwandorf continued shoveling food into his capacious mouth.
"Know anything about the Raposa?" Knowlton asked.
The Teuton's eyelashes flickered. He ground another chunk of meat between his jaws before answering.
"Of course," he said then. "Wild dog. Sharp snout, gray hair, bushy tail. I've shot a couple of them."
"This one is a man. Green eyes, streak of white hair over the left ear. Paints himself like the Red Bones, as you call them, but is a white man."
"Oh! That one? Heard of him, yes. Wild man of the jungle. Want to catch him and put him in a circus?"
"Maybe. We'd like to see him, anyhow. Heard about him awhile ago. Any way to get him that you know of?"