"One more day's journey," the man nodded.
"I thank you. Good fortune go with you."
"And with you, senhor. May God protect you."
With the words the Brazilian glanced along the line of Peruvian faces and his eyes narrowed. Though his words were only a respectful farewell, his expressive face indicated that McKay might be badly in need of divine protection at no distant date. As his paddle dipped and his men nodded their leave-taking, Francisco, the popero; sneered raucously:
"Hah! Mere caucheros! Workers! Slaves!"
And he spat at the Brazilian boat.
Fire shot into the eyes of the bowman and his comrades. Their muscles tensed.
"Better be slaves—better be dogs—than Peruvian cutthroats!" one retorted. "Go your way, and keep to your own side of the river."
"We go where we will, and no misborn Brazilians can stop us," snarled Francisco. To which he added obscene epithets directed against Brazilians in general and the men of Coronel Nunes in particular.
The unprovoked insults angered the Americans as well as the Brazilians. Knowlton leaped through the toldo and confronted Francisco.