The tall Brazilian's eyes narrowed.
"There is no danger of loss," he asserted, with dignity. "We men of the coronel are not thieves."
The slight emphasis of his last sentence might have been taken as an intimation that some one else not far away would bear watching. José's mouth tightened. For a moment Brazilian and Peruvian eyed each other in obvious dislike. Then, with a glance at his crippled arm, José shrugged again.
"Better come along, José," McKay said. "Stuff's safe enough."
"As you will, Capitan."
He lounged to the edge, hesitated, wavered slightly. At once the Brazilian darted out a hand and gave him support. And while the four clambered up the slope he retained a grip on the Peruvian's arm, aiding him to the top. When they emerged on the level, however, he dropped his hand immediately. José gave him a half-mocking bow of thanks, to which he replied with a short nod. Then he stepped back and let the Peruvian precede him toward a number of substantial pole-supported houses a hundred yards away.
"No love lost between them two," thought Tim, who had watched it all. "Good skate, though, this new feller. Ready to help a guy that needs it, whether he likes him or not; ready to knock his block off, too, if he needs that. Bet he'd be a hellion in a scrap. Dang good-lookin' lad, too."
Wherewith he introduced himself.
"Don't git sore because I growled at ye down below," he said, with a friendly grin. "Sounded rough, mebbe, but that's my style. I'm Tim Ryan, from the States. I bark more 'n I bite."
The overture met with instant response—a quick smile and a twinkle in the warm eyes.