"You have seen him?" exclaimed the coronel. "When? Where? How? Why have you not spoken of it?"
"Because, Coronel, I forgot it until now. It meant nothing to us—yes, Pedro was with me—except that it was one more queer thing in the bush. In time I might have remembered it and told you. But you know we have been busy."
"True. But go on."
"It was only a little time ago. We were returning from the scouting trip on which you sent us to locate new rubber trees. We were seven—eight—seven—"
"Eight days' journey from here," prompted Pedro.
"Si. We were in our canoe when a sudden storm broke and we got ashore to wait until it was over. The place was on an ygarapé—a creek—about two days away from the river. The trees were large and the ground free from bush. In a flash of lightning we saw a man peering out at us from a hollow tree.
"He was naked and streaked with paint—that was all we saw in the flashes that came and went. The rain was heavy, and we stayed where we were until it ended. Then we ordered that man to come out.
"He came, and he held bow and arrow ready to shoot. We, too, were ready to shoot, but we held back our bullets and he held back his arrow. We saw that his paint was red and that it traced his bones; that his skin was that of a tanned white man and his hair was dark with a white streak over one ear. No, we did not notice the color of his eyes—the light was not good and he stood well away from us.
"We looked around for other men, but saw none. We asked him who he was and what he wanted, but he gave no answer. He looked at us for a long time, and we at him. Then he began walking away sidewise, watching us steadily, holding his arrow always ready. Finally he disappeared among the trees and we saw him no more. But we heard him, senhores; twice before we lost sight of him he spoke out in a queer voice like that of a parrot. And the thing he said was, 'Poor Davey!'"
McKay thumped a fist on his chair.