In a previous chapter I have mentioned an ex-cannibal Bolivian, whom Roland had made up his mind to take with him as a guide in the absence of, or in addition to, faithful Benee.
He was called Charlie by the whites.
Charlie was as true to his master as the needle to the pole.
On the third evening of the voyage, just as Roland and Dick, with Bill, were enjoying an after-dinner lounge in an open glade not far from the river brink, the moon shining so brightly that the smallest of type could easily have been read by young eyes, he suddenly appeared in their midst.
"What cheer, Charlie?" said Roland kindly. "Come, squat thee down, and we will give you a tiny toothful of aguardiente."
"Touchee me he, no, no!" was the reply. "He catchee de bref too muchee. Smokee me, notwidstanding," he added.
It was one of Charlie's peculiarities that if he could once get hold of a big word or two, he planted them in his conversation whenever he thought he had a favourable opening.
An ex-cannibal Charlie was, and he came from the great western unexplored district of Bolivia.
He confessed that although fond of "de pig ob de forest (tapir), de tail ob de 'gator, and de big haboo-snake when roast," there was nothing in all the world so satisfactory as "de fles' ob a small boy. Yum, yum! it was goodee, goodee notwidstanding, and make bof him ear crack and him 'tumack feel wa'm."
Charlie lit up his cigarette, and then commenced to explain the reason of his visit.