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Best way to get a wild dog is to shoot him, and he isn't much good dead. Or would this one be worth something—dead? Guess the Red Bone country would be the likeliest place.

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How far is it from here? The Americans rose. Thank you for your assistance. Shall we sit on the piazza with a small bottle to aid digestion? Bring from my stock the kuemmel.

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Or would you prefer whisky, gentlemen? At one milrei a bottle. Thomaz, three bottles of ginger ale and one of North American whisky—the best. Cigars also. Out on the piazza. Frankly, I do not like whisky.

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All a matter of taste. So let each of us drink his own preference. I will join you in a moment. But not candid. Knows more than he's telling. As Knowlton had predicted, the night noise of forest and stream had diminished; but now from the village itself rose a new discord—a babel of vocal and instrumental efforts at music emanating from the badly worn records of dozens of cheap phonographs grinding away in the stilt-poled huts. Schwandorf emerged, carrying a big bottle.

Thomaz appeared with bottles and thick cups. Corks were drawn, liquids gurgled, matches flared, cigars glowed. Without warning Schwandorf shot a question through the gloom: "Have you seen Cabral—the superintendent? He suggested that we see you. That would bring you to their main settlement—if you were not wiped out before then. They're a big tribe, as tribes go.

Ever been here before? Not here," Knowlton told him. Then, deftly shifting the sentence, he concluded, "—in a number of places. Tribes here generally consist of from fifty to five hundred or more persons living in big houses called ' malocas.

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There may be any number of malocas , the inhabitants of which are all of the same racial stock; yet each maloca is, as far as government is concerned, a tribe to itself, controlled by a chief. No maloca owes any duty to any other maloca. There is no supreme ruler over all, nor even a federation among them. They live merely as neighbors—distant neighbors. At times they fight like neighbors.

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You understand. When I say, then, that the Red Bones are a big tribe, I mean that there are about five hundred—maybe more—individuals in their main settlement. They live in huts, not in one big tribe-house like the Mayorunas. They are not Mayorunas, in fact; they paint differently, are darker of skin, and more cruel. Though cannibals, they do not kill for the sake of eating 'long pig,' like the cannibals of the South Seas.

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Neither do they eat the whole body. Only the hands and feet of their dead enemies are devoured. These are carefully cooked and eaten as delicacies along with monkey meat, birds, fish, and other things prepared for a feast in honor of a victory. The eating of human flesh seems to be symbolism rather than savagery.

Furthermore, they do not range the jungle hunting for victims. They eat only those who come against them as enemies. It would depend largely on the ability of the strangers to convince the savages that they were friends. The difficulty is that the savages consider all strangers to be enemies until friendship is proved. Yet it might be done.

Mind, I speak now of the Mayorunas, not of the Red Bones. I tell you again that the Red Bone country is closed. The Mayorunas are much more widely distributed. They are on both banks of the Javary and extend as far west as the Ucayali.


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I would go first among the Mayorunas near the Red Bones and seek to convince them that I was their friend. I would make the Mayoruna chief as friendly to me as possible.

I might even take a Mayoruna woman for a time—some of them are handsome, and such a step would make me almost a Mayoruna myself in their eyes. Then I would persuade the chief to send messengers to the Red Bones with word of me and a request that I be allowed to visit their settlement. The request, coming from the Mayoruna chief, probably would be granted.

I would then go in with a bodyguard of Mayorunas, do my business, and come out via the Mayoruna route. Bottle necks clinked against the cups. Barring the woman part, of course. The woman? Leave her, of course, when she had served my purpose. Why bother about a woman here and there? Schwandorf laughed again. But this is the jungle, and all is different. Perhaps when you have met the Mayoruna women, looked on their handsome faces and shapely forms—they wear no clothing, by the way—you will change your ideas.

More than one man along this border has risked his life to win one of those women. But that rests with you.