to smoke."

He gave a mighty start and, turning, fixed his eyes on me. Then
I saw that he was not a pure Indian, for although as brown as old
leather, he wore a beard and moustache. A curious face had this
old man, which looked as if youth and age had made it a
battling-ground. His forehead was smooth except for two parallel
lines in the middle running its entire length, dividing it in
zones; his arched eyebrows were black as ink, and his small black
eyes were bright and cunning, like the eyes of some wild
carnivorous animal. In this part of his face youth had held its
own, especially in the eyes, which looked young and lively. But
lower down age had conquered, scribbling his skin all over with
wrinkles, while moustache and beard were white as thistledown.
"Aha, the dead man is alive again!" he exclaimed, with a
chuckling laugh. This in the Indian tongue; then in Spanish he
added: "But speak to me in the language you know best, senor; for
if you are not a Venezuelan call me an owl."

"And you, old man?" said I.

"Ah, I was right! Why sir what I am is plainly written on my
face. Surely you do not take me for a pagan! I might be a black
man from Africa, or an Englishman, but an Indian--that, no! But
a minute ago you had the goodness to invite me to smoke. How, sir,
can a poor man smoke who is without tobacco?"

"Without tobacco--in Guayana!"

"Can you believe it? But, sir, do not blame me; if the beast