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[[underline] because [[/underline]] I did not carry arms. That it was his weapons (he was oiling his revolver at the time) that made him fear. I didn't have enough Portuguese to make it clear, and the idea was too strange for him anyway. No, [[underline]] he [[/underline]] wasn't afraid, [[underline]] he [[/underline]] had revolver and gun! All the men go armed. Neither of these men [[strikeout]] went [[/strikeout]] left the car, even to cut palms or hunt logs to fill up holes ^[[insert]] in the road [[/insert]] without taking their guns,and their revolvers were in their belts. Most men wear knives besides. No wonder they live in fear. They are like an admiral in command of a fleet of war-[[paper torn]] [[inserted]] [ships.] [[/inserted]] I told [[strikeout]] him [[/strikeout]] José if I 
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could kill bichos [insects] with a gun I might carry one. The nurse at the mission at Rondonopolis gave me a lotion she made of alcohol, carbolic acid, camphor and other stuff to relieve insect torment. It was a wonderful relief. It numbs the skin enough to let one forget for a while. I rubbed all over with it after my hot bath and regained my sanity. She gave me a little bottle to take along. I forgot that besides [[strikeout]] O [[/strikeout]] onças I was warned against Indians. When we stopped at Rondons fazenda last week for almoça, I struck out for the thick cerrado. José hurried after and told me it