hick over the
valley, so thick that Rosendo, as he made his way down to the lake,
scarce could distinguish the road ahead of him. The dry season had
passed, and the rains were now setting in. As he hurried along, the
old man mused dubiously on the contract which Don Luis had made with
him. To cut wood in the rainy season!--but, after all, that was no
concern of his. And yet--why had Padre Jose grown suddenly quiet when
he learned of the contract yesterday? His bare feet fell softly upon
the shales, and he proceeded more cautiously as he neared the water's
edge.

"_Hombre!_" he muttered, striving to penetrate the mist; "only a
_loco_ ventures out on the lake in such weather!"

He reached the boat, and placed in it the rope and axe which he had
brought. Then, still troubled in thought, he sat down on the edge of
the canoe and dropped into a puzzled meditation.

Suddenly through the fog he heard a sound. Somebody was approaching. A
fisherman, perhaps. But fishermen do not go out on the lake in dense
fogs, he remembered. The tread sounded nearer. He waited, speculating.
Then through the mist loomed the thick body of a man. Straining his
eyes, Rosendo recognized Padre Diego.

With a bound the old man was upon his feet. His thick arm shot out
like a catapult; and his great fist, meeting Diego squarely upon the
temple, felled him like an ox.

For a moment Rosendo stood over the prostrate priest, like a lion
above its prey. Then he reached into the canoe and drew out the axe.
Holding it aloft, he stood an instant poised above the senseless man;
then with a mighty swing he whirled about and hurled it far out into
the lake. He seemed suddenly bereft of his senses. Incoherent
muttering issued from his trembling lips. He looked about in
bewilderment. A thought seemed to impress him. He took the rope from
the boat and quickly bound Diego hand and foot. This done, he picked
up the unconscious priest and tossed him into the canoe as if he had
been a billet of wood. Jumping in after him, he hastily pushed off
from the shore and paddled vigorously in the direction of the island.
Why he was doing this he had not the faintest idea.

It was all the work of a few seconds; yet when his reason came again
Rosendo found himself far out in the thick fog, and his prisoner
moaning softly as consciousness slowly returned. The sense of
direction which these sons of the jungle possess is almost infallible,
and despite the watery cloud which e