!" cried Jose, recoiling. "A leper!"

Turning swiftly from the hideous object, his brain awhirl with the
horrible nightmare, the priest fled blindly from the scene. Nauseated,
quivering with horror, with the obscene ravings of the leper still
ringing in his ears, he stumbled about the town until daybreak, when
the boat's shrieking whistle summoned him to embark.

The second day on the river seemed to Jose intolerable, as he shifted
about the creaking, straining tub to avoid the sun's piercing rays and
the heat which, drifting back from the hot stack forward, enveloped
the entire craft. There were but few passengers, some half dozen men
and two slatternly attired women. Whither they were bound, he knew
not, nor cared; and, though they saluted him courteously, he
studiously avoided being drawn into their conversations. The emotional
appeal of the great river and its forest-lined banks did not at first
affect him. Yet he sought forgetfulness of self by concentrating his
thought upon them.

The massed foliage constituted an impenetrable wall on either side.
Everywhere his eyes met a maze of _lianas_, creeping plants, begonias,
and bizarre vegetable forms, shapes and hues of which he had never
before had any adequate conception. Often he caught the glint of
great, rare butterflies hovering in the early sunlight which filtered
through the interlaced fronds and branches. Often when the boat hugged
the bank he saw indescribable buds and blossoms, and multicolored
orchids clinging to the drooping _bejucos_ which festooned the
enormous trees. As the afternoon waned and the sun hung low, the magic
stillness of the solitude began to cast its spell about him, and he
could imagine that he was penetrating a fairy-land. The vast stream,
winding, broadening, ramifying round wooded islets, throwing out long,
dusky lagoons and swampy arms, incessantly plying its numberless
activities, at length held him enraptured. As he brooded over it all,
his thought wandered back to the exploits of the intrepid Quesada and
his stalwart band who, centuries before, had forced their perilous way
along this same river, amid showers of poisoned arrows from hostile
natives, amid the assaults of tropical storms and malarial fevers, to
the plateau of Cundinamarca, the home of the primitive Muiscas; and
there gathering fresh strength and inspiration, had pushed on to the
site of Santa Fe de Bogota.

A cry suddenly rang through the boat. "Man overboard!"