ever large. But tell me, now," he inquired, turning the
conversation from himself, "what is it brings you into this region
forsaken of the gods?"

"_Sepulcros_," Don Jorge briefly announced.

"Ha! Indian graves again! But have you abandoned your quest of _La
Tumba del Diablo_, in the Sinu valley?"

"Naturally, since the records show that it was opened centuries ago.
And I spent a good year's search on it, too! _Dios!_ They say it
yielded above thirty thousand _pesos_ gold."

"_Diablo!_"

"But I am on the track of others. I go now to Medellin; then to
Remedios; and there outfit for a trip of grave hunting through the old
Guamoco district."

"Guamoco! Then you will naturally come down the Simiti trail, which
brings you out to the Magdalena."

"Simiti?" interrupted Jose eagerly, turning to the speaker. "Do you
know the place?"

"Somewhat!" replied Padre Diego, laughing. "I had charge of that
parish for a few months--"

"But found it highly convenient to leave, no?" finished the merciless
Don Jorge.

"_Caramba!_ Would you have me die of _ennui_ in such a hell-hole?"
cried Diego with some aspersion.

"Hell-hole!" echoed Jose. "Is it so bad as that?"

"_Hombre!_ Yes--worse! They say that after the good Lord created
heaven and earth He had a few handfuls of dirt left, and these He
threw away. But crafty Satan, always with an eye single to going the
Lord one better, slyly gathered this dirt together again and made
Simiti." Diego quickly finished another glass of rum, as if he would
drown the memory of the town.

Jose's heart slowly sank under the words.

"But why do you ask? You are not going there?" Padre Diego inquired.
Jose nodded an affirmative.

"_Diablo!_ Assigned?"

"Yes," in a voice scarcely audible.

The Padre whistled softly. "Then in that case," he said, brightening,
"we are brother sinners. So let us exchange confidences. What was your
crime, if one may ask?"

"Crime!" exclaimed Jose in amazement.

"Aye; who was she? Rich? Beautiful? Native? Or foreign? Come, the
story. We have a long night before us." And the coarse fellow settled
back expectantly in his chair.

Jose paled. "What do you mean?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"_Caramba!_" returned the Padre impatiently. "You surely know that no
respectable priest is ever sent to Simiti! That it is the good
Bishop's penal colony for fallen clergy--and, I may add, the refuge of
political offenders of this and adjacent countries. Why, the