ly
tone. "Where do you go?"

"To Simiti," replied the priest, turning eagerly to the man. "But," in
bewilderment, "where is it?"

"Over there," answered the native, pointing to the jungle on the far
side of the river. "Many leagues."

The wearied priest sat down on his trunk and buried his face in his
hands. Faintness and nausea seized him. It was the after-effect of his
long and difficult river experience. Or, perhaps, the deadly malaria
was beginning its insidious poisoning. The man approached and laid a
hand on his shoulder.

"Padre, why do you go to Simiti?"

Jose raised his head and looked more closely at his interlocutor. The
native was a man of perhaps sixty years. His figure was that of an
athlete. He stood well over six feet high, with massive shoulders, and
a waist as slender as a woman's. His face was almost black in color,
and mottled with patches of white, so common to the natives of the hot
inlands. But there was that in its expression, a something that
looked out through those kindly black eyes, that assured Jose and
bespoke his confidence.

The man gravely repeated his question.

"I have been sent there by the Bishop of Cartagena. I am to have
charge of the parish," Jose replied.

The man slowly shook his finely shaped head.

"We want no priest in Simiti," he said with quiet firmness. His manner
of speaking was abrupt, yet not ungracious.

"But--do you live there?" inquired Jose anxiously.

"Yes, Padre."

"Then you must know a man--Rosendo, I think his name--"

"I am Rosendo Ariza."

Jose looked eagerly at the man. Then he wearily stretched out a hand.

"Rosendo--I am sick--I think. And--I have--no friends--"

Rosendo quickly grasped his hand and slipped an arm about his
shoulders.

"I am your friend, Padre--" He stopped and appeared to reflect for a
moment. Then he added quickly, "My canoe is ready; and we must hurry,
or night will overtake us."

The priest essayed to rise, but stumbled. Then, as if he had been a
child, the man Rosendo picked him up and carried him down the bank to
a rude canoe, where he deposited him on a pile of empty bags in the
keel.

"Escolastico!" he called back to a young man who seemed to be the
chief character of the village. "Sell the _panela_ and yuccas _a buen
precio_; and remind Captain Julio not to forget on the next trip to
bring the little Carmen a doll from Barranquilla. I will be over again
next month. And Juan," addressing the sturdy youth w