Alcides and Filippe—who by then had become most adventurous—and I were about to start on July 1st, and were making things ready, when two of my deserters returned and begged me to take them along again. They had found living at their own cost rather expensive, and had realized that it would have been an impossibility for them to get out of that place again with the funds at their disposal. Each meal had cost them a small fortune. Animals were extremely expensive, and it was then the wrong season for launches to come up the river as far as Rosario, the nearest port to the south.
"We will come with you," said they, in a sudden outburst of devotion. "We will come. We are brave men. You have always been good and generous to us. We are sorry for what we have done. Order us and we will kill anybody you like for you!"
Brazilians of that class have only one idea in their heads—killing, killing, killing!
That was more devotion than I demanded. In order to spare Alcides and Filippe, and myself—as the work thrown upon us would have indeed been beyond our possible strength—I re-employed the two men on the express condition that they should murder no one while they were with me.
At noon of July 1st, accompanied by a mounted escort of honour of the leading citizens with the Mayor at their head, I left Diamantino (elev. 1,030 ft.), travelling north-east. We ascended to the summit of a table-land—the first terrace of which was at an elevation of 1,250 ft., the higher at 1,600 ft. The last words I had heard from a venerable old man as I rode out of Diamantino still rang in my ears.
"You are going to sure death—good-bye!..." On reaching the top of the plateau the courteous friends who had accompanied me also bade me an affectionate farewell. I could see by their faces and their manner that they were saying good-bye to one they believed a doomed man.
"If by chance you come out alive," said the Mayor, in a tentative way, "we should like to have news of you."
On dismal occasions of that kind the sky is always gloomy and black and there is always drizzling rain. So that day, too, the weather did not fail to add to our depressed spirits.
On leaving our friends we started to plunge once more into the unknown. On reaching the top edge of the plateau we witnessed a wonderful sight, rendered more poetic by the slight vagueness of a veil of mist. To the south of Diamantino was the Serra Tombador, extending as far as S. Luiz de Caceres, about 250 kil. as the crow flies to the south-west. Then below us was the Lagõa dos Veados with no outlet, and close by the head-waters of the Rio Preto (a tributary of the Arinos). The Serra do Tombador was parallel nearly all along with the River Paraguay.
Owing to departing so late in the day from Diamantino, and the time we had wasted on the way with social compliments, we were only able to go 12 kil. that afternoon. We halted near the shed of a seringueiro (rubber collector), at an elevation of 1,530 ft., close to the Chapesà, a streamlet flowing into the Agua Fria (cold water), which in its turn threw itself into the Rio Preto.