“Hola, Señor Padre Josè! Dios mío, but your hill is steep!”
Josè strained his eyes at the newcomer. The man quickly gained the summit, and hurried to grasp the bewildered priest’s hand.
“Love of the Virgin! don’t you know me, Señor Padre?” he cried, slapping Josè roundly upon the back.
The light of recognition slowly came into the priest’s eyes. The man was Don Jorge, his erstwhile traveling companion on the Magdalena river.
“And now a cup of that coffee, if you will do me the favor, my good Cura. And then tell me what ails you here,” he added, seating himself. “Caramba, what a town! Diego was right––the devil himself made this place! But they say you have all taken to dying! Have you nothing else to do? Caramba, I do not wonder! Such a God-forsaken spot! Well, what is it? Speak, man!”
Josè collected his scattered thoughts. “The cholera!” he said hoarsely.
“Cholera! Caramba! so they told me down below, and I would not believe them! But where did it come from?”
“One of our men brought it from Bodega Central.”
“Bodega Central!” ejaculated Don Jorge. “Impossible! I came from there this morning myself. Have been there two days. There isn’t a trace of cholera in the place, as far as I know! You have all gone crazy––but small wonder!” looking out over the decrepit town.
The priest’s head was awhirl. He felt his senses leaving him. His ears were reporting things basely false. “You say––” he began in bewilderment.