Suddenly through the fog he heard a sound. Somebody was approaching. A fisherman, perhaps. But fishermen do not go out on the lake in dense fogs, he remembered. The tread sounded nearer. He waited, speculating. Then through the mist loomed the thick body of a man. Straining his eyes, Rosendo recognized Padre Diego.
With a bound the old man was upon his feet. His thick arm shot out like a catapult; and his great fist, meeting Diego squarely upon the temple, felled him like an ox.
For a moment Rosendo stood over the prostrate priest, like a lion above its prey. Then he reached into the canoe and drew out the axe. Holding it aloft, he stood an instant poised above the senseless man; then with a mighty swing he whirled about and hurled it far out into the lake. He seemed suddenly bereft of his senses. Incoherent muttering issued from his trembling lips. He looked about in bewilderment. A thought seemed to impress him. He took the rope from the boat and quickly bound Diego hand and foot. This done, he picked up the unconscious priest and tossed him into the canoe as if he had been a billet of wood. Jumping in after him, he hastily pushed 268 off from the shore and paddled vigorously in the direction of the island. Why he was doing this he had not the faintest idea.
It was all the work of a few seconds; yet when his reason came again Rosendo found himself far out in the thick fog, and his prisoner moaning softly as consciousness slowly returned. The sense of direction which these sons of the jungle possess is almost infallible, and despite the watery cloud which enveloped him, the old man held his course undeviatingly toward the distant isle, into the low, muddy shore of which his boat at length forced its way under the impulse of his great arms.
The island, a low patch a few acres in extent, lay far out in the lake like a splotch of green paint on a plate of glass. Its densely wooded surface, rising soft and oozy only a few feet above the water, was destitute of human habitation, but afforded a paradise for swarms of crawling and flying creatures, which now scattered in alarm at the approach of these early visitors coming so unexpectedly out of the heavy fog.
When the canoe grounded, Rosendo sprang out and pulled it well up into the mud. Then he lifted the priest out and staggered into the thick brush, where he threw his burden heavily upon the ground. Leaving his prisoner for a moment, he seized his machete and began to cut back into the brush. A grunt of satisfaction came from his lips. Returning to the now conscious Diego, he grasped the rope which bound him and dragged him along the newly opened trail into a little clearing which lay beyond. There he propped him up against a huge cedar. As he did this, Diego’s mouth opened wide and a piercing scream issued. “Ricardo––help!” he called.
The cry echoed dismally across the desolate island. In an instant Rosendo was upon him, with his knife clutched in his fist. “Repeat that, cayman,” he cried furiously, “and this finds your wicked heart!”
The craven Diego shook with fear; but he fell silent before the threat of the desperate man into whose hands he had so unwittingly fallen.
Rosendo stepped back and stood before his captive, regarding him uncertainly. Diego’s quick intuition did not fail to read the old man’s perplexity; and his own hope revived accordingly. It was a pretty trick, this of Rosendo’s––but, after all, he would not dare too much. Diego gradually became easier in mind. He even smiled unctuously at his captor.
“Bien, amigo,” he said at length, “is this your customary reception to visitors in your village? Caramba! but what will the good Bishop say when he learns that you have thus mistreated his trusted agent?”