At the door of the parish house stood Rosendo. His face was grave, but his manner calm. “Padre,” he announced, “it is arranged.”
Josè’s knees shook under him as he followed the old man into the house. Reed, Harris, and Don Jorge sat about the table, on which were strewn papers covered with figures and sketches. The priest sat down dumbly and drew Carmen to him. Harris fell to devouring the girl with his bulging eyes. Reed at once plunged into the topic under consideration.
“I have been saying,” he began, addressing the priest, “that I can accept the proposal made by Don Rosendo, but with some amendments. Mr. Harris and I are under contract with the Molino Company to report upon their properties along the Boque river. I am informed by Don Rosendo that he is acquainted with these alleged mines, and knows them to be worthless. Be that as it may, I am obliged to examine them. But I will agree to take this girl to New York, under the protection of my wife, upon the consideration that when I reach my home city I be allowed to form a company to take over this mine, returning to the girl a fifty-one per cent interest in the stock, one half of which she agrees in writing to deliver to me immediately upon its issuance. Being under contract, I can not accept it now. The balance of the stock must be sold for development purposes. I further agree to place the girl in a boarding school of the first quality in the States, and to bear all expenses of her maintenance until such time as she is either self-supporting, or one or several of you may come to her, or effect her return to Colombia. Now, according to Ariza’s sketches, we may proceed up the Boque river to its headwaters––how far did you say, friend?”
“Some hundred and fifty miles from Simití, señor,” replied Rosendo.
“And then,” resumed Reed, “we can cut across country 346 from the sources of the Boque, following what is known as Rosario creek, down to the river Tiguí, striking the latter somewhere near the ancient point known as La Colorado.”
“But, señor,” interposed Rosendo, “remember that the headwaters of the Boque are practically unknown to-day. Many years ago, when I was a small lad, some liberated slaves worked along Rosario creek, which was then one day’s journey on foot with packs from La Colorado. But that old trail has long since disappeared. Probably no one has been over it since.”
“Very well,” returned the practical Reed, “then we shall have to make our own trail across the divide to the Tiguí. But once at La Colorado, you tell me there is an ancient trail that leads down to Llano, on the Nechí river?”
“Yes, to the mouth of the Amacerí. Llano was something of a town long ago. But river steamers that go up the Nechí as far as Zaragoza once a month, or less frequently, still touch there, I am told. And so you can get down the Cauca to Maganguey, where you can change to a Magdalena river boat for Calamar. Then by rail to Cartagena. The trail to Llano can not be more than fifty miles in length, and fairly open.”
Harris, who had been studying the sketches, whistled softly. “Lord Harry!” he muttered, “nearly two hundred miles, and all by foot, over unspeakable jungle trails!”
Reed paid no attention to him. “Very well, then,” he continued, “we had best set out as soon as possible. To you, friend Rosendo, I leave all arrangements regarding supplies and cargadores. I will furnish funds for the entire expedition, expecting to be reimbursed by La Libertad.”