The blow almost crushed the lad. He rushed about the town half dazed. He gathered groups of companions about him and talked to them excitedly. He threatened Rosendo and Josè. Then, evidently acting on the advice of some cooler head, he rushed to his canoe and put off across the lake toward the caño. He did not return for several days. But when he did, the town knew that he had been to Bodega Central, and that the country was aflame with war.
Reed’s wife had not received Carmen in an amiable frame of mind. “For heaven’s sake, Charles,” she had cried, turning from his embrace to look at the wondering girl who stood behind him, “what have you here?”
“Oh, that,” he laughingly replied, “is only a little Indian I lassoed back in the jungle.” And, leaving the girl to the not very tender graces of his wife, he hurried out to arrange for the return voyage.
At noon, when Harris appeared at Reed’s room, Carmen rushed to him and begged to be taken for a stroll through the 378 town. Yielding to her husband’s insistence, Mrs. Reed had outfitted the girl, so that she presented a more civilized appearance. At first Carmen had been delighted with her new clothes. They were such, cheap as they were, as she had never seen in Simití. But the shoes––“Ah, señora,” she pleaded, “do not make me wear them, they are so tight! I have never worn shoes before.” She was beginning her education in the conventions and trammels of civilization.
As Carmen and Harris stood that afternoon in the public square, while the girl gazed enraptured at an equestrian statue of Simón Bolívar, a ragged little urchin approached and begged them to buy an afternoon paper. Harris humored him and bade Carmen ask him his name.
“Rincón,” the lad answered, drawing himself up proudly.
The girl started. “Rincón!” she repeated. “Why––where do you live?”
“In the Calle Lozano,” he replied, wondering why these people seemed interested in him.
Carmen translated the conversation to Harris. “Ask him who his father is,” suggested the latter.