“Bien, amigo,” he said to Don Jorge; “I am sorry your stay is so short. I had much to tell you. Interesting developments 140 are forward, and I hope you are well out of Guamocó when the trouble starts. For the rivals of Antioquia and Simití will pay off a few scores in the next revolution––a few left over from the last; and it would be well not to get caught between them when they come together.”
“And so it is coming?” said Don Jorge thoughtfully.
“Coming! Hombre! It is all but here! The Hercules went up-river yesterday. You will pass her. She has gone to keep a look-out in the vicinity of Puerto Berrio. I am sorry for our friend,” nodding toward Josè, who was leaning over the boat’s rail at some distance; “but there is a job there. He doesn’t belong in this country. And Simití will finish him.”
“Bah! only another priest less––and a weak-kneed one at that,” said Don Jorge with contempt; “and we have too many of them now, Lord knows!”
“You forget that I am a priest,” chuckled Diego.
“You! Yes, so you are,” laughed Don Jorge; “but of the diocese of hell! Well, we’re off. I’ll send a runner down the trail when I reach the Tiguí river; and if you will have a letter in Simití informing me of the status of things political, he can bring it up. Conque, adios, my consummate villain.”
The Honda, whistling prodigiously, swung out into mid-stream and set her course up-river, warily feeling through the velvety darkness for the uncertain channel. Once she grated over a hidden bar and hung for a few moments, while her stack vomited torrents of sparks and her great wheel angrily churned the water into creamy foam in the clear moonlight. Once, rounding a sharp bend, she collided squarely with a huge mahogany tree, rolling and plunging menacingly in the seaward rushing waters.
“Diablo!” muttered Don Jorge, as he helped Josè swing his hammock and adjust the mosquito netting. “I shall offer a candle a foot thick to the blessed Virgin if I reach Puerto Berrio safely! Santo Dios!” as the boat grazed another sand bar. “I’ve heard tell of steamers hanging up on bars in this river for six weeks! And look!” pointing to the projecting smoke-stack of a sunken steamer. “Caramba! That is what we just escaped!”
But Josè manifested slight interest in the dangers of river navigation. His thoughts were revolving about the incidents of the past few days, and, more especially, about Padre Diego and his significant words. Don Jorge had volunteered no further explanation of the man or his conversation; and Josè’s reticence would not permit him to make other inquiry. But, after all, his thought-processes always evolved the same conclusion: What mattered it now? His interest in life was at 141 an end. He had not told Don Jorge of his experience with the leper in Maganguey. He was trying to forget it. But his hand ached cruelly; and the pain was always associated with loathsome and repellant thoughts of the event.