Up the Forked River; Or, Adventures in South America

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

The strange, disturbing situation in which Miss Starland found herself kept her awake long after the gentle breathing of her friend at her side told her she was unconscious. The conditions were so singular and so alarming that at times she was mystified and doubted the wisdom of the course they had decided upon. She could not believe that the path was as free from danger as the Señorita supposed. None the less, she was resolved to make the venture. There was one comforting feature about it all: if they were followed and brought back under some pretext by the soldiers of General Yozarro, no unpleasant consequences would result therefrom to them. The man would be ready with some plausible justification of his course, but would be as effusive in his courtesy as ever. Finally the sorely troubled one slept.

Neither awoke until the sunlight streamed through the narrow windows, and then the two were roused by the knocking on the outer door, and the call of Juanita that she was waiting with their food. She was admitted and the meal on the broad silver tray was set on the stand in the middle of the apartment. Nothing could have been more appetizing, in that smothering climate, consisting as it did wholly of fruit, and delicious cocoa, including prepared rice, mandioc and cassava, the last being the most popular food in that part of the world.

Juanita having left the meal, courtesied, called down the blessings of the saints upon the visitors, and, assuring them that it would be her happiness to come whenever wanted and to act the part of slave all her life to them, went away, and once more our friends were alone. The Señorita did not fasten the door, for there was no call to do so, and in due time, the two drew up their chairs and partook of the food with the zest of youth and health. There was abundance for both and they fully enjoyed it. By and by, Juanita returned and removed the remains of the repast.

Miss Starland walked to each of the narrow windows in turn and gazed out over the surrounding country. One of the openings gave a view of the Rio Rubio, as it wound to the eastward, until its reunion and onward flow to the Atlantic. She descried a catboat leaning far over and skimming up stream toward Atlamalco, and a canoe, in which were two natives, was observed, as one of the occupants swung his paddle like an American Indian and drove the tiny craft toward the northern shore. But as her vision roved up and down the river, she failed to see that for which she longed above everything else. The yacht which had brought her to this part of the world was still absent. In neither direction could she catch a glimpse of Atlamalco or Zalapata. The other window opened to the south, or toward the mountains, where the view had no interest for her.

As she had done before, she remarked upon the massiveness of the walls and the straightness of the window openings.

“They are so narrow that we could not force ourselves through.”

“Our old buccaneer friend must have had them made thus on purpose. Suppose some of those who hated him—which means all the others—should have become strong enough to clamber up the walls on the outside,—was it not well to make it impossible for them to enter the Castle?”

The matter, however, was of slight interest to our friends and they hurried their preparations for the journey. The Señorita donned her hat and led the way down the steps to the outside. To both it looked as if the number of guards had been increased during the night, for more than a dozen were in sight, without regarding those who had lain down to rest. The young women were saluted by all as they appeared, and the soldiers whom they recognized as their escort of the night before, came forward to learn their wishes.

“Carlos, the ponies that brought us here are still with you?”

“They are, Señorita.”