"I wonder why we don't catch up with my father?" said Affonzo. "Joachim, what makes it so dark?"
"Storm coming. We must hurry," was the brief answer.
Heavy clouds had gathered quickly; not a glimmer of sunlight came through the trees, and great drops of rain began to fall.
"Father!" cried Affonzo, but there was no answer. "Father!" he called again and Joachim shouted, "Senhor! Senhor!"
Nothing was heard but the screaming of the wind, and the rain fell faster and faster. Vivid flashes of lightning illuminated the forest, and the thunder muttered and grumbled in the distance.
"Come with me quickly," said Joachim, as he seized the boy by the hand. "We mustn't stay here."
"But my father," cried Affonzo and tried to get away from Joachim, but the negro held tight to him.
"The Senhor can take care of himself; I must take care of you," he said, as he pulled the boy into a side path which led through the woods. They made their way with difficulty through the dense tangle of underbrush and vines. Often a swinging branch would strike Affonzo on the face, or he would tangle his feet in a swaying vine and fall full length in a bed of fern. The rain poured down in torrents, but the leaves and interlaced branches served as a shield from the great drops which pelted down like bullets. Soon they came to a small hut with a thatched roof and no door to bar the entrance. Into it Joachim pulled the boy with scant ceremony. As they entered the hut a man rose hurriedly from his grass couch, and Affonzo recognized an Indian who had often been to the Fazenda to see his father.
"Ah, Vicente," said Joachim. "Give us shelter."