Indians were all slaves then,
and they worked in the mines up there," indicating the distant
mountains. "Much gold was brought down here and shipped down the
Magdalena, for the _cano_ was wider in those days, and it was not so
hard to reach the river. This is the end of the Guamoco trail, which
was called in those days the _Camino Real_."

"You say the mines were very rich?" interrogated Jose; not that the
question expressed a more than casual interest, but rather to keep
Rosendo talking while he studied the child.

But at this question Rosendo suddenly became less loquacious. Jose
then felt that he was suspected of prying into matters which Rosendo
did not wish to discuss with him, and so he pressed the topic no
further.

"How many people did Don Mario say the parish contained?" he asked by
way of diverting the conversation.

"About two hundred, Padre."

"And it has been vacant long?"

"Four years."

"Four years since Padre Diego was here," commented Jose casually.

It was an unfortunate remark. At the mention of the former priest's
name Dona Maria hurriedly left the table. Rosendo's black face grew
even darker, and took on a look of ineffable contempt. He did not
reply. And the meal ended in silence.

It was now plain to Jose that Rosendo distrusted him. But it mattered
little to the priest, beyond the fact that he had no wish to offend
any one. What interest had he in boorish Simiti, or Guamoco? The place
was become his tomb--he had entered it to die. The child--the girl!
Ah, yes, she had touched a strange chord within him; and for a time he
had seemed to live again. But as the day waned, and pitiless heat and
deadly silence brooded over the decayed town, his starving soul sank
again into its former depression, and revived hope and interest died
within him.

The implacable heat burned through the noon hour; the dusty streets
were like the floor of a stone oven; the shale beds upon which the old
town rested sent up fiery, quivering waves; the houses seethed; earth
and sky were ablaze. How long could he endure it?

And the terrible _ennui_, the isolation, the utter lack of every trace
of culture, of the varied interests that feed the educated, trained
mind and minister to its comfort and growth--could he support it
patiently while awaiting the end? Would he go mad before the final
release came? He did not fear death; but he was horror-stricken at the
thought of madness! Of losing that rational sense of t