g of? What if over by the sunset there is Ocean-Sea again, true
ocean and as many leagues to Asia as to Spain? What if they cannot lead
us to Quinsai, Cambaluc or Zaiton, or to the Ganges' mouth, or Aurea
Chersonesus, because they never heard of them, and they have no ships to
pass again an Ocean-Sea? What if it is all New, and all the maps have to
be redrawn?"

He looked at me as I spoke, steadily and earnestly. What Juan Lepe said
was not the first entry into his mind of something like that. But he
was held by that great mass of him that was bound by the thinking of the
Venerable. He was free far and far beyond most, but to certain things
he clung like a limpet. "The Earthly Paradise!" he said, and he looked
toward that Paria that we thought ran across our south. "When our first
parents left the Earthly Paradise, they and their sons and daughters and
all the peoples to come wandered by foot into Chaldea and Arabia. So
it could not be!" His blue-gray eyes under that great brow and shock of
white hair regarded the south.

This faery island--the Garden he called it--and the Cariari who came to
us from the main. One day they saw one of us take out pen and inkhorn
and write down their answers to our many questions. Behind us lay the
blue sea, before us the deep groves of the islet; between us and the
rich shade stood gathered a score of these Indians. They looked at the
one seated on the sand, industriously making black marks upon a white
sheet. The Indian speaking stopped short and put up an arm in an
attitude of defense; another minute and they had all backed from us into
the wood. We saw only excited, huddled eyes. Then one started forth,
advancing over the sand, and he had a small gourd filled with some
powder which he threw before him. He scattered it ceremonially between
us and himself and his fellows, a slow, measured rite with muttered
words and now and then a sharp, rising note.

Cried Juan Sanchez the pilot, "What's he doing?"

Juan Lepe answered before he thought, "He thinks the notary yonder is
a magician and the pen his wand. Something is being done to them!
Counter-magic."

"Then they are enchanters!" cried Alonso de Zamorro.

Our great cluster gave back. "Fix an arrow and shoot him down!" That was
Diego de Porras.

The Adelantado turned sharply. "Do no such thing! There may be spells,
but the worst spell here would be a battle!" We let fly no arrow, but
the belief persisted that here was seen veritab