“Rosendo,” said JosÈ one morning shortly thereafter, as the old man entered the parish house for a little chat, “a Decree has been issued recently by the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office whereby, instead of the cloth scapulary which you are wearing, a medal may be substituted. I have received several from Cartagena. Will you exchange yours?”

“Cierto, Padre––but,” he hesitated, “is the new one just as––”

“To be sure, amigo. It carries the same indulgences. See,” exhibiting the medal. “The Sacred Heart and the blessed Virgin. But I have arranged it to wear about the neck.”

Rosendo knelt reverently and crossed himself while JosÈ hung the new scapulary over his head. The old man beamed his joy. “Caramba!” he exclaimed, rising, “but I believe this one will keep off more devils than that old cloth thing you made for me!”

“Why, Rosendo!” admonished JosÈ, repressing a smile, “did I not bless that one before the altar?”

“Cierto, Padre, and I beg a thousand pardons. It was the blessing, wasn’t it? Not the cloth. But this one,” regarding it reverently, “this one––”

“Oh, yes, this one,” put in JosÈ, “carries the blessing of His Grace, acting-Bishop Wenceslas.”

“And a Bishop is always very holy, is he not, Padre?” queried Rosendo. “It makes no difference who he is, for the office makes him holy, is it not so, Padre?”

“Oh, without doubt,” returned JosÈ, his thought reverting to the little Maria and the babe which for four years he had been supporting in distant Cartagena.

“Na, Padre,” remonstrated Rosendo, catching the insinuation, “we must not speak ill of the Bishop, lest he be a Saint to-morrow! But, Padre,” he went on, changing the topic, “I 267 came to tell you that Don Luis has given me a contract to cut wood for him on the island. A quantity, too. Hombre! I shall earn much money by its terms. I set out to-morrow morning before daybreak.”

JosÈ reflected. The man’s words aroused within him a faint suspicion. Don Luis and the Alcalde were boon companions. JosÈ wondered if in this commission he could see the gloved hand of Don Mario. But he gave no hint of his thought to Rosendo.

The next morning, long before sun-up, a mist lay thick over the valley, so thick that Rosendo, as he made his way down to the lake, scarce could distinguish the road ahead of him. The dry season had passed, and the rains were now setting in. As he hurried along, the old man mused dubiously on the contract which Don Luis had made with him. To cut wood in the rainy season!––but, after all, that was no concern of his. And yet––why had Padre JosÈ grown suddenly quiet when he learned of the contract yesterday? His bare feet fell softly upon the shales, and he proceeded more cautiously as he neared the water’s edge.

“Hombre!” he muttered, striving to penetrate the mist; “only a loco ventures out on the lake in such weather!”

He reached the boat, and placed in it the rope and axe which he had brought. Then, still troubled in thought, he sat down on the edge of the canoe and dropped into a puzzled meditation.

Suddenly through the fog he heard a sound. Somebody was approaching. A fisherman, perhaps. But fishermen do not go out on the lake in dense fogs, he remembered. The tread sounded nearer. He waited, speculating. Then through the mist loomed the thick body of a man. Straining his eyes, Rosendo recognized Padre Diego.

With a bound the old man was upon his feet. His thick arm shot out like a catapult; and his great fist, meeting Diego squarely upon the temple, felled him like an ox.

For a moment Rosendo stood over the prostrate priest, like a lion above its prey. Then he reached into the canoe and drew out the axe. Holding it aloft, he stood an instant poised above the senseless man; then with a mighty swing he whirled about and hurled it far out into the lake. He seemed suddenly bereft of his senses. Incoherent muttering issued from his trembling lips. He looked about in bewilderment. A thought seemed to impress him. He took the rope from the boat and quickly bound Diego hand and foot. This done, he picked up the unconscious priest and tossed him into the canoe as if he had been a billet of wood. Jumping in after him, he hastily pushed 268 off from the shore and paddled vigorously in the direction of the island. Why he was doing this he had not the faintest idea.

It was all the work of a few seconds; yet when his reason came again Rosendo found himself far out in the thick fog, and his prisoner moaning softly as consciousness slowly returned. The sense of direction which these sons of the jungle possess is almost infallible, and despite the watery cloud which enveloped him, the old man held his course undeviatingly toward the distant isle, into the low, muddy shore of which his boat at length forced its way under the impulse of his great arms.

The island, a low patch a few acres in extent, lay far out in the lake like a splotch of green paint on a plate of glass. Its densely wooded surface, rising soft and oozy only a few feet above the water, was destitute of human habitation, but afforded a paradise for swarms of crawling and flying creatures, which now scattered in alarm at the approach of these early visitors coming so unexpectedly out of the heavy fog.

When the canoe grounded, Rosendo sprang out and pulled it well up into the mud. Then he lifted the priest out and staggered into the thick brush, where he threw his burden heavily upon the ground. Leaving his prisoner for a moment, he seized his machete and began to cut back into the brush. A grunt of satisfaction came from his lips. Returning to the now conscious Diego, he grasped the rope which bound him and dragged him along the newly opened trail into a little clearing which lay beyond. There he propped him up against a huge cedar. As he did this, Diego’s mouth opened wide and a piercing scream issued. “Ricardo––help!” he called.

The cry echoed dismally across the desolate island. In an instant Rosendo was upon him, with his knife clutched in his fist. “Repeat that, cayman,” he cried furiously, “and this finds your wicked heart!”

The craven Diego shook with fear; but he fell silent before the threat of the desperate man into whose hands he had so unwittingly fallen.

Rosendo stepped back and stood before his captive, regarding him uncertainly. Diego’s quick intuition did not fail to read the old man’s perplexity; and his own hope revived accordingly. It was a pretty trick, this of Rosendo’s––but, after all, he would not dare too much. Diego gradually became easier in mind. He even smiled unctuously at his captor.

“Bien, amigo,” he said at length, “is this your customary reception to visitors in your village? Caramba! but what will the good Bishop say when he learns that you have thus mistreated his trusted agent?”

Rosendo stood before him like a statue. His thought was confused, and it moved slowly. In the cries of the disturbed birds he seemed now to hear the warning voice of Carmen. In the watery vapor that rolled over him he seemed to feel the touch of her soft, restraining hand.

“Bien, compadre,” purred Diego, “would it not be well for you to loosen this bit of thread, that we may make our way back to the village? Caramba! but it cuts sore––and I am soft, my friend, for I have been ill.”

Rosendo’s wrath flared up anew. “What made you ill, cayman?” he shouted, drawing nearer to the shrinking Diego and shaking a great fist in his face. “What made you ill, buzzard? Caramba! I would that your illness had carried you off and saved me the task of sending you down to purgatory!”

Diego became thoroughly alarmed again. “But––Rosendo––caro amigo, let us reason together! Ah, compadre––loosen but a little this rope which cuts into my tender skin as your bitter words do into my soul!”

“Na, vulture, but you will drown more quickly thus!” retorted Rosendo, his huge frame trembling with agitation.

Diego’s heart stopped. Then he sought to collect himself. He was in a desperate plight. But the man before him was an ignorant peon. It was not the first time that he had set his own wit against another’s brute strength. The ever-present memory of the girl became more vivid. It glowed before him. What was it she had said? “You see only your thoughts of me––and they are very bad!” Was he seeing now only his own bad thoughts? But she had said they were unreal. And this episode––Hombre! he would not be afraid. His thought was vastly more powerful than that of a simple peon! He smiled again at his fear.

“But, amigo,” he resumed gently, “if you had wished to drown me, why did you bring me here? But––ah, well, I have long been prepared to go. I have been sadly misunderstood––disbelieved––persecuted! Ah, friend Rosendo, if you could know what I do––but––Bien, it is of no consequence now. Come, then, good fellow, despatch me quickly! I have made my peace with God.” Diego ceased talking and began to murmur prayers.

Rosendo stared at him in amazement. The wind was being taken from his sails. Diego noted the effect, and resumed his speech. His voice was low and soft, and at times great tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Rosendo, friend, I wish to go. I weary of life. There is no stain upon my soul. And yet, I grieve that you must tarnish yours with my blood. But,” his eyes brightening and his 270 tone becoming more animated, “Rosendo, I will pray the blessed Virgin for you. When I am with her in paradise I will ask her to beg the gentle Saviour to forgive you. Bien, good friend, we shall all be together in heaven some day.” He started his orisons again, and soon was praying like a locomotive: “Ora pro nobis! Santa Maria, ora pro nobis!”

He stopped and sighed gently. Rosendo stood stupidly before him.

“Rosendo––I must say this before I die––I came to SimitÍ to see you. I was approaching the boat to hold converse with you. But, you struck me––there, quÉ importa! And yet––it was about the gentle Ana, your beautiful daughter––But, wait, Rosendo––God above! hear me through––”

Rosendo had started again toward him.

“Good friend, hear me first, then kill me quickly, for I much desire to go to my home above!” Diego spoke rapidly. The impression must be made upon Rosendo at once, or all was lost. The wily priest knew the peon mind.

“Bien, good friend, you have misunderstood me. But I forgive you. I––Rosendo––I––you will keep my secret, will you not? Bien, I have left the Church. I am no longer a priest. It was for good reasons that God took me from the priesthood for other work in His field. Bien, the bonds of celibacy removed, behold! my first thought is for my beautiful Ana. I came to ask you for her hand. I would render legitimate her unborn child. I would return to her the peace which she lost when we became so deeply enamored of each other. Rosendo, I have come to SimitÍ to lay my life before you––to yield it to the mother of my child––to offer it in future service as a recompense for the unhappiness which, the Virgin knows, I did not willingly bring upon her, or you!”

Rosendo’s head was now in a whirl. His eyes protruded, and his mouth was agape. “But––the little Carmen––” he muttered.

“Alas! friend,” said Diego sadly, shaking his head, while he quickly grasped the cue, “I have ceased my endeavors to make you believe that she is my child. Caramba! I can only leave it to the blessed Virgin to restore her to me when we have both passed the portals of death.”

“You still claim to be her father? You––!”

“Caro amigo,” returned Diego gently, “in these last moments I see in her the beautiful image of her blessed mother, who was taken from me long before I met and loved your Ana. But I despair of enforcing my claim. I await now the reunion which death alone can effect. And so, friend, be quick! But do not make me suffer. Drown me not, I pray you, but rather open 271 an artery and let me fall gently asleep here beneath this noble tree.”

A light came into Rosendo’s troubled eyes. A cunning smile lurked about his mouth.

“Bien pues, it shall be as you wish, vulture,” he replied in a tone which again struck terror to Diego’s heart. He drew his knife and approached the horrified priest.

“Caramba!” shrieked Diego, shrinking back against the tree. “Hombre! you do not intend––”

“Why not, vampire?” returned Rosendo, the sardonic smile spreading across his grim features. “Did you not ask it?”

“But––Hombre! Back!––Caramba! Back!––Rosendo––God above! But would you go down to hell with murder on your soul?”

“Cierto, carrion! I kill the body. But you go down with a load of murdered souls!”

“Rosendo––God!––it means hell for eternity to you!”

“To be sure, dog-meat,” calmly replied Rosendo. “But hell will be heaven to me as I sit forever and hourly remind you of the suffering Ana and the beautiful Carmen, whom you tried to ruin! Is it not so?”

“Ah, God!” Diego saw that he had lost. Wild thoughts flashed through his mind with lightning speed. Desperation lent them wings. A last expedient came to him. He fixed his beady eyes upon Rosendo and muttered: “Coward! coward! you bind a sick man and stick him like a pig!”

Rosendo hesitated. Diego quickly followed up his slight advantage.

“We give a deer, a tapir, a jaguar, a chance for its life. We fear them not. But you––coward, you are afraid of a sick man! And a priest!”

Rosendo could bear the taunt no longer. “Caramba!” he cried, “what would you?” He leaped to the sitting man and at a stroke severed his bonds. Diego got slowly to his feet.

“Bien, spew of the vampire! you have now a chance!”

Diego extended his empty hands, palms up. He smiled significantly. Rosendo caught the insinuation.

“Caramba! take the knife! Hombre! but I will kill you with my bare hands!” He threw the long knife to Diego, who stooped and picked it up.

Stepping quickly back, holding the weapon firmly clenched before him, the priest slowly circled Rosendo, as if looking for an opening. An evil smile played constantly over his heavy face, and his little eyes glittered like diamonds. Rosendo stood like a rock, his long arms hanging at his side.

Then, with a shrill, taunting laugh, Diego turned suddenly 272 and plunged into the newly-cut trail toward the lake. In an instant he was lost in the fog.

For a moment Rosendo stood dumb with amazement. Then he sprang after the priest. But it was too late. Diego had reached the canoe, leaped quickly in, and pushed off. Rosendo saw the mist swallow him. He was left a prisoner, without a boat, and with two miles of shrouded water stretching between him and the town!

A low moan burst from him. He had been tricked, outwitted; and the evil genius which for years had menaced his happiness was heading straight toward the town, where his accomplice, Ricardo, awaited. What would they do, now that he was out of the way? The thought seared his brain. Great beads of water, distilled from his agony, burst through his pores. The Juncal river lay off to the west, and at a much less distance than SimitÍ. He might swim to it and secure a canoe at the village. But––the lake was alive with crocodiles!

Chagrin and apprehension overwhelmed him, and he burst into a flood of bitter tears. He threw himself upon the ground, and tossed and moaned in despair. The fog thickened. A twilight darkness settled over the waters. Nature––God himself––seemed to conspire with Diego.

Rosendo suddenly rose to his feet. He drew the new medal scapulary around in front of him and kissed it, reverently crossing himself. “Santa Virgen,” he prayed, “help me––it is for the child!” Then, taking between his teeth the knife which Diego had dropped, he rushed into the water and struck out for the distant village of Juncal.

Late that afternoon, while the tropical rain was descending in torrents, Rosendo staggered into the parish house, where Carmen and JosÈ were absorbed in their work. “Padre!” he gasped, “Loado sea Dios!” as his eyes fell upon the girl. Then he sank to the floor in utter exhaustion.

“Rosendo! what is it?” cried JosÈ, bending over him in apprehension, while Carmen stood lost in wonder.

“Padre Diego––!” cried Rosendo, raising himself up on his elbow. “Has he been here?”

“Padre Diego!” cried both JosÈ and the girl in astonishment. Instinctively JosÈ’s arm went about the child. Rosendo dragged himself to a chair and sank limply into it.

“Then, Padre, he will come. He is in SimitÍ. He is no longer a priest!”

Slowly the story came out, bit by bit. JosÈ listened in horror. Carmen’s face was deeply serious.

“Bien, Padre,” said Rosendo, concluding his dramatic and 273 disconnected recital, “I plowed through the water––Caramba! I knew not at what moment I should feel the jaws of a cayman seize upon me! But the Virgin had heard my prayer. I must offer a candle this night. But I did not land at Juncal. It was some half league farther west. Bien, I was then glad, for had I appeared in the village, all would have said that I had murdered Diego! And so I struck out along the trail that skirts the lake, and followed it around until I came here. Caramba! but see how my feet are cut! And the rain––Hombre! it beat me down––I fell again and again! And then, the fear that I was too late––Ah, Dios! But she is safe––Caramba! the Virgin be praised!”

“But, Rosendo,” said JosÈ anxiously, “where can Diego––”

“He is here, Caramba! in SimitÍ! Hombre! but I shall set out at once and search every house! And he shall do well if he escape this time!”

But dusk was falling; and the old man, his strength sapped, listened not unwillingly to JosÈ’s better counsel. With the coming of night the rain ceased, and the clouds rolled up and slipped down behind the mountains, leaving the moon riding in splendor across the infinite blue. Then JosÈ, leaving Carmen with Rosendo, walked to and fro through the streets of the old town, listening and watching. He wandered down to the lake. He climbed the hill where stood the second church. He thought he caught the gleam of a light within the old edifice. He crept nearer. There were men inside. Their voices sounded ghostly to his straining ears.

“But, friend Ricardo, he set out before dawn, and is not yet returned. I fear he has either abandoned us, or has walked into our good Rosendo’s jaws.”

“Hold your tongue, bleating calf!” cried the other petulantly. “It is more likely that he and Don Mario lie pickled in rum under the palms of the Alcalde’s patio!”

JosÈ waited to hear no more. He hurried down through the main street and past the house of Don Mario. The door stood open, and he could see the portly figure of the official outlined against the back wall. It was evident that Diego was not there. He returned in perplexity to his house and sat far into the night, musing on the strange incident.

With the coming of the new day Rosendo appeared with fresh suggestions. “Bien, Padre,” he said, “there is nothing to do now but take the girl and flee to the Boque river and to the hacienda of Don NicolÁs.”

JosÈ related his experience of the previous night. Rosendo whistled softly. “Caramba!” he muttered, “but this is a mystery! And––but here comes Juan.”

The lad entered excitedly. “Your canoe, Don Rosendo––as I started out on the lake to fish I saw it, far in the distance. I brought it in. There was neither pole nor paddle in it. And it was half full of water. It must have drifted all night. Did it break away from its mooring, think you?”

Rosendo looked at JosÈ. The latter replied quickly: “That is the most reasonable supposition, Juan. But Rosendo is very grateful to you for securing it again.”

When the lad had gone, Rosendo sat with bowed head, deeply perplexed.

“The pole and paddle, Padre, were left on the island. I took them out when we landed. Diego pushed off without them. He––the boat––it must have drifted long. But––did he land? Or––”

He stopped and scratched his head. “Padre,” he said, looking up suddenly with an expression of awe upon his face, “do you suppose––do you think that the Virgin––that she––made him fall from the canoe into the lake––and that a cayman ate him? Ca-ram-ba!”

JosÈ did not vouchsafe a reply. But his heart leaped with a great hope. Rosendo, wrapped in profound meditation, wandered back to his house, his head bent, and his hands clasped tightly behind his back.