But the tall, dark trees standing like sentinels over the narrow lane men’s hands had made at their foot were grim and silent, as if guarding some secret. “It may be back from the river a short distance,” David suggested. “It must be. But a ranch should be on the water, or very near to it. That is the custom here. They have boats and launches at Las Palmas, but where are they? This is the landing. We shall see!” Then, calling to two of his men, Don Marco continued: “You, Pedro and José, walk down the trail and see how far it is to the house. Come back at once after you find it. Do not tell anyone your business or mine.” The men departed, soon disappearing among the shadows cast by the tangled branches overhead. Some of the other sailors began to fish, while David got together his things preparatory to leaving. The cook prepared slices of the salted pirarucú for the departing guest, for David had found the flesh delicious and had said so on several occasions. It was just as well that the cook had taken for granted that the remarks referred to his cooking, rather than to the natural quality of the fish, for he showed appreciation in various ways, the most acceptable of which was the frequent preparation of those things David liked best to eat. Hour after hour passed, but the two men did not return. Some of the men waiting on the boat began to fear that they had lost their way or had met with a mishap. And David, remembering the many things he had heard about Las Palmas and the fate that would befall anyone attempting to enter the place, began to wonder if he were not to blame, for he had failed to warn them of their danger. It was now too late for regrets, for the men had been gone more than three hours. “Why don’t we go after them?” he finally asked the captain. “I will go. They may be lost.” “Impossible,” Don Marco returned. “Both are good woodsmen and know how to find their way.” “Could they have been attacked by Indians or some animal?” “It is possible, but I think not. They know how to fight.” “Then why don’t they return?” “_Quien sabe!_ We will wait a while longer and see what happens.” After another hour had gone by the two men returned, tired and mopping the perspiration from their faces. “Well?” their employer asked. “_Caramba!_” one panted. “Such a place! _Caramba!_” “Yes,” the other added, “such a place.” “What is the matter with it?” impatiently. “You act like a pair of dunces.” “Miserable,” the first man said. “I never saw anything like it. First you have to walk your legs off to get there, and when you arrive you find it is for nothing.” “That is the truth,” from the second man, “and the trail is terrible. We had to cross streams on log bridges, wade through ponds filled with _yacarés_, and splash through mud nearly up to our knees. _Caramba!_” “But what did you find out?” Don Marco asked impatiently.