the hot river enveloping the boat--had the Holy Inquisition itself sought to devise the most refined torture for a man of delicate sensibilities like Josè de Rincón, it could not have done better than send him up the great river at this season and on that miserable craft, in company with his own morbid and soul-corroding thoughts. The day wore on; and late in the evening the Honda docked at the pretentious town of Maganguey, the point of transfer for the river Cauca. Like the other passengers, from whom he had held himself reservedly aloof, Josè gladly seized the opportunity to divert his thoughts for a few moments by going ashore. But the moments stretched into hours; and when he finally learned that the boat would not leave until daybreak, he lapsed into a state of sullen desperation which, but for the Rincón stubbornness, would have precipitated him into the dark stream. Aimlessly he wandered about the town, avoiding any possible _rencontre_ with priests, or with his fellow-passengers, many of whom, together with the bacchanalian captain, he saw in the various _cantinas_, making merry over rum and the native _anisado_. The moon rose late, bathing the whitewashed town in a soft sheen and covering with its yellow veil the filth and squalor which met the priest at every turn as he wandered through its ill-lighted streets. Maganguey in plan did not depart from the time-honored custom of the Spaniards, who erected their cities by first locating the church, and then building the town around it. So long as the church had a good location, the rest of the town might shift for itself. Some of the better buildings dated from the old colonial period, and had tile roofs and red brick floors. Many bore scars received in the internecine warfare which has raged in the unhappy country with but brief intervals of peace since the days of Spanish occupation. But most of the houses were of the typical mud-plastered, palm-thatched variety, with dirt floors and scant furniture. Yet even in many of these Josè noted pianos and sewing machines, generally of German make, at which the housewife was occupied, while naked babes and squealing pigs--the latter of scarcely less value than the former--fought for places of preferment on the damp and grimy floors. Wandering, blindly absorbed in thought, into a deserted road which branched off from one of the narrow streets on the outskirts of the town, Josè stumbled upon a figure crouching in the moonlight. Almost before he realized that it was a human being a hand had reached up and caught his. "_Buen Padre!_" came a thick voice from the mass, "for the love of the good Virgin, a few _pesos_!" A beggar--perhaps a bandit! Ah, well; Josè's purse was light--and his life of no value. So, recovering from his start, he sought in his pockets for some _billetes_. But--yes, he remembered that after purchasing his river transportation in Calamar he had carefully put his few remaining bills in his trunk.