"Servant of the Lord!" guffawed Don Jorge. "Of the Lord Pope, Lord Wenceslas, or the Lord God, may we ask?" "_Qué chiste!_ Why, stupid, all three. I do not put all my eggs into one basket, however large. But tell me, now," he inquired, turning the conversation from himself, "what is it brings you into this region forsaken of the gods?" "_Sepulcros_," Don Jorge briefly announced. "Ha! Indian graves again! But have you abandoned your quest of _La Tumba del Diablo_, in the Sinu valley?" "Naturally, since the records show that it was opened centuries ago. And I spent a good year's search on it, too! _Dios!_ They say it yielded above thirty thousand _pesos_ gold." "_Diablo!_" "But I am on the track of others. I go now to Medellin; then to Remedios; and there outfit for a trip of grave hunting through the old Guamocó district." "Guamocó! Then you will naturally come down the Simití trail, which brings you out to the Magdalena." "Simití?" interrupted Josè eagerly, turning to the speaker. "Do you know the place?" "Somewhat!" replied Padre Diego, laughing. "I had charge of that parish for a few months--" "But found it highly convenient to leave, no?" finished the merciless Don Jorge. "_Caramba!_ Would you have me die of _ennui_ in such a hell-hole?" cried Diego with some aspersion. "Hell-hole!" echoed Josè. "Is it so bad as that?" "_Hombre!_ Yes--worse! They say that after the good Lord created heaven and earth He had a few handfuls of dirt left, and these He threw away. But crafty Satan, always with an eye single to going the Lord one better, slyly gathered this dirt together again and made Simití." Diego quickly finished another glass of rum, as if he would drown the memory of the town. Josè's heart slowly sank under the words. "But why do you ask? You are not going there?" Padre Diego inquired. Josè nodded an affirmative. "_Diablo!_ Assigned?" "Yes," in a voice scarcely audible. The Padre whistled softly. "Then in that case," he said, brightening, "we are brother sinners. So let us exchange confidences. What was your crime, if one may ask?" "Crime!" exclaimed Josè in amazement. "Aye; who was she? Rich? Beautiful? Native? Or foreign? Come, the story. We have a long night before us." And the coarse fellow settled back expectantly in his chair. Josè paled. "What do you mean?" he asked in a trembling voice. "_Caramba!_" returned the Padre impatiently. "You surely know that no respectable priest is ever sent to Simití! That it is the good Bishop's penal colony for fallen clergy--and, I may add, the refuge of political offenders of this and adjacent countries. Why, the present schoolmaster there is a political outcast from Salvador!" "No, I did not know it," replied Josè. "_Por Dios!_ Then you are being jobbed, _amigo_! Did Don Wenceslas give you letters to the Alcalde?" "Yes." "And--by the way, has Wenceslas been misbehaving of late?--for when he does, somebody other than himself has to settle the score." Josè remained silent.