The crimson flush of the dawn-sky heralded another day of implacable heat. The emerald coronals of palms and towering _caobas_ burned in the early beams of the torrid sun. Light fogs rose reluctantly from the river's bosom and dispersed in delicate vapors of opal and violet. The tangled banks of dripping bush shone freshly green in the misty light. The wilderness, grim and trenchant, reigned in unchallenged despotism. Solitude, soul-oppressing, unbroken but for the calls of feathered life, brooded over the birth of Josè's last day on the Magdalena. About midday the steamer touched at the little village of Bodega Central; but the iron-covered warehouse and the whitewashed mud hovels glittered garishly in the fierce heat and stifled all desire to go ashore. The call was brief, and the boat soon resumed its course through the solitude and heat of the mighty river. Immediately after leaving Bodega Central, Don Jorge approached Josè and beckoned him to an unoccupied corner of the boat. "_Amigo_," he began, after assuring himself that his words would not carry to the other passengers, "the captain tells me the next stop is Badillo, where you leave us. If all goes well you will be in Simití to-night. No doubt a report of our meeting with Padre Diego has already reached Don Wenceslas, who, you may be sure, has no thought of forgetting you. I have no reason to tell you this other than the fact that I think, as Padre Diego put it, you are being jobbed--not by the Church, but by Wenceslas. I want to warn you, that is all. I hate priests! They got me early--got my wife and girl, too! I hate the Church, and the whole ghastly farce which it puts over on the ignorant people of this country! But--," eying him sharply, "I would hardly class you as a _real_ priest. There, never mind!" as Josè was about to interrupt. "I think I understand. You simply went wrong. You meant well, but something happened--as always does when one means well in this world. But now to the point." Shifting his chair closer to Josè, the man resumed earnestly. "Your grandfather, Don Ignacio, was a very rich man. The war stripped him. He got just what he deserved. His _fincas_ and herds and mines melted away from him like grease from a holy candle. And nobody cared--any more than the Lord cares about candle grease. Most of his property fell into the hands of his former slaves--and he had hundreds of them hereabouts. But his most valuable possession, the great mine of La Libertad, disappeared as completely as if blotted from the face of the earth. "That mine--no, not a mine, but a mountain of free gold--was located somewhere in the Guamocó district. After the war this whole country slipped back into the jungle, and had to be rediscovered. The Guamocó region is to-day as unknown as it was before the Spaniards came. Somewhere in the district, but covered deep beneath brush and forest growth, is that mine, the richest in Colombia.