My interest was first roused by talk among our guides. I’m quick at languages, know a good many, and pick them up readily. What with that and a really good interpreter we took with us, I made out quite a few legends and folk myths of these scattered tribes. And as we got farther and farther upstream, in a dark tangle of rivers, lakes, morasses, and dense forests, with here and there an unexpected long spur running out from the big mountains beyond, I noticed that more and more of these savages had a story about a strange and terrible Woman Land in the high distance. “Up yonder,” “Over there,” “Way up”--was all the direction they could offer, but their legends all agreed on the main point--that there was this strange country where no men lived--only women and girl children. None of them had ever seen it. It was dangerous, deadly, they said, for any man to go there. But there were tales of long ago, when some brave investigator had seen it--a Big Country, Big Houses, Plenty People--All Women. Had no one else gone? Yes--a good many--but they never came back. It was no place for men--of that they seemed sure. I told the boys about these stories, and they laughed at them. Naturally I did myself. I knew the stuff that savage dreams are made of. But when we had reached our farthest point, just the day before we all had to turn around and start for home again, as the best of expeditions must in time, we three made a discovery. The main encampment was on a spit of land running out into the main stream, or what we thought was the main stream. It had the same muddy color we had been seeing for weeks past, the same taste. I happened to speak of that river to our last guide, a rather superior fellow with quick, bright eyes. He told me that there was another river--“over there, short river, sweet water, red and blue.” I was interested in this and anxious to see if I had understood, so I showed him a red and blue pencil I carried, and asked again. Yes, he pointed to the river, and then to the southwestward. “River--good water--red and blue.” Terry was close by and interested in the fellow’s pointing. “What does he say, Van?” I told him. Terry blazed up at once. “Ask him how far it is.” The man indicated a short journey; I judged about two hours, maybe three. “Let’s go,” urged Terry. “Just us three. Maybe we can really find something. May be cinnabar in it.” “May be indigo,” Jeff suggested, with his lazy smile. It was early yet; we had just breakfasted; and leaving word that we’d be back before night, we got away quietly, not wishing to be thought too gullible if we failed, and secretly hoping to have some nice little discovery all to ourselves.