Tradition says that Santa Catalina was named by Raleigh who, according to the native story, camped there when he was pushing his way up the Orinoco in search of the fabled El Dorado, with its golden city of Manoa. Just above Barrancas are the ruins of a strong fort that he built as a safe abiding place for a part of his force while he went farther on up the river. It is, perhaps, the irony of an unkind fate which pursued the great adventurer, that near this fort, from which searching parties were sent out, is the rich mine of El Callao, whose gold probably gave rise to the stories that started Raleigh on his heroic hunt for the shining city that was the objective point of all of the Argonauts who followed Columbus and Ojeda. If Raleigh had been looking for gold by the pound instead of by the ton and had searched more carefully he probably would have found enough to satisfy him. Stretching away to unmeasured lengths from the pin prick which the headquarters village made in it, was the virgin forest, with its wealth of gold and iron, rubber and asphalt, and its square miles of mahogany, Spanish cedar, rosewood, carapo, greenheart, and mora wood, all within the confines of our concession. Far off to the southwest, in a region which I never could find time to explore, was the mythical dwelling place of the people whom Raleigh described, though only on the word of the natives, as having no heads but with eyes in their shoulders and mouths in their chests, with a long mane trailing out from their spines. Down the Orinoco, half-way to the coast, was Imitaca Mountain, a great hill of iron ore, which is said to be one of the largest and richest deposits in the world. The letters which Crespo had given me to the Territorial Governor and to the “Jefe Civile,” who had immediate jurisdiction over the headquarters of our concession, gave me a high standing and I proceeded to conciliate the people, who had become disaffected toward the old management, and lay plans for the development of the property. The real boss of the people of Venezuela is the “Jefe Civile.” He has complete jurisdiction over the people of his district, which generally embraces a county, and is consulted on all matters of argument, whether domestic, political, or religious. His decision is usually final, although an appeal may be taken to the Court of First Instance in which his district is situated. His authority closely resembles that of a French _prefect_, and admits of an intimate knowledge of the private life of the people. Practically, there are no secrets in Venezuela. If two people stop in the street and talk for a moment they are surrounded by an inquisitive crowd. If a woman complains to the Jefe Civile of her husband’s ill treatment, it is done with the windows and doors open, in a room more or less filled with idle spectators.