Arthur O. Friel

“ Save for the swash of divided waves, the drone of the engine, the muffled panting of the exhaust, and an occasional grunt from the pilot, lazy silence reigned aboard and about the launch. Shaded by the heavy top and fanned by the lusty wind, the voyagers rode in quiescent comfort. Nowhere in all the broad vista beyond them rose any sail, any steamer-smoke, or even the low-riding dots betokening men in a canoe. All the river seemed their own. Yet all four watched constantly ahead—the girl as if awaiting the appearance of some destination, the men as if long habituated to wary vigilance. ”

“ Noonday, fiercely hot, held both river and land in its burning grip when all four of the launch-travelers leaned forward. Down ahead had appeared a yellow-gray block of low houses on a slanting shore, behind which rose a steep hill. Pablo turned with a grin and a single word: “Caicara!” Hart and Jean scanned the place narrowly; the man seeking any indication of disorder, the girl peering with interest through the intense sunlight. ”

“ Under the faded awning of the motor launch lounged three men and a maid, watching the endless echelon of yellow waves and the monotonous clay banks topped by unvarying verdure. Of these four, only one was native born: a leathery-cheeked, crafty-eyed fellow, loose-garmented, alpargata-shod, and unarmed, whose constant study of landmarks and currents marked him as the pilot. The other men, though deeply tanned and garbed in baggy tropical clothing, had features and physique suggesting a more northern clime ”