"Has my good friend Julian ever deceived me?" answered the pilot. "Trust me, he is not a man that is under the influence of illusions. If he never come to Manaritial, it is because he will have the best of reasons for staying away."
This was rather much, and Calros asked him no more questions. With eyes fixed mechanically on the water around him, the poor fellow plied his oar with a kind of feverish energy. His body was with us, but his mind had fled away to the woods of Manantial.
We had now gone as far as we could on the river, which had now dribbled down to a mere streamlet, flowing between low banks. Upon one side fields of green sugar-cane, waving in the wind, stretched to the foot of a chain of hills which rose at a short distance from the stream.
"We must land here," cried the pilot; "the village is behind these hills."
CHAPTER IV.
The Duel.—Awful Death of the Murderer.
We leaped ashore. The pilot tied the "dingy" to the bank, and led the advance. We soon reached the village. All was quiet there. The greater part of the inhabitants were still in their hammocks under the verandas of their cabins, but they saluted the pilot as he approached with the greeting of an old acquaintance. After replying briefly to the questions that were put to him, Ventura asked where Campos was. He pointed to Calros, and explained why he had come thither. This news was welcomed with enthusiasm by the idle
