308 THROUGH THE BRAZILIAN WILDERNESS 



I have anticipated my narrative because I do not wish 

 to recur to the horror more than is necessary. I now re- 

 turn to my story. After we found that Julio had fled, we 

 returned to the scene of the tragedy. The murdered man 

 lay with a handkerchief thrown over his face. We buried 

 him beside the place where he fell. With axes and knives 

 the camaradas dug a shallow grave while we stood by with 

 bared heads. Then reverently and carefully we lifted the 

 poor body which but half an hour before had been so full 

 of vigorous life. Colonel Rondon and I bore the head and 

 shoulders. We laid him in the grave, and heaped a mound 

 over him, and put a rude cross at his head. We fired a 

 volley for a brave and loyal soldier who had died doing his 

 duty. Then we left him forever, under the great trees be- 

 side the lonely river. 



That day we got only half-way down the rapids. There 

 was no good place to camp. But at the foot of one steep 

 cliff there was a narrow, bowlder-covered slope where it 

 was possible to sling hammocks and cook; and a slanting 

 spot was found for my cot, which had sagged until by this 

 time it looked like a broken-backed centiped. It rained a 

 little during the night, but not enough to wet us much. 

 Next day Lyra, Kermit, and Cherrie finished their job, 

 and brought the four remaining canoes to camp, one leak- 

 ing badly from the battering on the rocks. We then went 

 down-stream a few hundred yards, and camped on the op- 

 posite side; it was not a good camping-place, but it was 

 better than the one we left. 



The men were growing constantly weaker under the 

 endless strain of exhausting labor. Kermit was having an 

 attack of fever, and Lyra and Cherrie had touches of dys- 



