ACROSS UNKNOWN SOUTH AMERICA 
Brazilians of that class have only one idea in their 
heads — killing, killing, killing! 
That was more devotion than I demanded. In order 
to spare Alcides and Filippe and myself, as the work 
thrown upon us would have indeed been beyond our 
possible strength, I re-employed the two men on the 
express condition that they should murder no one while 
they were with me. 
At noon of July first, accompanied by a mounted 
escort of honour of the leading citizens with the Mayor at 
their head, I left Diamantino (elevation 1,030 feet), 
travelling northeast. We ascended to the summit of a 
tableland, the first terrace of which was at an elevation of 
1,250 feet, the higher at 1,600 feet. The last words I 
had heard from a venerable old man as I rode out of 
Diamantino still rang in my ears. 
“ You are going to sure death — good-bye! . . On 
reaching the top of the plateau the courteous friends who 
had accompanied me also bade me an affectionate farewell. 
I could see by their faces and their manner that they were 
saying good-bye to one they believed a doomed man. 
“If by chance you come out alive,” said the Mayor, 
in a tentative way, “ we should like to have news of 
you.” 
On dismal occasions of that kind the sky is always 
gloomy and black, and there is always drizzling rain. So 
that day, too, the weather did not fail to add to our 
depressed spirits. 
On leaving our friends we started to plunge once more 
into the unknown. On reaching the top edge of the 
plateau we witnessed a wonderful sight, rendered more 
poetic by the slight vagueness of a veil of mist. To the 
south of Diamantino was the Serra Tombador, extending 
as far as S. Luiz de Caceres, about 250 kilometres, as the 
crow flies, to the southwest. Then below us was the Lagoa 
dos Veados with no outlet, and close by the head-waters 
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