38 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
forest, to the undertone of the hurrying river, 
and with the huddle of poor huts behind him. 
He asked what we were doing, and what our 
plans were, and feared we should find it difficult 
to find game. He saw plenty, but then it was 
his job to go into the depths of the forest, mark¬ 
ing good timber in the unexplored monte, a gang 
of woodsmen under him. He got paid so much 
for every square foot of wood sent down the 
river by raft. He had not always lived this 
life, he had been a colonel in the Uruguayan 
army, amongst other things. 
At that, our friend interrupted that he knew 
Uruguay well, and the two fell to discussing 
various mutual acquaintances with great 
delight. The last traces of suspicion and 
reserve cleared away from the other’s face, his 
features lit up with a smile, and his dark eyes 
under their grey penthouse were keen and alive. 
c And you came by Buenos Aires, seftor? ’ he 
asked. ‘When I have made money, I, too, go 
to Buenos Aires.’ ‘Alone,’ he added, with a 
gesture of his hand that swept the little group 
round the huts into insignificance. 
He told us he had married an Indian girl and 
had thirty-three children. My Spanish was not 
good enough to catch if ‘ The Indian girl ’ was 
in the singular or plural. In any case, he did 
not appear to be weighed down with the 
responsibilities of paternity. He explained 
that he worked for months in the forest, then 
