52 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
carts, sleeping or taking mat6. Far overhead 
the vultures kept their tireless watch, sailing 
with motionless wings in widening spirals. The 
heat seemed to have sucked the intense colour 
from the sky, and even from the brilliant foliage 
of the distant monte, now blurred to a dull 
green. The silence of mid-day was so deep 
that one could hear the tiny gurgle of the mat6 
in the gourds from which the bullock drivers 
sucked it, or the sharp crack of a corrugated 
iron roof in the heat. Straining the ears, the 
distant murmur of the Parana was just audible, 
from below the cliffs on which the small settle¬ 
ment was perched. As far as the eye could 
reach, wooded spurs ran down to the water’s 
edge, and the steely gleam of the river shone in 
distant loops amongst the trees. The air was 
so still that the vine trained on the verandah 
seemed as if its leaves were cut out of thin 
metal. Nothing moved, save where a butterfly 
fluttered languidly amongst the drooping 
flowers. 
The little train that wound its way into the 
interior was not to start for another hour, and 
it was pleasant to follow the superintendent 
into the shade of his cool house. He was 
a Dane, and had married a native wife; and 
as we stepped into the living room, built out 
on the edge of the cliff, it seemed full of 
people, who rose at our entrance. His wife was 
a dark skinned woman, dressed in a faded print 
