"O Rosario, is this not the place?"
"Not yet, señor. In a little while, if the saints are kind."
Muller rested on his paddle, and watched the oily gray stream as it ran past the dugout.
"My own fault," he growled to Warwick. "Ach, yes! There is nothing romantig about orgids! I have heard you say it. But there is heat and evil smells and jaguars and aye-ayes and aboriginals of a golossal stupidity.