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We were now going against the current, and making not more than four miles per hour. The river was in flood owing to the torrential rains of the past two months, and the bush on each side was entirely submerged, but we crept along by the side of it, and then the rain started-a steady downpour. The improvised awning was totally inadequate, and the water trickled down our necks. We could feel it travelling. It was no sentimental, but a most intimate journey those tiny liquid streams made to join the common puddle in our boots. We tried to make some hot tea, but the primus stove spat with such venom that we had to give it up. Everything now depended on the motor. If that gave out, we should be swung round by the current and either swamped or shot into that submerged and dense forest, a fit home for monkeys and birds, but not one spot where the son of man could lay his head.

It certainly was a gruesome Montagua, which the little Rio spot. Round a bend in a Tinto tributary joins at this graceful sweep, a sudden swerve point. to avoid this and pass that, then another stretch of rapid water. Sitting in these flat canoes is rather like riding a bicycle with your feet on the handles. The motion is smooth, I grant you, except for the jolts on sunken stumps of trees and other obstacles. A grating sound, and the canoe came slowly to rest in the middle of the river. A sunken tree had caught us. The Indians paddled furiously. A slight movement, and away we went again. We gathered speed, but a few seconds later, bump! and a dead stop. We were all nearly thrown out. Now we were wedged in firmly, and the current was slowly turning us round. We should be swamped. The Indian in the stern stepped out gingerly into the swift and deep river, balancing himself on the sunken tree in whose branches we were enmeshed. A push, a violent wobbling, and he slid himself gracefully on his stomach over the stern and into the canoe again. The front Indian was a mutt, and Chatsworth had managed during our stop to change places with him, and with the latter's ca' canny methods we made good progress, and arrived at seen a human creature-no the little Customs hut on the Honduras-Guatemalan frontier about a couple of hours later without further mishap. A big motor dug-out was waiting for us, and after partaking of a scratch meal we started off on the broad waters of the

However, with the exception of one short stop and a little backfiring, it kept going pretty steadily, and then the darkness came on. So far we had not

canoe

nothing. The hours seemed like days lying there cramped and by now thoroughly saturated. A glimpse of moonlight which through the rain made the waters dance like a million gnomes, then a few humid stars, a patch of

our hats, we prepared to sleep away the time. The ticket collector would examine and collect them at odd intervals, and we lay there in that blissful state, knowing at each clipping that our journey was progressing. At last we awakened, and began to take an interest in our fellow-travellers. It moreover appeared that one of them was taking a more than ordinary interest in us. A short thick-set man, very broad and obviously immensely powerful, armed with a strong chin and a 45 automatic. He kept on strolling past, giving us sidelong and penetrating glances which seemed to stab, and then suddenly seated himself opposite us.

sky, no bigger than a calf-skin, our tickets in the ribbons of and total darkness once again. A little encouragement, however, for at least it showed that there still was a moon, and behind that blanket of clouds a starry firmament was shining. Chatting and dozing, the time passed dreamily by, some nine weary hours, when we turned, and slid softly and slowly on to a bank. Cayuga at last! We had reached the international railway between Guatemala City and Puerto Barrios. Wallowing through the soft mud we dragged our belongings, and a few minutes later entered the small station. The village seemed dead, but there were a few men working on the platform. No more passenger trains, but a freighter was expected. What luck! Well, I'll be blowed! If We asked no more questions, it isn't you two Englishmen ! but just rolled up in a secluded I thought you were a couple of part of the station, and when downright hard cases. What the freight train came steaming the- ! Well, I never ! in, hopped into a van with all and slapped us on the leg with our trappings, and about two a thick and muscular hand. hours later we were back in "Now what have you bhoys Puerto Barrios, from whence been up to?" we had started on that fatal

journey.

We straggled along to the hotel, clambered into our bedroom through the window, and went to bed. The domestic who, without any knowledge of our arrival, happened to have occasion to enter the room in the morning, screamed, thinking it was an apparition. These people are superstitious, especially in the early hours.

We caught the train for Guatemala, and settled down for the long journey. Putting

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"Shipwrecked," we grinned. "You don't say! I've been watching you sleeping beauties all the way. It's my job, isn't it?'

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say! Na na!" and getting up gave me a friendly slap on the back, which I suppose must nearly have chased my lungs up into my larynx, for I coughed violently. I like people to be pleased to see me, but not to emphasise it by disturbing my anatomy.

Shortly afterwards we got into conversation with an archæologist, who with a young friend had just arrived in Guatemala for the purpose of studying the buried cities, of which there were many. He was asking us about travelling in this country, and we gave him what information we could. In this way the time passed pleasantly, and we were soon gliding into the terminus of Guatemala City. The train came to a standstill. The archæologist pulled down the window. Dozens of eager hands were stretched out to take our baggage. He took up his black attache-case, and handed it to the first pair of outstretched hands nearest our window. sat aghast.

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He's got it," I gasped. I think it then began to dawn on him. I was, however, speechless, and sat down mopping my brow. My word, the tragic humour of these coun

"Your night clothes?" I tries, I mused. People always

suggested tentatively.

"Oh no, that's got all my money and credentials in

it."

seemed to be doing funny things.

"Oh, Lord! Phew! Ca-a-arrmba!"

(To be continued.)

THE BUTCHER OF BERINNIS.

BY A. G. C.

PARKINSON-SMYTHE was efficient. People who knew him used to say, Smart fellow Parkinson-Smythe," and then add by way of qualification, "He's devilish efficient." It was an excellent description; smartness and efficiency were his outstanding characteristics. He came to the Egyptian Army from a good British battalion and ought to have been a success. As a matter of fact he was a success up to a certain point and then he crashed. It wasn't his fault that he crashed, he had hard luck. Unfortunately for Parkinson - Smythe the incident made a good story, and the army laughed. He wasn't accustomed to being laughed at, so he resigned. Perhaps it is just as well that he went when he did. He would have been a nasty fellow to serve under. He hadn't done enough regimental duty as a subaltern.

He arrived in Khartoum at the height of the tourist season: a trying time for those in authority who, already overburdened with their ordinary duties, have an added load of responsibility in the presence of these birds of passage. Kings, princes and their retinues have to be provided with special accommodation; unaccustomed sportsmen must have facilities for the pursuit of

dangerous game without undue danger; ladies must be allowed to see the sights without making spectacles of themselves, and the native population must be guarded from the effects of that irresponsible familiarity which, too often, breeds contempt. All this needs tact. Parkinson-Smythe had been A.D.C. to a Colonial Administrator and could, when he liked, be the very essence of tact. The Governor of Khartoum, harassed at the moment by the presence of a semi-official European notable, seized upon the new arrival as unscrupulously as a quartermaster absorbs an unexplained surplus, and, by a special mandate from the highest authority, diverted him from the southern battalion for which he was intended and attached him to headquarters as an extra Inspector in the Civil Administration.

As a temporary social bulwark to the Governor he was an immense success, the outstanding figure of an unusually gay season. He dined with dowagers, drank with heavy fathers, and danced with their daughters. He was all things to all tourists, and the work of the province went on unhindered. But his activities were not by any means confined to this social welfare work.

a parent's leniency for the petty irregularities of his offspring. The spotless cleanliness of the streets at these inspections bears witness to the cooperation of the inhabitants,

In spite of his decorative a kindly though critical eye. appearance he had an inquiring The occasion is a cheerful one, mind which absorbed infor- for the Governor looks upon mation and statistics with the town as his child, and has amazing facility. His brain was like a handbook, and he used his knowledge as an entrenching tool. With the onset of the hot weather the tourists vanished, the leave season began, but Parkinson-Smythe but it is well not to examine remained. He remained three years. He ceased to be a social bulwark, and became an apostle of efficiency.

too closely lest the illusion be dispelled-a schoolboy with a shining morning face often conceals a grimy neck beneath his snow-white collar. The wise schoolmaster knows this and accepts the compromise. Accompanying the Governor on these inspections are the Junior Inspector of the district, the Senior Medical Officer, the Officer in charge of Public Works, the Mamur or native police officer, and various sheiks and other headmen of the town mounted on donkeys. The cavalcade is therefore quite an imposing one, and delights such of the pot-bellied, roundeyed children as can elude the vigilance of their mothers and escape into the streets.

Now I don't want to be hard on Parkinson-Smythe. He was all right, except that he could never leave well alone. He had to be organising something or changing something all the time. It wasn't enough for him to know that a thing was being done, it had to be done in the most efficient way; the means were as important as the end. An uncomfortable fellow to live with. He made everybody work. He would have had more appreciation of the value of a quiet life if he had not been away from his regiment for so long when he was a youngster. At the end A few days after Parkinsonof three years he was trans- Smythe's arrival in Berinnis ferred to Berinnis as a Junior the Governor had to leave Inspector, and it was in the station on a visit to a

Berinnis that he crashed.

The weekly inspection of the town of Berinnis by the Governor and his staff is an institution of long standing. The parade falls in at 6.30 on Thursday mornings and rides through the streets, inspecting the shops, markets, and other municipal establishments with

neighbouring village. Thus it came about that the new Inspector was in charge of the weekly parade on the following Thursday. The season was unpropitious, and the morning gave promise of one of the sweltering dusty days which precede the early rains. As he cantered across the maidan

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