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Updated: May 14, 2025
Beyond it could be seen the dazzling walls and restful, brown-tiled roofs of Joazeiro. The distant whistle of a shunting locomotive jarred on the morning stillness. For the first time Lewis saw the stranger in action. Off came the loads. They were sorted rapidly. Tent, outfit, and baggage were piled into one of the ponderous ferry-canoes that lined the shore.
"And how do you go?" asked Lewis. "I do not know. I only know that one must go to Joazeiro, and from there they say there is a road of iron that leads one to the sea." "Joazeiro!" exclaimed the guide. "Ah, that is some sense. Joazeiro is a place. It is on the river. Petrolina is on this side, Joazeiro on that. As for this road of iron, hah!" He turned on the muleteer. "Thou, too, art mad."
From it a straight red line ran eastward to the edge of the map. The stranger measured distances with a pencil. "We can make Joazeiro in fifteen days," he said. "Tell the men we will rest to-day and to-night. To-morrow we start." The marvels of that camp were a revelation to Lewis. He kept his mouth shut, but his eyes were open. One battered thing after another revealed its mystery to him.
The stranger listened to what Lewis had to say, then he drew out a map from his pocket, unfolded it, and spread it on the table. "A road of iron, eh? Well, let's see." The guide grinned at Lewis. "It is a picture of the world," he said. "He stares at it daily." "Yes," said the stranger, "here we are Joazeiro." Lewis leaned over his shoulder. He saw the word "Joazeiro."
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