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Updated: June 19, 2025
The tall groves were no longer to be seen; but a low belt of green willows, real willows, could be distinguished along the foot of the mountain within the gap. Under their foliage there was something that sparkled in the sun like sheets of silver. It was water! It was a branch of the Prieto.
The air seemed to be no longer air, but some poisonous exhalation that had suddenly arisen and enveloped us. From the rear of the ravine in which we lay, billows of dark mephitic mist were rolling forward, surrounding us with their baleful influence. It was the vomito prieto, the fever itself, embodied in the shape of a fog.
Having accomplished the object of our expedition, we may then return homeward by the nearest route." "Bravo!" "Viva!" "That's jest right, captain!" "That's clarly our best plan!" were a few among the many forms by which the hunters testified their approval of the programme. There was no dissenting voice. The word "Prieto" struck like music upon their ears.
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