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The sun's heat was falling from the heavens like a burning rain. It struck the ground and then slowly rose again, burdened with dampness and the nauseous odor of rotting leaves and roots. Once Cœur de Gris was driven to his knees by the heat, but immediately he rose to trudge onward. Henry Morgan saw his staggering walk, and glanced at the trail ahead with indecision.

“Perhaps we should be resting here,” he said. “The men are exhausted.”

“But no. We must go on and go on,” Cœur de Gris replied. “If we stop here, the men will only be weaker when we start again.”

Henry Morgan mused: “I wonder why you are so avid in my mission. You move forward when even I begin to doubt myself. What is it that you expect to find in Panama, Cœur de Gris?”

“I expect to find nothing,” the young man said. “Are you trying to trap me into a statement of disloyalty? I know the prize is yours before we arrive, I admit it, sir. But, you see, I am like a great, round stone set in motion down a hill, so much reason have for going to Panama. You, sir, set me in motion.”

“It is strange that I should so want Panama,” Henry said.

The flushed face of the lieutenant turned on him in anger.

“You do not want Panama. It is the woman you want, not Panama.” His voice was as bitter as his words, and now he was pressing his palms against his temples.