"José Costilena Almirez."

Frank read this amazing communication, and then turned to stare at his
cousin.

"No, don't stop yet!" exclaimed the trembling Andy. "Read the other, the
missive that Carlos Mendoza picked up on his cocoa plantation, in the
valley of the Magdalena River."

And so Frank again turned his attention to the enclosure that had been
sent on by the friendly merchant of Columbia.

It seemed to be a sheet of thin but pliable bark from a tree, and in
some respects reminded Frank of birch bark, which he had often used in
lieu of paper, when in the woods. The juice of some berry had afforded
ink; and doubtless the college professor had easily made a pen from a
bird's quill. And this was what Frank read, a small portion of the
communication being missing, as though it had received rough usage
somewhere, en route:

"Whoever finds this, I pray that it be forwarded to Andrew Bird, in the
town of Bloomsbury, State of New York, U. S. A. In my balloon I was
carried away by a sudden storm while crossing the Isthmus of Panama. As
near as I can calculate I was swept some three hundred miles, more or
less, in a south-easterly direction, much of the time above the
clouds. Then something happened, and I felt myself falling. Giving
myself up for lost, I awoke from a swoon to find myself in the branches
of a tree, with the wreck of the balloon near me. A merciful Providence
has saved my life, but I fear only to prolong my agony of soul. For
months now I have been a prisoner in a remarkable valley, a sink-pit,