"Yes," said the stranger, "here we are--Joazeiro."

Lewis leaned over his shoulder. He saw the word "Joazeiro." 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. He turned to the stranger.

"You are a great traveler," he said.

The stranger started. He had been day-dreaming.

"A great traveler? Yes. I have been a wanderer on all the faces of the
earth. I have lived seven lives. I'll give them to you, if you like."

Lewis smiled, puzzled, but somehow pleased.

"Give them to me--your seven lives?"

The stranger did not answer. Gloom had settled on the face that Lewis
had seen only alight. Lewis, too, was silent. His life with Ann and the
Reverend Orme had taught him much. He recognized the dwelling-place of
sorrow.

Presently the stranger shook his mood from him.