ebbed away. About four o'clock in the afternoon his respirations grew
difficult, and a few moments later he drew his last painful breath. He
died three hours after being bitten by the _jararaca_. For the second
time during that ill-fated journey I went to work digging a grave
with my machete, Jerome lending me whatever assistance he could in
his enfeebled state. My own condition was such that I had to rest
and recover my breath with every few stabs of the machete.

We completed that day's journey late in the afternoon, arriving
at _tambo_ No. 6 after taking almost an hour for the last half
mile. Jerome could now scarcely stand without my assistance. There was
no longer any attempt to disguise the nature of his sickness. He had
_beri-beri_, and that meant in our situation not the slightest chance
of recovery. Even with the best of care and nursing his case would
be hopeless, for in these regions the disease is absolutely fatal.

We built a fire and managed to get our hammocks fastened in some
fashion, but there was not a scrap of food to be had. The heart-leaves
from a young palm were chewed in a mood of hopeless desperation.

The next morning it was a task of several minutes for me to get out of
the hammock and on my feet. Jerome made several painful efforts and,
finally, solved his problem by dropping to the ground. He could not
rise until I came to his assistance. Then we two tottering wrecks
attempted to carry our heavy loads, but Jerome could not make it;
he cast from him everything he owned, even the smallest personal
belongings so dear to his simple, pure soul. It was heartrending
to see this young man, who in health would have been able to handle
three or four of his own size, now reduced to such a pitiful state.