than I have ever known in any part of the world.

"I must explain that what I regarded as a weak point in my manager's
theory was this: Whilst he held that the native labourers to a man were
linked together under some head, or guiding influence, he had never
succeeded in surprising anything in the nature of a negro meeting.
Indeed, he had prohibited all gatherings of this kind. His answer to my
criticism was a curious one. He declared that the members of this
mysterious society met and received their instructions at some place
within the poison area to which I have referred, believing themselves
there to be safe from European interference.

"For a long time I disputed this with poor Valera--for such was my
manager's name; when one night as I was dismounting from my horse
before the veranda, having returned from a long ride around the estate,
a shot was fired from the border of the Black Belt which at one point
crept up dangerously close to the hacienda.

"The shot was a good one. I had caught my spur in the stirrup in
dismounting, and stumbled. Otherwise I must have been a dead man. The
bullet pierced the crown of my hat, only missing my skull by an inch or
less. The alarm was given. But no search-party could be mustered, do
you say?--which was prepared to explore the poison swamp--or so
declared my native servants. Valera, however, seized upon this incident
to illustrate his theory that there were those in the island who did
not hesitate to enter the Black Belt popularly supposed to cast up
noxious vapours at dusk of a sort fatal to any traveller.

"That night over our wine we discussed the situation, and he pointed
out to me that now was the hour to test his theory. Orders had