“That,” said Balboa, handing the letter over to Saavedra to read, “seems to mean that the fat has gone into the fire.”

“What shall you do?”

“If the King’s summons arrives,” said Balboa reflectively, “I think I will be on the top of that mountain range looking for the sea the cacique spoke of.”

“I will go at once and make my preparations,” assented the other.  “Did you know that Pizarro has adopted that dog—­the Spitfire—­Enciso’s brute?”

“Has the dog adopted him?” laughed Balboa, extracting a thorn with the utmost care from the paw of Leoncico.

“That is a shrewd question.  You know I have a theory that a man is known by his dog.  This beast seems to have changed character when he changed masters.  When Enciso had him he was little more than a puppy, and then he was thievish and cowardly.  Now he will attack an Indian as savagely as Leoncico himself.  Pizarro must have put the iron into him.”

“Pizarro can,” said Balboa carelessly.  “He does it with his men.  I think there is more in that fellow than we have supposed.  We shall see—­this expedition will be a kind of test.”

Saavedra, as he went to his own quarters, wondered whether Balboa were really as unconscious and unsuspicious as he seemed.

“Like dog, like master,” he said to himself.  “Cacafuego shifted collars as easily as any mongrel does—­as readily as Pizarro himself would.  I think that Leoncico, left here without Balboa, would die.  Neither a dog or a man has any business with two masters.  I wonder whether in the end we shall conquer this land, or find that the land has conquered us?”

Balboa set forth with one hundred and ninety picked men and a few bloodhounds.  Half the company remained on shore at Coyba to guard the brigantine and canoes, and with the others Balboa began the ascent of the range of mountains from whose heights he hoped to view the sea.

In no other time and country have discoverers encountered the obstacles and dangers which confronted the Spaniards who first explored Central America.  Precipitous mountains, matted jungles, barren deserts, deep and swift streams, malarious bogs, and hostile natives often armed with poisoned weapons, all were in their way, and they had to make their overland journeys on foot, fully armed and often in tropical heat.  Even when accompanied by Indians familiar with the country, they could count on little or nothing in the way of game or other provisions.  Balboa’s friendly ways with the natives had secured him Indian guides and porters, but it was difficult work, even so.  In four days they traveled no more than ten leagues, and it took them from the sixth to the twenty-fifth of September to cover the ground between the coast of Darien and the foot of the last mountain they must climb.  One-third of the men had been sent back from time to time, because of illness and exhaustion.  The party remained for the night in the village of Quaraqua at the foot of the mountain, and at dawn they began their ascent, hoping to reach the summit before the hottest time of the day.  About ten o’clock they came out of the thick forest on a high and airy slope of the mountain, and the Indians pointed out a hill, from which they said the sea was visible.