Uncharted: Teddy Roosevelt's Amazon Expedition | A Killer In Their Midst | 3
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Candido Rondon quietly pushes his way through a thick overgrowth of vines and branches. His pulse quickens with each step as he moves deeper into the jungle. He tightens his grip on his rifle, using the barrel to clear a path for himself and the four men following behind him.

It's March 16th, 1914. Colonel Rondon has joined with former U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt to lead an expedition down the River of Doubt, a treacherous and unexplored river in the Amazon basin.

They've encountered churning rapids that have destroyed some of their canoes and killed one of their porters. They've battled endless rains and brutal swarms of insects. As the journey drags on, they've had to ration food supplies, leaving the men emaciated and ravenous with hunger. And now, a new challenge has emerged.

Just 30 minutes ago, Rondon had ventured into the jungle to hunt for game. His only companion was Lobo, his faithful dog. When Lobo heard a noise ahead, the dog bounded forward, out of sight. When Lobo returned, his body was pierced with two arrows. Rondon heard voices from the trees around him, speaking an unfamiliar dialect. He fired a warning shot into the air, but the voices drew closer.

Rondon knew he was outnumbered, so he fled back to camp and assembled a search party to join him. Rondon spies something ahead through the brush. He pushes aside a branch. On the ground is the lifeless body of Lobo, an impossibly long arrow still piercing his side. Behind him is a trail of blood on the jungle floor. Rondon realizes Lobo had tried to make his way back to his master before finally dying.

Rondon kneels down to run his fingers over Lobo's soft head one last time. He feels a lump in his throat. He loved his dog. But Rondon knows there's no time to mourn. The people who fired the arrows could still be nearby, waiting to attack again. He stands and gives one last look at Lobo. Then he leads his men deeper into the jungle, retracing his steps back to where the dog was shot.

There's no sign of the attackers, but within minutes, they stumble upon a small wooden basket filled with animal entrails. Rondon guesses it's a fishing lure to be lowered into the river to attract hungry fish so they can be speared from above. It must have been dropped in a hurry. Rondon and his men creep deeper into the jungle, pausing every few seconds to listen, but all they can hear are the cries of toucans and the tapping of a woodpecker.

Whoever the attackers were, they're gone for now. A camarada steps forward. "We could hunt them down, Colonel." Rondon shakes his head. For years, he's led the effort to extend telegraph lines across the nation of Brazil. Many times, he's had to make peace with indigenous people whose territory was being entered. As much as he loved his dog, Rondon doesn't want to start a war with this tribe. He wants to forge a treaty.

He opens his pack and pulls out items he brought specifically for this purpose: an axe, a hammer, and other tools. He leaves these gifts by the fishing rig, hoping whoever comes back for it will find them and will understand they're a peace offering. It's all he can do. Rondon and the men return to the body of Lobo, lying on the jungle floor. Before carrying him back to camp, Rondon kneels and prays.

that his fallen dog will be the last of their casualties on this journey. In our fast-paced, screen-filled world, it can be all too easy to lose that sense of imagination and wonder. If you're looking for new ways to ignite your creativity and open your mind to fresh perspectives, then let Audible be your guide. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, or any genre you love, you can be inspired to imagine new worlds, new possibilities, and new ways of thinking.

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From Wendery, I'm Cassie DePeckel, and this is Against the Odds. In 1914, former President Theodore Roosevelt set out to map the uncharted Rio de Duveta, known in English as the River of Doubt. Roosevelt was accompanied by 21 men, including his son Kermit and renowned Brazilian explorer Candido Rondon.

Raging rapids and waterfalls caused long delays as they were forced to drag their supplies in heavy canoes through the jungle. One stretch of whitewater was so intense that it claimed the life of one of the porters and nearly killed Roosevelt's son. Now, Colonel Rondon has discovered that they're not alone on this river. Indigenous people call this habitat home, and if the tribe concludes that the expedition is a threat and decides to fight, Rondon and the others are sure to lose.

This is episode three, A Killer in Their Midst. Theodore Roosevelt stands quietly beside a dying campfire as the sun rises over the trees. There's a quiet bustle of activity around him as the men rise from their slumber and prepare to work. Roosevelt has been fighting malaria for days, but this morning he's starting to feel like his old self. The dizziness is gone, and so is the fever.

Dr. Cagigera has been administering shots of quinine to Roosevelt, and they appear to be working. Despite these improvements, Roosevelt's mood this morning is gloomy. It's March 17th, and it's shaping up to be another day that brings them no closer to the river's end.

Two days ago, one of their canoes was swept over a waterfall and destroyed. The tragedy was twofold. Not only did a man die needlessly, they now need to build a new canoe to replace the one that was lost. It will take several days to complete this task, and the expedition doesn't have any time to spare.

If they stop for too long, they raise their risk of running out of food. They could also become sitting ducks for an attack from the same tribe that killed Colonel Rondon's dog. Thankfully, there haven't been any other incidents since yesterday's assault, but Rondon has warned that they're probably being watched. Colonel Rondon summons the camaradas to the center of the campsite to issue their daily orders.

I want to take advantage of the time we're stopped here, so I'll be enlisting some of you to help map this section of the river in greater detail. Roosevelt broods, concerned that Rondon's plan could lead to further delays. But then he notices Rondon is looking in his direction. It's clear that he's about to say something that he wants Roosevelt to hear. Gentlemen, we've traveled this river for 18 days now.

While our journey is far from complete, we know already that this is a large and important waterway, and it deserves a new name. By the authority of the Brazilian government, I formally christen it the Rio Roosevelt. The men let out a rousing hooray. Roosevelt is surprised, then a little embarrassed. Does the Rio de Duvido really need a new name?

But as the applause of the camaradas continues, Roosevelt is moved. Despite the suffering they've endured, the men of the expedition clearly love and respect him. The feeling is mutual. Roosevelt steps forward and graciously accepts Rondon's honor.

The makeshift ceremony continues, with Roosevelt, Rondon, and the others raising cheers for the nations of Brazil and the United States, and for all of the men working so hard to keep the expedition moving forward. Laughter and applause echoes through the camp. Roosevelt's spirits are lifted. Perhaps this was Rondon's plan all along. As the men disperse, the former president feels ready

for whatever the Rio Roosevelt has in store. Rondon peers down the river through a lens. At a bend in the river about 50 yards away, he can see Kermit Roosevelt holding a sighting rod, a long pole with two discs attached to it, exactly one meter apart. The lens Rondon is using is part of an instrument called a telemeter.

By sighting an object of a known length, Rondon can compute the distance from his position to Kermit and use that data for making an accurate map. There are quicker ways to survey an uncharted landscape, but none as accurate as this. Rondon waves to Kermit. "Come on back. That's enough for now." Kermit is silent when he returns. Rondon can sense he's getting frustrated.

They've been surveying the river for three days now, while the camaradas build the new dugouts. The boats still aren't finished, and people are getting impatient. But Rondon is less concerned by the delay. After all, the whole point of the expedition has been to map this uncharted river and finally shed light on its mysteries. In some ways, the delay has been a blessing.

Rondon arrives at the camp to see Roosevelt standing in front of his tent, scowling. Roosevelt motions for Rondon to join him. As they step inside the tent, Rondon realizes any goodwill he may have won by naming the river for Roosevelt has probably evaporated. Colonel Rondon, the boats aren't finished because you told the men to go slow on the construction. Am I right? Rondon pauses. It's true.

Mr. President, mapping this river is the reason we are here. If doing it correctly delays us a bit, it will be well worth- It isn't worth the risk. We are the first to chart this territory. For those who come afterward, we must be detailed. If we don't get home, there will be no map for anyone to follow. Let those who come after us fill in the details. Rondon is silent as Roosevelt grows more heated.

"Colonel Rondon, you are placing my son in danger. By sending him down the river, you're making him a target for whatever tribe is tracking us." Rondon bows his head. He understands Roosevelt's desire to protect his son. Rondon has children of his own back in Mato Grosso. Still, he'd be shirking his duty to his country if he were to rush this important work.

He takes in Roosevelt's angry expression and realizes what he has to do. You are right, Mr. President. There are simpler ways to survey the river. From now on, we will use them. Roosevelt nods to Rondon. The matter is settled. Rondon has to admit that the time they're spending mapping every twist and turn of the river is putting them in danger. Whether he likes it or not, the expedition needs to get moving again.

A camarada named Paishon pries the wooden lid from a supply crate and checks the contents. Inside, illuminated by moonlight, he sees rows of tin boxes labeled "U.S. Army Emergency Rations." He relaxes, but just a bit. It's nighttime, and the other members of the expedition are trying to rest.

Paishon is exhausted from another long day of transporting their canoes and supplies across land, past another stretch of raging white water. But he can't sleep. A few days ago, he noticed that 15 tins of food went missing. There's a thief in their midst, and his lead camarada, it's Paishon's job to find out who. As he walks back to his tent, the humid night air clings to his skin.

A symphony of insects chitters around him. Paishon feels restless. They simply can't afford to lose any more food. They're already down to just two meals a day, just a biscuit and a few scraps of meat. Everyone is so hungry, they've made a game of imagining what they're going to eat when they reach civilization.

He can't stop thinking of condensed milk, drunk straight from the can, its sticky sweetness running down his throat. From behind him, he hears a noise from the far side of the supply stash. Paishon crouches low and creeps back toward the stack of crates. There in the moonlight, he spies a figure picking tins out of a crate that's fallen open on the ground.

Even in semi-darkness, Pichon can recognize the well-fed silhouette. It's a porter named Julio de Lima, who oddly doesn't seem to be dropping weight like the rest of them are. Julio, what are you doing? I was looking for a blanket. The night is cold. Pichon sees the tin in his hand and steps closer.

You're stealing food. What are you talking about? I just knocked over a crate. While the rest of us waste away, you're still fat as an ox. How's that for proof? Watch it, Paishon. I have half a mind to knock you flat on your... Before Julio can finish his sentence, Paishon punches him hard in the mouth. Julio staggers back, a look of shock on his face. You hit me for stealing food? You're lucky I didn't do more than that.

Julio's eyes flare with rage. I'm informing the colonel. He'll discipline you for this. Paichon follows slowly behind as Julio runs toward the center of camp. He's sure Roosevelt and Rondon will discipline someone, but he bets it won't be him. He arrives at the officer's tents to find Julio airing his grievance to President Roosevelt and Colonel Rondon.

But when Pichon shares what he witnessed, it doesn't take long for the officers to turn on Julio. Roosevelt clenches his fist. Julio, on an expedition like this, stealing food is a serious crime. Rondon nods in agreement. Tonight, you've gotten off easy. If it happens again, you won't be so lucky. Roosevelt and Rondon retire to their tents. Julio stares daggers at Pichon.

But Paixón doesn't budge. "Go to sleep, Julio." Paixón watches as Julio slowly disappears into the shadows. Dr. José Cajayra kneels down next to Teddy Roosevelt. The former president of the United States is sitting on the riverbank, clutching his shin. "Sir, are you okay?" "I'll be fine. It's just a small cut."

It's March 27th, a month since they set off on their river journey. A few moments ago, Kajayera was chest deep in the river, along with every member of the expedition, including Roosevelt. All of them were heaving on ropes that were attached to a canoe that had been sucked under the rapids. The canoe was saved, but in the process of pulling, Roosevelt fell. The doctor saw him limp towards the shore and immediately came to his aid.

Even before the fall, the doctor was worried that Roosevelt was exerting himself too much. Ten days ago, Roosevelt had fought off a bout of malaria. The symptoms had begun to return. Cagiera looks down and sees blood dripping onto the rocks at the river's edge. "May I have a look?" Roosevelt grits his teeth as he nods. Dr. Cagiera gently lifts up his patient's right leg to get a closer look at the wound.

The doctor knows the pain must be intense, but Roosevelt acts as tough as ever. See? Nothing too serious. Kajira smiles. Roosevelt is right that it should be easy enough to stop the bleeding, but the doctor knows there's a much more serious threat than blood loss.

The Amazon rainforest is one of the most germ-ridden environments on the planet. Any cut or scrape is far more prone to infection in this habitat. And if his leg does get infected, Cagiera doesn't have any medicine that can treat it. Roosevelt's son Kermit approaches and kneels down to check on his father. Roosevelt waves him off, assuring everyone that he will be fine. Kermit turns to the doctor. "What do you think, doctor?" "Doesn't look so bad."

Cagieira nods his head, but his concern is growing. If they fail to prevent an infection, Roosevelt could have great difficulty walking, especially in these harsh conditions. He could also develop a fever that would complicate his malaria symptoms.

The doctor moves quickly to bandage the wound. Mr. President, the injury is small, but the consequences could be very serious if we don't let you rest and recuperate. Nonsense! I'll be fine. There's no way I'm holding up this expedition. As soon as Dr. Cagiera finishes wrapping the bandages, Roosevelt pulls himself to his feet and starts limping back to camp, with Kermit at his side.

The doctor can't help but admire Roosevelt's strength and determination. But he fears that Roosevelt doesn't grasp the threat that his injury poses. If he can't walk, they'll have to carry him. And if they can't carry him, this uncharted jungle is where he will die.

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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code "Odds" for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. Kermit Roosevelt reaches for the flap of his father's tent, then hesitates. Dusk is falling over the jungle. It was only yesterday that Kermit's father cut his leg in the river. A few minutes ago, Kermit learned that Teddy's health had already taken a drastic turn for the worse. He steals himself and steps into the tent.

There, in the semi-darkness, Kermit can see his father laid out on his cot, his right leg propped up by blankets. Colonel Rondon and Dr. Cagiera stand next to him. The skin around Teddy's wound is red and swollen, a sure sign of an infection. Teddy turns to look at Kermit as he enters the tent. The old man makes a move, as if he's about to sit up, but then he sinks back into the cot, exhausted.

The doctor approaches Kermit. I'm afraid his fever is rising again. Kermit nods. His father has always been the toughest man in the world. Two years ago, he was shot by a would-be assassin at a campaign event, but he declined medical help until after he finished his speech. Seeing the old bull moose in such a weakened state is heartbreaking. Roosevelt motions for Kermit to come closer. Tell us about your scouting trip.

Well, a few miles down the river are some of the roughest rapids yet. We counted about six waterfalls before the river quiets again. Rondon rubs his eyes. We'll have to carry the boats around. It will take time, but we can build a road like we've done before. Kermit interrupts him. The canyon is pure rock. It's too high and too slippery to climb with the canoes. We'll need to lighten our load and carry our supplies over land while we guide the boats down the river with ropes.

This will be our toughest stretch yet. What do you think of the plan? I trust the Colonel and you to make the right decision.

Teddy closes his eyes to rest, and Kermit feels a wave of fear wash over him. He's never seen his father this pale and helpless. It's not just that his father is ill. He seems like a different person entirely. Kermit remembers the look in his mother's eyes when she made him promise to look after his old man. Is it possible that he's on the verge of failing her? He turns to Rondon and Dr. Caggiera.

"You both can go. I'll keep watch over him tonight." As the others exit the tent, Kermit sits on the ground next to the cot and watches over his father. President Roosevelt lays in his cot, shivering and sweating. He's been awake all night. The cut in his leg throbs and waves of pain wash over his body. He turns to see Kermit has knotted off in a hammock nearby. Good for him.

Roosevelt looks up at the canvas roof above. No sign of light, but the sun must be rising soon. He's fought illness before, but this feels different. He's haunted by the discussion from the previous night, the hardship that awaits them in the next leg of the journey. He can barely sit up. How will he be able to navigate the rough terrain that's ahead of them?

What's worse, his condition is not just a danger to himself, it's a danger to the expedition. To his son, Roosevelt has become a burden. As his mind spins faster, he grows more resolved. He knew the risks when he agreed to embark on this journey. If this is where he dies, so be it. It will be a death in service of a noble cause, illuminating the unknown reaches of our world. Roosevelt turns back to his son.

Kermit. Kermit. Wake up. His son stirs and bolts upward. What is it? Are you okay? Kermit, listen to me. I won't be responsible for holding everyone back. I want you to go on and leave me here. I'm prepared to leave my bones in South America. Kermit bows his head, silent. Roosevelt breathes a sigh of relief, even as his fever burns hotter.

But then, his son stands up slowly. I won't do that, father. Roosevelt furrows his brow. It's for your own good. I can't walk. Then I'll carry you. Kermit, I insist that you abide by my wishes and argue all you want. Under no circumstances will I leave you here. You and I are going home, together. Roosevelt is stunned. Kermit has always been independent-

But he'd never attempted to defy Roosevelt's authority as patriarch of the family, until now. He looks up into Kermit's eyes and realizes his son will never back down. If Roosevelt dies, Kermit will carry him through the jungle and jeopardize his own life in the process. The thought that Kermit's life could end at such a young age is unbearable. So Roosevelt lies back on his pillow and nods.

Kermit steps closer. "We can make it, father. Trust me." Roosevelt nods again and closes his eyes. More than anything, he wants to keep his son safe. So Theodore Roosevelt chooses to stay alive. Colonel Rondon runs his finger over a human footprint on the muddy jungle floor. He looks up to see more prints leading away from their camp. The tracks are fresh.

The Camaradas are packing up camp and preparing for what will surely be the most arduous leg of their journey. The terrain will be the most difficult they've faced yet. On top of that, many members of the expedition have taken ill, most notably President Roosevelt. This morning, it appeared that Roosevelt was resolved to soldier forward. Rondon can't help but admire his determination.

While the camp is being taken down, Rondon is taking time to scout the trail ahead. It's been 13 days since his dog was killed. The footprints indicate that the tribe that fired those arrows is still watching them. In Rondon's view, they've gotten bolder. They're not even bothering to hide their tracks anymore. And a few days ago, when he was walking alone from the river to camp, he was sure he heard voices in the distance.

Rondon follows the footprints until they disappear. He grows quiet and surveys his surroundings. He knows it's possible that he's being watched at this very moment. Slowly, he reaches into his pack. He pulls out a knife, an axe, and some strings of beads and ties them to a tree in a clearing where the footsteps end. It's the third peace offering since his dog was killed.

Whoever's watching him, Rondon hopes they understand that he's extending the hand of friendship and leaving a gift. In the coming days, the expedition will be pushed to their limits as they navigate the steep canyon ahead. If they have to fight off an attack along the way, they're not going to make it. Paishon trudges through the jungle, balancing a supply crate on his aching shoulders.

The day is humid, and the sweat drips down his forehead into his eyes, but he can't free a hand to rub them. The ants have found his feet, and their bites are torture. They have spent the last six days moving supplies through the steep terrain to a point past the rapids, per Roosevelt and Rondon's command.

While the gear is carried down to the base of the series of falls, the heavy canoes are lowered down to the river and guided through with ropes, one difficult waterfall at a time. Paishon and his fellow camaradas are exhausted, but he knows their only option is to push ahead. He can feel his normally bulky frame dwindling each day as they run shorter on rations.

They're using all their remaining strength to get past this latest stretch of rapids and waterfalls. The other camaradas are all carrying as much weight as they can, with the exception of Julio. Just this morning, they'd caught him stealing food again. The last time Julio did this, Paixón punched him hard. But today, all Paixón could do was yell. He needs everyone pitching in if they're going to finish this leg of the journey.

Haishon stumbles, but quickly regains his footing. The rocky canyon is very steep and slippery, so they've had to clear a path a few miles around in order to find steadier ground. Haishon hears heavy breathing up on the trail ahead. He wonders if it's Julio actually doing some work for once. But no, it's President Roosevelt, resting on one knee in the middle of the trail. He's leaning against a walking stick he found in the jungle.

The president looks weak. Pyshon knows he's been struggling with fever ever since he injured his leg just a few days ago. He must be in terrible pain. Pyshon walks up to him and offers a hand. Please, sir, would you allow me to help? But Roosevelt waves him off. Thank you, Pyshon. I can manage. Then Roosevelt pushes hard on his walking stick and struggles to his feet. He plods forward, one painful step at a time.

Pichon carries on past him. The old man is tough. He'll give him that, especially for a politician. But the river has already claimed one man. What if the American president is next? Kermit lets out a small groan as he lowers himself into a camp chair to rest his aching legs. It's mid-afternoon on April 3, 1914, 38 days since they first set off down the River of Doubt.

He knows he shouldn't complain. At least he still has shoes. Some of the men have lost theirs to termites. He's sitting in the center of their newest camp, pitched in a clearing they cut in some high ground up from the river. It's been six days of non-stop labor. First, the long trek back and forth to move the supplies around the falls from the old camp to this one. Up and down a miserable trail that took them around a rocky canyon.

And they still aren't finished. Half the supplies are still up the canyon. Transporting the dugouts was a separate nightmare. The boats were lowered by ropes through the rapids, one waterfall at a time. But despite their best efforts, they lost two canoes. One slipped loose of the ropes and was smashed apart by rocks. And just this morning, another was destroyed after being caught in a swirl of furious rapids.

The expedition is now down to just four canoes. He looks over at his father. Roosevelt is sitting nearby in a folding chair at a small writing table outside his tent. Kermit observes that even in his weakened state, his father still takes time to write in his journal. He's committed to turning these writings into articles for Scribner's magazine back in New York. But Kermit remains worried about his father's fragile health.

He's watched as illness and hunger have whittled away at his father's normally stocky frame. And Kermit had to intervene after learning his father was giving some of his own rations away to the Camaradas. He needs every morsel he can get. Can't the writing wait, father? You should be resting. I want to get everything down while it's fresh in my mind.

Just then, they both look up to see the Camerata, Julio de Lima, walk into camp, lugging a supply crate. After setting the crate down, the surly Camerata stomps across camp, clearly agitated. He picks up a rifle before he turns and walks back into the jungle. Kermit raises an eyebrow to his father. "I wonder what he's up to." "Maybe that layabout will hunt us up something to eat tonight."

Kermit shrugs and closes his eyes for a few minutes of much-needed rest. Kermit jolts from his chair. He scans the treeline, looking for the source of the shot, as three of the camaradas burst out of the jungle into the campsite, gasping and frantic. Kermit runs forward to meet them. "What is it?" "It's Julio! He shot Paishon! He shot him dead!" Kermit stands frozen in shock.

Where is Julio now? Gone! We don't know! He fled into the jungle! Kermit's shock turns to grave concern. Julio is loose with a gun, and no one knows what he intends to do next.

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Julio de Lima stumbles frantically through the jungle. Vines scratch his face. His foot catches on the root of a banyan tree, and he falls to the ground.

He scrambles back up, ignoring his scraped palms. He has no way of knowing where he's going, but he knows the other men of the expedition will be after him. His only chance now is to get far enough away that they'll be forced to give up the search. Julio winces as he remembers what's happened. He'd killed a man, a fellow Camerata named Paixón. But then Julio is consumed with rage as he thinks back to the day's events.

Just over a week ago, Paishon hit him hard across his face. And then today, Paishon shouted at him in front of everyone. Julio reached his breaking point. As far as he's concerned, Paishon had it coming. He had to pay. Still, he remembers the look on Paishon's face when the bullet pierced his heart. The shock, the realization that his life was over. It was an awful thing to see. Julio brushes the thought out of his mind.

He has to get as far away as he can. The only thing that matters now is his own survival. He trips over another tree root and stumbles, but catches himself before he falls and keeps running. After five weeks of trudging through this godforsaken jungle, Julio has no illusions about how dangerous it is, both on the river and off. It's getting harder and harder to see anything through the waning light.

He freezes at the sound of a branch cracking not far off. Terror grips him as he listens to the rustle of leaves and the calls of the animals. This jungle is full of predators. Poisonous snakes, insects, local tribes hostile to outsiders. He suddenly realizes that since he's all alone out here, now he's up against something even worse. He has no food.

But Julio remembers he still has a rifle. He can try to hunt for something to eat, and he'll have at least some protection from anything or anyone who tries to harm him. He reaches back to where the rifle was slung over his shoulder. His stomach lurches. It's gone. He must have dropped it somewhere behind him. Maybe when he fell. Without that rifle, he's completely unprotected. There's no way he'll survive alone.

For a single second, he wonders, should he go back, face his punishment? No. The consequences for what he's done are too serious. His only hope now is to find a local tribe who may take pity on him. Or maybe, if he's really lucky, he's not far from a settlement. Julio runs farther and farther into the jungle. His only goal now is to stay alive.

Roosevelt looks down at the dead body of Pichon, face down on the muddy ground in a pool of blood. All of the men have gathered close by, stunned and horrified. Dr. Cagiebra kneels down to examine the wound. A gunshot through the heart. He was killed instantly. Roosevelt sees the shock pass over the faces of the camaradas.

These men were Pichon's friends and trusted companions. But Roosevelt can only feel anger. The men knew they would be risking their lives on this expedition. But this was cold-blooded murder. A senseless death. A wasted life.

Colonel Rondon motions the men towards him. Everyone, spread out and search for Julio. Search in groups of two or three and take a rifle. If you see him, bring him back here alive. The camaradas rush back to camp to get their guns. Roosevelt can't believe his ears. Colonel, are you mad? We must find him and take him back with us to answer for his crimes. He has murdered another man.

Anyone who murders must be killed to pay for it. It's simple justice. But Rondon won't budge. I am an officer of the Brazilian government, and I must abide by the law, even in the wilderness. Roosevelt grips his walking stick tight as his anger grows. Welcoming a killer back into the fold would be utter insanity.

He'll be eating their food and slowing them down. Plus, he couldn't be shackled, meaning he would have to be guarded day and night. Otherwise, he might try to steal more food and weapons and disappear. Or worse yet, kill again. Roosevelt knows that Rondon is a man of character, but he's not thinking this through. Roosevelt's knees buckle. He doesn't know if it's the argument or the malaria that's getting to him.

He sits down on a stack of crates and leans back, closing his eyes for a moment. One of the camaradas bursts into camp, holding a rifle above his head. Sir, we found Julio's gun. He must have dropped it when he was fleeing. Roosevelt is relieved. At least they don't have to worry about Julio coming back to shoot them in the night. But suddenly, he feels dizzy, like the world is spinning around him. Rondon steps over to him.

Mr. President, are you all right? The last thing Roosevelt sees is Rondon's concerned face. Then he falls into darkness. Kermit Roosevelt paces back and forth in the mud outside his father's tent. From inside, he can hear his father's labored breathing. It's just before dusk, and the light through the trees has grown dimmer.

A warm, heavy rain falls on him. It soaks his clothes. But he's so used to that by now that he barely notices. It's April 4th, 39 days since they entered the river. Yesterday, they buried Paishon in a clearing overlooking the river. His fellow camaradas muttered a few prayers and then shoveled dirt upon the remains of their comrade. The men have been searching all day, but Julio hasn't been found.

Colonel Rondon ordered them to break camp and relocate it across the river. It will provide a natural barrier in case Julio decides to return. There are 19 of them versus one lone killer. But Julio is hungry and scared, alone in the jungle, and there's no telling what he may still do. Amidst all this turmoil, Kermit's greatest concern is his father's declining health.

Yesterday, Roosevelt collapsed, soon after Pichon's body was found. Ever since, he's been laid up in his cot, drifting in and out of consciousness. Dr. Cagiera has been tending to him night and day. Kermit knows this doesn't bode well. He hears a groan from inside the tent and steps inside to investigate. His father is still unconscious on his cot, with the doctor by his side.

His fever is at 105. Ever since the rain started up, he's been getting worse. "Can't you do anything for him?" Cagiera changes the wet washcloth on the old man's forehead. Then, he pulls a syringe from his bag. "I've been giving him quinine to help with the malaria. It's all we can do." Dr. Cagiera injects the syringe into Roosevelt's stomach. Kermit looks for his father to flinch, but he remains motionless.

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Kermit is at a loss for what to do. Colonel Rondon believes they still have hundreds of miles to go before they reach the end of the river. But no one knows the exact distance or if their supplies will last until they make it there. And as much as he doesn't want to believe it's possible, his father appears to be near death. Suddenly, Roosevelt stirs in his delirium. He begins to mutter something softly.

Kermit leans in closer. Father, what is it? In Xanadu did come a stately pleasure dome to create... In Xanadu a stately pleasure dome... Kermit is dumbfounded. He recognizes these words. They're the opening lines of a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, A Vision and a Dream. Kermit knows it well, but why would his father be reciting it now, in the depths of his delirium?

Trembling on his cot, Roosevelt says the same words again and again. Kermit takes his father's limp hand in his own and squeezes. He wishes this were all a dream, but their dire circumstances are all too real. His father may die in this jungle, and the thought of burying him here is unbearable.

This is the third episode in our series, Uncharted, Teddy Roosevelt's Amazon expedition. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research.

If you'd like to learn more about this event, we highly recommend the books The River of Doubt by Candice Millard and Through the Brazilian Wilderness from the Diaries of Theodore Roosevelt. I'm your host, Cassie DePeckel. Eric Trueheart wrote this episode. Our editor is Steve Fennessy. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez.

Sound design is by Rob Shielaga. Produced by Matt Olmos, Emily Frost, and Alita Rosansky. Our senior managing producer is Tanja Thigpen. Our managing producer is Matt Gant. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marsha Louis. For Wondery. Wondery.

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