none in the amazon jungle adventures in remote parts of the upper amazon river, including a sojourn among cannibal indians by algot lange edited in part by j. odell hauser with an introduction by frederick s. dellenbaugh to the memory of my father introduction when mr. algot lange told me he was going to the headwaters of the amazon, i was particularly interested because once, years ago, i had turned my own mind in that direction with considerable longing. i knew he would encounter many set-backs, but i never would have predicted the adventures he actually passed through alive. he started in fine spirits: buoyant, strong, vigorous. when i saw him again in new york, a year or so later, on his return, he was an emaciated fever-wreck, placing one foot before the other only with much exertion and indeed barely able to hold himself erect. a few weeks in the hospital, followed by a daily diet of quinine, improved his condition, but after months he had scarcely arrived at his previous excellent physical state. many explorers have had experiences similar to those related in this volume, but, at least so far as the fever and the cannibals are concerned, they have seldom survived to tell of them. their interviews with cannibals have been generally too painfully confined to internal affairs to be available in this world for authorship, whereas mr. lange, happily, avoided not only a calamitous intimacy, but was even permitted to view the culinary preparations relating to the absorption of less favoured individuals, and himself could have joined the feast, had he possessed the stomach for it. these good friends of his, the mangeromas, conserved his life when they found him almost dying, not, strange as it may appear, for selfish banqueting purposes, but merely that he might return to his own people. it seems rather paradoxical that they should have loved one stranger so well as to spare him with suspicious kindness, and love others to the extent of making them into table delicacies. the explanation probably is that these mangeromas were the reverse of a certain foreign youth with only a small stock of english, who, on being offered in new york a fruit he had never seen before, replied, "thank you, i eat only my acquaintances"--the mangeromas eat only their enemies. mr. lange's account of his stay with these people, of their weapons, habits, form of battle, and method of cooking the human captives, etc., forms one of the specially interesting parts of the book, and is at the same time a valuable contribution to the ethnology of the western amazon (or marañon) region, where dwell numerous similar tribes little known to the white man. particularly notable is his description of the wonderful wourahli (urari) poison, its extraordinary effect, and the _modus operandi_ of its making; a poison used extensively by amazonian tribes but not made by all. he describes also the bows and arrows, the war-clubs, and the very scientific weapon, the blow-gun. he was fortunate in securing a photograph of a mangeroma in the act of shooting this gun. special skill, of course, is necessary for the effective use of this simple but terrible arm, and, like that required for the boomerang or lasso, practice begins with childhood. the region of mr. lange's almost fatal experiences, the region of the javary river (the boundary between brazil and peru), is one of the most formidable and least known portions of the south american continent. it abounds with obstacles to exploration of the most overwhelming kind. low, swampy, with a heavy rainfall, it is inundated annually, like most of the amazon basin, and at time of high water the rivers know no limits. lying, as it does, so near the equator, the heat is intense and constant, oppressive even to the native. the forest-growth--and it is forest wherever it is not river--is forced as in a huge hothouse, and is so dense as to render progress through it extremely difficult. not only are there obstructions in the way of tree trunks, underbrush, and trailing vines and creepers like ropes, but the footing is nothing more than a mat of interlaced roots. the forest is also sombre and gloomy. to take a photograph required an exposure of from three to five minutes. not a stone, not even a pebble, is anywhere to be found. disease is rampant, especially on the smaller branches of the rivers. the incurable _beri-beri_ and a large assortment of fevers claim first place as death dealers, smiting the traveller with fearful facility. next come a myriad of insects and reptiles--alligators, huge bird-eating spiders, and snakes of many varieties. snakes, both the poisonous and non-poisonous kinds, find here conditions precisely to their liking. the bush-master is met with in the more open places, and there are many that are venomous, but the most terrifying, though not a biting reptile is the water-boa, the sucurujú (_eunectes murinus_) or anaconda. it lives to a great age and reaches a size almost beyond belief. feeding, as generally it does at night, it escapes common observation, and white men, heretofore, have not seen the largest specimens reported, though more than thirty feet is an accepted length, and bates, the english naturalist, mentions one he heard of, forty-two feet long. it is not surprising that mr. lange should have met with one in the far wilderness he visited, of even greater proportions, a hideous monster, ranking in its huge bulk with the giant beasts of antediluvian times. the sucurujú is said to be able to swallow whole animals as large as a goat or a donkey, or even larger, and the naturalist referred to tells of a ten-year-old boy, son of his neighbour, who, left to mind a canoe while his father went into the forest, was, in broad day, playing in the shade of the trees, stealthily enwrapped by one of the monsters. his cries brought his father to the rescue just in time. as the javary heads near the eastern slopes and spurs of the great peruvian cordillera, where once lived the powerful and wealthy inca race with their great stores of pure gold obtained from prolific mines known to them, it is again not surprising that mr. lange should have stumbled upon a marvellously rich deposit of the precious metal in a singular form. the geology of the region is unknown and the origin of the gold mr. lange found cannot at present even be surmised. because of the immense value of the rubber product, gold attracts less attention than it would in some other country. the rubber industry is extensive and thousands of the wild rubber trees are located and tapped. the trees usually are found near streams and the search for them leads the rubber-hunter farther and farther into the unbroken wilderness. expeditions from time to time are sent out by rich owners of rubber "estates" to explore for fresh trees, and after his sojourn at remate de males and floresta, so full of interest, mr. lange accompanied one of these parties into the unknown, with the extraordinary results described so simply yet dramatically in the following pages, which i commend most cordially, both to the experienced explorer and to the stay-by-the-fire, as an unusual and exciting story of adventure. frederick s. dellenbaugh. new york, november , . preface it is difficult, if not impossible, to find a more hospitable and generous nation than the brazilian. the recollection of my trip through the wilds of amazonas lingers in all its details, and although my experiences were not always of a pleasant character, yet the good treatment and warm reception accorded me make me feel the deepest sense of gratitude to the brazilians, whose generosity will always abide in my memory. there is in the brazilian language a word that better than any other describes the feeling with which one remembers a sojourn in brazil. this word, _saudades_, is charged with an abundance of sentiment, and, though a literal translation of it is difficult to arrive at, its meaning approaches "sweet memories of bygone days." although a limitation of space forbids my expressing in full my obligation to all those who treated me kindly, i must not omit to state my special indebtedness to three persons, without whose invaluable assistance and co-operation i would not have been able to complete this book. first of all, my thanks are due to the worthy colonel rosendo da silva, owner of the rubber estate floresta on the itecoahy river. through his generosity and his interest, i was enabled to study the work and the life conditions of the rubber workers, the employees on his estate. the equally generous but slightly less civilised benjamin, high potentate of the tribe of mangeroma cannibals, is the second to whom i wish to express my extreme gratitude, although my obligations to him are of a slightly different character: in the first place, because he did not order me to be killed and served up, well or medium done, to suit his fancy (which he had a perfect right to do); and, in the second place, because he took a great deal of interest in my personal welfare and bestowed all the strange favours upon me that are recorded in this book. he opened my eyes to things which, at the time and under the circumstances, did not impress me much, but which, nevertheless, convinced me that, even at this late period of the world's history, our earth has not been reduced to a dead level of drab and commonplace existence, and that somewhere in the remote parts of the world are still to be found people who have never seen or heard of white men. last, but not least, i wish to express my deep obligation to my valued friend, frederick s. dellenbaugh, who, through his helpful suggestions, made prior to my departure, contributed essentially to the final success of this enterprise, and whose friendly assistance has been called into requisition and unstintingly given in the course of the preparation of this volume. a.l. new york, january, . contents chapter i remate de males, or "culmination of evils" ii the social and political life of remate de males iii other incidents during my stay in remate de males iv the journey up the itecoahy river v floresta: life among the rubber-workers vi the fatal march through the forest vii the fatal "tambo no. " viii what happened in the forest ix among the cannibal mangeromas x the fight between the mangeromas and the peruvians index illustrations a little village built on poles the javary river the mouth of the itecoahy river nazareth trader's store remate de males or "culmination of evils" the street in remate de males general view of remate de males sunset on the itecoahy river an ant nest in a tree the launch "carolina" the banks of the itecoahy the mouth of the ituhy river the toucan the banks of the itecoahy river clearing the jungle urubus "nova aurora" "defumador" or smoking hut matamata tree the urucu plant the author in the jungle the mouth of the branco branding rubber on the sand-bar the landing at floresta the banks at floresta a general view of floresta morning coronel rosendo da silva chief marques interior of a rubber-worker's hut joão the murumuru palm a "seringueiro" tapping a rubber tree smoking the rubber-milk forest interior a fig-tree completely overgrown with orchids chico, the monkey turtle eggs on the sand-bank the pirarucu the last resting-place of the rubber-workers "seringueiros" joão floresta creek lake innocence alligator from lake innocence another alligator from lake innocence rubber-workers' home near lake innocence harpooning a large sting-ray shooting fish on lake innocence the pirarucu amazonian game-fish the track of the anaconda--the sucuruju the paca rubber-worker perreira and wife in their sunday clothes a "new home" sewing-machine in an indian hut the remarkable pachiuba palm-tree kitchen interior the beginning of the fatal expedition a halt in the forest jungle scenery forest creek top of hill page marsh-deer and mutum-bird jungle darkness creek in the unknown eating our broiled monkey at tambo no. hunting the fatal tambo no. a photograph of the author the front view of tambo no. caoutchouc process no. caoutchouc process no. caoutchouc process no. creek near tambo no. the author's working table at tambo no. forest scenery near tambo no. our parting breakfast mangeroma vase chapter i remate de males, or "culmination of evils" my eyes rested long upon the graceful white-painted hull of the r.m.s. _manco_ as she disappeared behind a bend of the amazon river, more than miles from the atlantic ocean. after days of continuous travel aboard of her, i was at last standing on the brazilian frontier, watching the steamer's plume of smoke still hanging lazily over the immense, brooding forests. more than a plume of smoke it was to me then; it was the final link that bound me to the outside world of civilisation. at last it disappeared. i turned and waded through the mud up to a small wooden hut built on poles. it was the end of january, , that saw me approaching this house, built on brazilian terra firma--or rather terra aqua, for water was inundating the entire land. i had behind me the amazon itself, and to the right the javary river, while the little house that i was heading for was esperança, the official frontier station of brazil. the opposite shore was peru and presented an unbroken range of dense, swampy forest, grand but desolate to look upon. a middle-aged man in uniform came towards me and greeted me cordially, in fact embraced me, and, ordering a servant to pull my baggage out of the water, led me up a ladder into the house. i told him that i intended to go up the javary river, to a place called remate de males, where i would live with a medical friend of mine, whereupon he informed me that a launch was due this same night, which would immediately proceed to my proposed destination. later in the evening the launch came and i embarked after being once more embraced by the courteous cor. monteiro, the frontier official. the captain of this small trading launch was an equally hospitable and courteous man; he invited me into his cabin and tried to explain that this river, and the town in particular, where we were going, was a most unhealthy and forbidding place, especially for a foreigner, but he added cheerfully that he knew of one white man, an englishman, who had succeeded in living for several years on the javary without being killed by the fever, but incidentally had drank himself to death. the night was very dark and damp, and i did not see much of the passing scenery; a towering black wall of trees was my total impression during the journey. however, i managed at length to fall asleep on some coffee-bags near the engine and did not wake till the launch was exhausting its steam supply through its whistle. my next impression was that of a low river bank fringed with dirty houses lighted by candles. people were sitting in hammocks smoking cigarettes, dogs were barking incessantly, and frogs and crickets were making a deafening noise when i walked up the main and only street of this little town, which was to be my headquarters for many months to come. after some inquiry, i finally found my friend, dr. m----, sitting in a dark, dismal room in the so-called _hotel agosto_. with a graceful motion of his hand he pointed to a chair of ancient structure, indicating that having now travelled so many thousand miles to reach this glorious place, i was entitled to sit down and let repose overtake me. indeed, i was in remate de males. never shall i forget that first night's experience with mosquitoes and ants. besides this my debut in a hammock for a bed was a pronounced failure, until a merciful sleep temporarily took me from the sad realities. remate de males lies just where a step farther would plunge one into an unmapped country. it is a little village built on poles; the last "blaze" of civilisation on the trail of the upper river. when the rainy winter season drives out of the forests every living creature that can not take refuge in the trees, the rubber-workers abandon the crude stages of the manufacture that they carry on there and gather in the village to make the best of what life has to offer them in this region. at such times the population rises to the number of some souls, for the most part brazilians and domesticated indians or _caboclos_. nothing could better summarise the attractions (!) of the place than the name which has become fixed upon it. translated into english this means "culmination of evils," remate de males. some thirty years ago, a prospector with his family and servants, in all about a score, arrived at this spot near the junction of the javary and the itecoahy rivers, close to the equator. they came by the only possible highway, the river, and decided to settle. soon the infinite variety of destroyers of human life that abound on the upper amazon began their work on the little household, reducing its number to four and threatening to wipe it out altogether. but the prospector stuck to it and eventually succeeded in giving mankind a firm hold on this wilderness. in memory of what he and succeeding settlers went through, the village received its cynically descriptive name. remate de males, separated by weeks and weeks of journey by boat from the nearest spot of comparative civilisation down the river, has grown wonderfully since its pioneer days. dismal as one finds it to be, if i can give an adequate description in these pages, it will be pronounced a monument to man's nature-conquering instincts, and ability. surely no pioneers ever had a harder battle than these brazilians, standing with one foot in "the white man's grave," as the javary region is called in south america, while they faced innumerable dangers. the markets of the world need rubber, and the supplying of this gives them each year a few months' work in the forests at very high wages. i always try to remember these facts when i am tempted to harshly judge remate de males according to our standards; moreover, i can never look upon the place quite as an outsider. i formed pleasant friendships there and entered into the lives of many of its people, so i shall always think of it with affection. the village is placed where the itecoahy runs at right angles into the javary, the right-hand bank of the itecoahy forming at once its main and its only street. the houses stand facing this street, all very primitive and all elevated on palm-trunk poles as far as possible above the usual high-water mark of the river. everything, from the little sheet-iron church to the pig-sty, is built on poles. indeed, if there is anything in the theory of evolution, it will not be many generations before the inhabitants and domestic animals are born equipped with stilts. opposite remate de males, across the itecoahy, is a collection of some ten huts that form the village of são francisco, while across the javary is the somewhat larger village of nazareth. like every real metropolis, you see, remate de males has its suburbs. nazareth is in peruvian territory, the javary forming the boundary between brazil and peru throughout its length of some miles. this same boundary line is a source of amusing punctiliousness between the officials of each country. to cross it is an affair requiring the exercise of the limits of statesmanship. i well remember an incident that occurred during my stay in the village. a sojourner in our town, an indian rubber-worker from the ituhy river, had murdered a woman by strangling her. he escaped in a canoe to nazareth before the brazilian officials could capture him, and calmly took refuge on the porch of a house there, where he sat down in a hammock and commenced to smoke cigarettes, feeling confident that his pursuers would not invade peruvian soil. but local diplomacy was equal to the emergency. our officials went to the shore opposite nazareth, and, hiding behind the trees, endeavoured to pick off their man with their . winchesters, reasoning that though their crossing would be an international incident, no one could object to a bullet's crossing. their poor aim was the weak spot in the plan. after a few vain shots had rattled against the sheet-iron walls of the house where the fugitive was sitting, he got up from among his friends and lost himself in the jungle, never to be heard of again. about sixty-five houses, lining the bank of the itecoahy river over a distance of what would be perhaps six blocks in new york city, make up remate de males. they are close together and each has a ladder reaching from the street to the main and only floor. at the bottom of every ladder appears a rudimentary pavement, probably five square feet in area and consisting of fifty or sixty whiskey and gin bottles placed with their necks downwards. thus in the rainy season when the water covers the street to a height of seven feet, the ladders always have a solid foundation. the floors consist of split palm logs laid with the round side up. palm leaves form the roofs, and rusty corrugated sheet-iron, for the most part, the walls. each house has a sort of backyard and kitchen, also on stilts and reached by a bridge. through the roofs and rafters gambol all sorts of wretched pests. underneath the houses roam pigs, goats, and other domestic animals, which sometimes appear in closer proximity than might be wished, owing to the spaces between the logs of the floor. that is in the dry season. in the winter, or the wet season, these animals are moved into the houses with you, and their places underneath are occupied by river creatures, alligators, water-snakes, and malignant, repulsive fish, of which persons outside south america know nothing. near the centre of the village is the "sky-scraper," the _hotel de augusto_, which boasts a story and a quarter in height. farther along are the _intendencia_, or government building, painted blue, the post-office yellow, the _recreio popular_ pink; beyond, the residence of mons. danon, the plutocrat of the village, and farther "downtown" the church, unpainted. do not try to picture any of these places from familiar structures. they are all most unpretentious; their main point of difference architecturally from the rest of the village consists in more utterly neglected façades. the post-office and the meteorological observatory, in one dilapidated house, presided over by a single self-important official, deserve description here. the postmaster himself is a pajama-clad gentleman, whose appearance is calculated to strike terror to the souls of humble _seringueiros_, or rubber-workers, who apply for letters only at long intervals. on each of these occasions i would see this important gentleman, who had the word _coronel_ prefixed to his name, joão silva de costa cabral, throw up his hands, in utter despair at being disturbed, and slowly proceed to his desk from which he would produce the letters. with great pride this "pooh-bah" had a large sign painted over the door. the post-office over which he presides is by no means overworked, as only one steamer arrives every five weeks, or so, but still he has the appearance of being "driven." but when he fusses around his "_observatorio meteorologico_," which consists of a maximum and minimum thermometer and a pluviometer, in a tightly closed box, raised above the ground on a tall pole, then indeed, his air would impress even the most blasé town-sport. i was in the village when this observatory was installed, and after it had been running about a week, the mighty official called on me and asked me confidentially if i would not look the observatory over and see if it was all right. my examination showed that the thermometers were screwed on tight, which accounted for the amazingly uniform readings shown on his chart. the pluviometer was inside the box, and therefore it would have been difficult to convince scientists that the clouds had not entirely skipped remate de males during the rainy season, unless the postmaster were to put the whole observatory under water by main force. he also had a chart showing the distribution of clouds on each day of the year. i noticed that the letter "n" occupied a suspiciously large percentage of the space on the chart, and when i asked him for the meaning of this he said that "n"--which in meteorological abbreviation means nimbus--stood for "_none_" (in portuguese _não_). and he thought that he must be right because it was the rainy season. the hotel, in which i passed several months as a guest, until i finally decided to rent a hut for myself, had points about it which outdid anything that i have ever seen or heard of in comic papers about "summer boarding." the most noticeable feature was the quarter-of-a-story higher than any other house in the village. while this meant a lead as to quantity i could never see that it represented anything in actual quality. i would not have ventured up the ladder which gave access to the extra story without my winchester in hand, and during the time i was there i never saw anyone else do so. the place was nominally a store-house, but having gone undisturbed for long periods it was an ideal sanctuary for hordes of vermin--and these the vermin of the amazon, dangerous, poisonous, not merely the annoying species we know. rats were there in abundance, also deadly scolopendra and centipedes; and large bird-eating spiders were daily seen promenading up and down the sheet-iron walls. on the main floor the building had two large rooms across the centre, one on the front and one on the rear. at each side were four small rooms. the large front-room was used as a dining-room and had two broad tables of planed palm trunks. the side-rooms were bedrooms, generally speaking, though most of the time i was there some were used for stabling the pigs and goats, which had to be taken in owing to the rainy season. it is a simple matter to keep a hotel on the upper amazon. each room in the _hotel de augusto_ was neatly and chastely furnished with a pair of iron hooks from which to hang the hammock, an article one had to provide himself. there was nothing in the room besides the hooks. no complete privacy was possible because the corrugated sheet-iron partitions forming the walls did not extend to the roof. the floors were sections of palm trees, with the flat side down, making a succession of ridges with open spaces of about an inch between, through which the ground or the water, according to the season, was visible. the meals were of the usual monotonous fare typical of the region. food is imported at an enormous cost to this remote place, since there is absolutely no local agriculture. even sugar and rice, for instance, which are among the important products of brazil, can be had in new york for about one-tenth of what the natives pay for them in remate de males. a can of condensed milk, made to sell in america for eight or nine cents, brings sixty cents on the upper amazon, and preserved butter costs $ . a pound. the following prices which i have had to pay during the wet season in this town will, doubtless, be of interest: one box of sardines $ . one pound of unrefined sugar . one roll of tobacco ( pounds) . one basket of farinha retails in para for $ . . one bottle of ginger ale . one pound of potatoes . calico with stamped pattern, pr. yd. . one collins machete, n.y. price, $ . . one pair of men's shoes . one bottle of very plain port wine, , reis or . under such circumstances, of course, the food supply is very poor. except for a few dried cereals and staples, nothing is used but canned goods; the instances where small domestic animals are slaughtered are so few as to be negligible. furthermore, as a rule, these very animals are converted into jerked meat to be kept for months and months. some fish are taken from the river, but the amazon fish are none too palatable generally speaking, with a few exceptions; besides, the natives are not skilful enough to prepare them to suit a civilised palate. a typical, well provided table on the amazon would afford dry farinha in the first place. this is the granulated root of the macacheira plant, the _jatropha manihot_, which to our palates would seem like desiccated sawdust, although it appears to be a necessity for the brazilian. he pours it on his meat, into his soup, and even into his wine and jams. next you would have a black bean, which for us lacks flavour even as much as the farinha. with this there would probably be rice, and on special occasions jerked beef, a product as tender and succulent as the sole of a riding boot. great quantities of coffee are drunk, made very thick and prepared without milk or sugar. all these dishes are served at once, so that they promptly get cold and are even more tasteless before their turn comes to be devoured. for five months i experienced this torturing menu at the hotel with never-ceasing regularity. the only change i ever noticed was on sundays or days of feast when beans might occupy the other end of the table. but what can the brazilians do? the cost of living is about ten times as high as in new york. agriculture is impossible in the regions where the land is flooded annually, and the difficulties of shipping are enormous. when i left the hotel and started housekeeping on my own account, i found that i could not do a great deal better. by specialising on one thing at a time i avoided monotony to some extent, but then it was probably only because i was a "new broom" at the business. as illustrating the community life that we enjoyed at the hotel, i will relate a happening that i have set down in my notes as an instance of the great mortality of this region. one afternoon a woman's three-months-old child was suddenly taken ill. the child grew worse rapidly and the mother finally decided that it was going to die. her husband was up the river on the rubber estates and she did not want to be left alone. so she came to the hotel with the child and besought them to let her in. the infant was placed in a hammock where it lay crying pitifully. at last the wailings of the poor little creature became less frequent and the child died. before the body was quite cold the mother and the landlady commenced clearing a table in the dining-room. i looked at this performance in astonishment because it was now evident that they were going to prepare a "_lit de parade_" there, close to the tables where our meals were served. the body was then brought in, dressed in a white robe adorned with pink, yellow, and sky-blue silk ribbons. loose leaves and branches were scattered over the little emaciated body, care being taken not to conceal any of the fancy silk ribbons. empty whiskey and gin bottles were placed around the bier, a candle stuck in the mouth of each bottle, and then the whole thing was lighted up. it was now getting dark fast, and as the doors were wide open, a great crowd was soon attracted by the brilliant display. all the " " of the little rubber town seemed to pour in a steady stream into the dining-room. it was a new experience, even in this hotel where i had eaten with water up to my knees, to take a meal with a funeral going on three feet away. we had to partake of our food with the body close by and the candle smoke blowing in our faces, adding more local colour to our jerked beef and beans than was desirable. more and more people came in to pay their respects to the child that hardly any one had known while it was alive. through it all the mother sat on a trunk in a corner peacefully smoking her pipe, evidently proud of the celebration that was going on in honour of her deceased offspring. the kitchen boy brought in a large tray with cups of steaming coffee; biscuits also were carried around to the spectators who sat against the wall on wooden boxes. the women seemed to get the most enjoyment out of the mourning; drinking black coffee, smoking their pipes, and paying little attention to the cause of their being there, only too happy to have an official occasion to show off their finest skirts. the men had assembled around the other table, which had been cleared in the meantime, and they soon sent the boy out for whiskey and beer, passing away the time playing cards. i modestly inquired how long this feast was going to last, because my room adjoined the dining-room and was separated only by a thin sheet-iron partition open at the top. the landlady, with a happy smile, informed me that the mourning would continue till the early hours, when a launch would arrive to transport the deceased and the guests to the cemetery. this was about four miles down the javary river and was a lonely, half-submerged spot. there was nothing for me to do but submit and make the best of it. all night the mourners went on, the women drinking black coffee, while the men gambled and drank whiskey in great quantities, the empty bottles being employed immediately as additional candlesticks. towards morning, due to their heroic efforts, a multitude of bottles totally obliterated the "_lit de parade_" from view. i managed to fall asleep completely exhausted when the guests finally went off at nine o'clock. the doctor diagnosed the case of the dead child as chronic indigestion, the result of the mother's feeding a three-months-old infant on jerked beef and black beans. life in the hotel during the rainy season is variegated. i have spoken of having eaten a meal with water up to my knees. that happened often during the weeks when the river was at its highest level. once when we were having our noon-day meal during the extreme high-water period a man came paddling his canoe in at the open door, sailed past us, splashing a little water on the table as he did so, and navigated through to the back room where he delivered some supplies. during this feat everybody displayed the cheerful and courteous disposition usual to the brazilians. at this season you must wear wading boots to eat a meal or do anything else about the house. sleeping is somewhat easier as the hammocks are suspended about three feet above the level of the water, but an involuntary plunge is a thing not entirely unknown to an amateur sleeping in a hammock; i know this from personal experience. every morning the butcher comes to the village between five and six o'clock and sharpens his knife while he awaits calls for his ministrations. he is an undersized man with very broad shoulders and a face remarkable for its cunning, cruel expression. his olive-brown complexion, slanting eyes, high cheek-bones, and sharp-filed teeth are all signs of his coming from the great unknown interior. his business here is to slaughter the cattle of the town. he does this deftly by thrusting a long-bladed knife into the neck of the animal at the base of the brain, until it severs the medulla, whereupon the animal collapses without any visible sign of suffering. it is then skinned and the intestines thrown into the water where they are immediately devoured by a small but voracious fish called the _candiroo-escrivão_. this whole operation is carried on inside the house, in the back-room, as long as the land is flooded. it must be remembered that during the rainy season an area equal in size to about a third of the united states is entirely submerged. there is a network of rivers that eventually find their way into the amazon and the land between is completely inundated. in all this immense territory there are only a few spots of sufficient elevation to be left high and dry. remate de males, as i have explained, is at the junction of the itecoahy and the javary rivers, the latter miles in length, and thirty miles or so below the village the javary joins the amazon proper, or solimoés as it is called here. thus we are in the heart of the submerged region. when i first arrived in february, , i found the river still confined to its channel, with the water about ten feet below the level of the street. a few weeks later it was impossible to take a single step on dry land anywhere. the water that drives the rubber-workers out of the forests also drives all animal life to safety. some of the creatures seek refuge in the village. i remember that we once had a huge alligator take temporary lodgings in the backyard of the hotel after he had travelled no one knows how many miles through the inundated forest. at all hours we could hear him making excursions under the house to snatch refuse thrown from the kitchen, but we always knew he would have welcomed more eagerly a member of the household who might drop his way. and now a few words about the people who lived under the conditions i have described, and who keep up the struggle even though, as they themselves have put it, "each ton of rubber costs a human life." in the first place i must correct any erroneous impression as to neatness that may have been formed by my remarks about the animals being kept in the dwellings during the rainy season. the brazilians are scrupulous about their personal cleanliness, and in fact, go through difficulties to secure a bath which might well discourage more civilised folk. no one would dream, for an instant, of immersing himself in the rivers. in nine cases out of ten it would amount to suicide to do so, and the natives have bathhouses along the shores; more literally bathhouses than ours, for their baths are actually taken in them. they are just as careful about clothing being aired and clean. indeed, the main item of the brazilian woman's housekeeping is the washing. the cooking is rather happy-go-lucky; and there is no use cleaning and polishing iron walls; they get rusty anyhow. the people are all occupied with the rubber industry and the town owes its existence to the economic necessity of having here a shipping and trading point for the product. the rubber is gathered farther up along the shores of the javary and the itecoahy and is transported by launch and canoe to remate de males. here it is shipped directly or sold to travelling dealers who send it down to manaos or para via the boat of the amazon steam navigation co., which comes up during the rainy season. thence it goes to the ports of the world. the rubber-worker is a well paid labourer even though he belongs to the unskilled class. the tapping of the rubber trees and the smoking of the milk pays from eight to ten dollars a day in american gold. this, to him, of course, is riches and the men labour here in order that they may go back to their own province as wealthy men. nothing else will yield this return; the land is not used for other products. it is hard to see how agriculture or cattle-raising could be carried on in this region, and, if they could, they would certainly not return more than one fourth or one fifth of what the rubber industry does. the owners of the great rubber estates, or _seringales_, are enormously wealthy men. there are fewer women than men in remate de males, and none of the former is beautiful. they are for the most part indians or brazilians from the province of ceara, with very dark skin, hair, and eyes, and teeth filed like shark's teeth. they go barefooted, as a rule. here you will find all the incongruities typical of a race taking the first step in civilisation. the women show in their dress how the well-paid men lavish on them the extravagances that appeal to the lingering savage left in their simple natures. women, who have spent most of their isolated lives in utterly uncivilised surroundings, will suddenly be brought into a community where other women are found, and immediately the instinct of self-adornment is brought into full play. each of them falls under the sway of "dame fashion"--for there are the _latest things_, even on the upper amazon. screaming colours are favoured; a red skirt with green stars was considered at one time the height of fashion, until an inventive woman discovered that yellow dots could also be worked in. in addition to these dresses, the women will squander money on elegant patent-leather french slippers (with which they generally neglect to wear stockings), and use silk handkerchiefs perfumed with the finest parisian eau de cologne, bought at a cost of from fourteen to fifteen dollars a bottle. arrayed in all her glory on some gala occasion, the whole effect enhanced by the use of a short pipe from which she blows volumes of smoke, the woman of remate de males is a unique sight. chapter ii the social and political life of remate de males the social life of the town is in about the same stage of development as it must have been during the stone age. when darkness falls over the village, as it does at six o'clock all the year round, life practically stops, and a few hours afterwards everyone is in his hammock. there is one resort where the town-sports come to spend their evenings, the so-called _recreio popular_. its principal patrons are _seringueiros_, or rubber-workers, who have large rolls of money that they are anxious to spend with the least possible effort, and generally get their desire over the gaming boards. the place is furnished with a billiard table and a gramophone with three badly worn records. the billiard table is in constant use by a certain element up to midnight, and so are the three eternal records of the gramophone. it will take me years surrounded by the comforts of civilisation to get those three frightful tunes out of my head, and i do not see how they could fail to drive even the hardened _seringueiros_ to an early grave. another resort close by, where the native _cachassa_ is sold, is patronised principally by negroes and half-breeds. here they play the guitar, in combination with a home-made instrument resembling a mandolin, as accompaniment to a monotonous native song, which is kept up for hours. with the exception of these two places, the village does not furnish any life or local colour after nightfall, the natives spending their time around the mis-treated gramophones, which are found in almost every hut. the men of the village, unlike the women, are not picturesque in appearance. the officials are well paid, so is everyone else, yet they never think of spending money to improve the looks of the village or even their own. most of them are ragged. a few exhibit an inadequate elegance, dressed in white suits, derby hats, and very high collars. but in spite of the seeming poverty, there is not a _seringueiro_ who could not at a moment's notice produce a handful of bills that would strike envy to the heart of many prosperous business men of civilisation. the amount will often run into millions of reis; a sum that may take away the breath of a stranger who does not know that one thousand of these brazilian reis make but thirty cents in our money. the people of the amazon love to gamble. one night three merchants and a village official came to the hotel to play cards. they gathered around the dining-room table at eight o'clock, ordered a case of pabst beer, which sells, by the way, at four dollars and sixty cents a bottle in american gold, and several boxes of our national biscuit company's products, and then began on a game, which resembles our poker. they played till midnight, when they took a recess of half an hour, during which large quantities of the warm beer and many crackers were consumed. then, properly nourished, they resumed the game, which lasted until six o'clock the next morning. this was a fair example of the gambling that went on. the stakes were high enough to do honours to the fashionable gamblers of new york, but there was never the slightest sign of excitement. at first i used to expect that surely the card table would bring forth all sorts of flashes of tropic temperament--even a shooting or stabbing affair. but the composure was always perfect. i have seen a loser pay, without so much as a regretful remark, the sum of three million and a half reis, which, though only $ in our money, is still a considerable sum for a labourer to lose. once a month a launch comes down from iquitos in peru, about five days' journey up the amazon. this launch is sent out by iquitos merchants, to supply the wants of settlers of the rubber estates on the various affluents. it is hard to estimate what suffering would result if these launches should be prevented from reaching their destinations, for the people are absolutely dependent upon them, the region being non-producing, as i have said, and the supplies very closely calculated. in remate de males, the superintendent, or the mayor of the town, generally owns a few head of cattle brought by steamer, and when these are consumed no meat can be had in the region but swift's canned "corned beef." then there are the steamers from the outer world. during the rainy season, the _mauretania_ could get up to remate de males from the atlantic ocean without difficulty, though there is no heavy navigation on the upper javary river. but steamers go up the amazon proper several days' journey farther. you can at the present get a through steamer from iquitos in peru down the amazon to new york. these boats occasionally bring immigrants from the eastern portions of brazil, where they have heard of the fortunes to be made in working the rubber, and who have come, just as our prospectors came into the west, hoping to take gold and their lives back with them. besides passengers, these boats carry cattle and merchandise and transport the precious rubber back to para and manaos. they are welcomed enthusiastically. as soon as they are sighted, every man in town takes his winchester down from the wall and runs into the street to empty the magazine as many times as he feels that he can afford in his exuberance of feeling at the prospect of getting mail from home and fresh food supplies. on some occasions, marked with a red letter on the calendar, canoes may be seen coming down the itecoahy river, decorated with leaves and burning candles galore. they are filled with enthusiasts who are setting off fireworks and shouting with delight. they are devotees of some up-river saint, who are taking this conventional way of paying the headquarters a visit. the priest, who occupies himself with saving the hardened souls of the rubber-workers, is a worthy-looking man, who wears a dark-brown cassock, confined at the waist with a rope. he is considered the champion drinker of remate de males. the church is one of the neatest buildings in the town, though this may be because it is so small as to hold only about twenty-five people. it is devoid of any article of decoration, but outside is a white-washed wooden cross on whose foundation candles are burned, when there is illness in some family, or the local patron saint's influence is sought on such a problem as getting a job. the religion is, of course, catholic, but, as in every case where isolation from the source occurs, the natives have grafted local influences into their faith, until the result is a catholicism different from the one we know. the administration of the town is in the hands of the superintendent, who is a federal officer not elected by the villagers. his power is practically absolute as far as this community is concerned. under him are a number of government officials, all of whom are extremely well paid and whose duty seems to consist in being on hand promptly when the salaries are paid. the chief of police is a man of very prepossessing appearance, but with a slightly discoloured nose. his appointment reminded me of that of sir joseph porter, k.c.b., in _pinafore_, who was made "ruler of the queen's navee" in spite of a very slight acquaintance with things nautical. our chief of police had been _chef d' orchestre_ of the military band of manaos. they found there that his bibulous habits were causing his nose to blush more and more, so he was given the position of chief of police of remate de males. it must be admitted that in his new position he has gone on developing the virtue that secured it for him, so there is no telling how high he may rise. the police force consists of one man, and a very versatile one, as will be seen, for he is also the rank and file of the military force. i saw this remarkable official only once. at that time he was in a sad condition from over-indulgence in alcoholic beverages. there are exact statistics of comparison available for the police and military forces. the former is just two-thirds of the latter in number. expressed in the most easily understood terms, we can put it that our versatile friend has a chief to command him when a policeman, and a coronel and lieutenant when he is a soldier. whether there is any graft in it or not, i do not know, but money is saved by the police-military force being one man with interchangeable uniforms, and the money must go into somebody's pocket. it might be thought that when the versatile one had to appear in both capacities at once, he might be at a loss. but not a bit of it. the landing of one of the down-river steamers offers such an occasion. as soon as the gangplank is out, the policeman goes aboard with the official papers. he is welcomed, receives his fee, and disappears. not two minutes afterwards, the military force in full uniform is seen to emerge from the same hut into which the policeman went. he appears on the scene with entire unconcern, and the rough and ready diplomacy of remate de males has again triumphed. one of the reasons for the flattering (!) name of the town, "culmination of evils," is the great mortality of the community, which it has as a part of the great javary district. its inhabitants suffer from all the functional diseases found in other parts of the world, and, in addition, maladies which are typical of the region. among the most important of these are the paludismus, or malarial swamp-fever, the yellow-fever, popularly recognised as the black vomit, and last but not least the beri-beri, the mysterious disease which science does not yet fully understand. the paludismus is so common that it is looked upon as an unavoidable incident of the daily life. it is generally caused by the infectious bite of a mosquito, the _anopheles_, which is characterised by its attacking with its body almost perpendicular to the surface it has selected. it is only the female mosquito that bites. there are always fever patients on the amazon, and the _anopheles_, stinging indiscriminately, transfers the malarial microbes from a fever patient to the blood of well persons. the latter are sure to be laid up within ten days with the _sezoes_, as the fever is called here, unless a heavy dose of quinine is taken in time to check it. the yellow fever mosquito, the _stygoma faciata_, seems to prefer other down-river localities, but is frequent enough to cause anxiety. they call the yellow fever the black vomit, because of this unmistakable symptom of the disease, which, when once it sets in, always means a fatal termination. the beri-beri still remains a puzzling malady from which no recoveries have yet been reported, at least not on the amazon. on certain rivers, in the matto grosso province of brazil, or in bolivian territory, the beri-beri patients have some chance of recovery. by immediately leaving the infested district they can descend the rivers until they reach a more favourable climate near the sea-coast, or they can go to more elevated regions. but here on the amazon, where the only avenue of escape is the river itself, throughout its length a hot-bed of disease where no change of climate occurs, the time consumed in reaching the sea-coast is too long. the cause of this disease, and its cure, are unknown. it manifests itself through paralysis of the limbs, which begins at the finger-tips and gradually extends through the system until the heart-muscles become paralysed and death occurs. the only precautionary measures available are doses of quinine and the use of the mosquito-net, or _mosquitero_. the latter's value as a preventive is problematical, however, for during each night one is bound to be bitten frequently, yes, hundreds of times, by the ever-present insects in spite of all. but if we curse the mosquito, what are we to say of certain other pests that add to the miseries of life in that out-of-the-way corner of the globe, and are more persistent in their attentions than even the mosquito? in the first place, there are the ants. they are everywhere. they build their nests under the houses, in the tables, and in the cracks of the floors, and lie in ambush waiting the arrival of a victim, whom they attack from all sides. they fasten themselves on one and sometimes it takes hours of labour to extract them. many are the breakfasts i have delayed on awaking and finding myself to be the object of their attention. it proved necessary to tie wads of cotton covered with vaseline to the fastenings of the hammock, to keep the intruders off. but they even got around this plan. as soon as the bodies of the first arrivals covered the vaseline, the rest of the troops marched across them in safety and gained access to the hammock, causing a quick evacuation on my part. articles of food were completely destroyed by these carnivorous creatures, within a few minutes after i had placed them on the table. i present here a list of the various species of ants known to the natives, together with the peculiarities by which they distinguish them. i collected the information from indians on the seringal "floresta" on the itecoahy river. _aracara_--the dreaded fire-ant whose sting is felt for hours. _auhiqui_--lives in the houses where it devours everything edible. _chicitaya_--its bite gives a transient fever. _monyuarah_--clears a large space in the forest for its nest. _sauba_--carries a green leaf over its head. _tachee_--a black ant whose bite gives a transient fever. _tanajura_--one inch long and edible when fried in lard. _taxyrana_--enters the houses like the _auhiqui_. _termita_--builds a typical cone-shaped nest in the dry part of the forests. _tracoã_--its bite gives no fever, but the effect is of long duration. _tucandeira_--black and an inch and a half long, with a bite not only painful but absolutely dangerous. _tucushee_--gives a transient fever. _uça_--builds large nests in the trees. while convalescing from my first attack of swamp-fever, i had occasion to study a most remarkable species of spider which was a fellow lodger in the hut i then occupied. in size, the specimen was very respectable, being able to cover a circle of nearly six inches in diameter. this spider subsists on large insects and at times on the smaller varieties of birds, like finches, etc. its scientific name is _mygale avicularia_. the natives dread it for its poisonous bite and on account of its great size and hairy body. the first time i saw the one in my hut was when it was climbing the wall in close proximity to my hammock. i got up and tried to crush it with my fist, but the spider made a lightning-quick move and stopped about five or six inches from where i hit the wall. several times i repeated the attack without success, the spider always succeeding in moving before it could be touched. somewhat out of temper, i procured a hammer of large size and continued the chase until i was exhausted. when my hand grew steady again, i took my automatic pistol, used for big game, and, taking a steady aim on the fat body of the spider, i fired. but with another of the remarkably quick movements the spider landed the usual safe distance from destruction. then i gave it up. for all i know, that animal, i can scarcely call it an insect after using a big game pistol on it, is still occupying the hut. about nine months later i was telling captain barnett, of the r.m.s. _napo_ which picked me up on the amazon on my way home, about my ill success in hunting the spider. "lange," he asked, "why didn't you try for him with a frying-pan?" chapter iii other incidents during my stay in remate de males remate de males, with nazareth and são francisco, is set down in the midst of absolute wilderness. directly behind the village is the almost impenetrable maze of tropical jungle. if with the aid of a machete one gets a minute's walk into it, he cannot find his way out except by the cackling of the hens around the houses. a dense wall of vegetation shuts in the settlement on every side. tall palms stand above the rest of the trees; lower down is a mass of smaller but more luxuriant plants, while everywhere is the twining, tangled _lianas_, making the forest a dark labyrinth of devious ways. here and there are patches of tropical blossoms, towering ferns, fungoid growths, or some rare and beautiful orchid whose parasitical roots have attached themselves to a tree trunk. and there is always the subdued confusion that betokens the teeming animal life. looking up the itecoahy river, one can see nothing but endless forest and jungle. and the same scene continues for a distance of some eight or nine hundred miles until reaching the headwaters of the river somewhere far up in bolivian territory. no settlements are to be found up there; a few _seringales_ from seventy-five to a hundred miles apart constitute the only human habitations in this large area. so wild and desolate is this river that its length and course are only vaguely indicated even on the best brazilian maps. it is popularly supposed that the itecoahy takes its actual rise about two weeks' journey from its nominal head in an absolutely unexplored region. i found the life very monotonous in remate de males, especially when the river began to go down. this meant the almost complete ending of communication with the outer world; news from home reached me seldom and there was no relief from the isolation. in addition, the various torments of the region are worse at this season. sitting beside the muddy banks of the itecoahy at sunset, when the vapours arose from the immense swamps and the sky was coloured in fantastical designs across the western horizon, was the only relief from the sweltering heat of the day, for a brief time before the night and its tortures began. soon the chorus of a million frogs would start. at first is heard only the croaking of a few; then gradually more and more add their music until a loud penetrating throb makes the still, vapour-laden atmosphere vibrate. the sound reminded me strikingly of that which is heard when pneumatic hammers are driving home rivets through steel beams. there were other frogs whose louder and deeper-pitched tones could be distinguished through the main nocturnal song. these seemed always to be grumbling something about "_rubberboots--rubberboots_." by-and-bye one would get used to the sound and it would lose attention. the water in the river floated slowly on its long journey towards the ocean, almost miles away. large dolphins sometimes came to the surface, saluting the calm evening with a loud snort, and disappeared again with a slow, graceful movement. almost every evening i could hear issuing from the forest a horrible roar. it came from the farthest depths and seemed as if it might well represent the mingled cries of some huge bull and a prowling jaguar that had attacked him unawares. yet it all came, i found, from one throat, that of the howling monkey. he will sit alone for hours in a tree-top and pour forth these dreadful sounds which are well calculated to make the lonely wanderer stop and light a camp-fire for protection. on the other hand, is heard the noise of the domestic animals of the village. cows, calves, goats, and pigs seemed to make a habit of exercising their vocal organs thoroughly before retiring. dogs bark at the moon; cats chase rats through openings of the palm-leaf roofs, threatening every moment to fall, pursued and pursuers, down upon the hammocks. vampires flutter around from room to room, occasionally resting on the tops of the iron partitions, and when they halt, continuing to chirp for a while like hoarse sparrows. occasionally there will come out of the darkness of the river a disagreeable sound as if some huge animal were gasping for its last breath before suffocating in the mud. the sound has its effect, even upon animals, coming as it does out of the black mysterious night, warning them not to venture far for fear some uncanny force may drag them to death in the dismal waters. it is the night call of the alligator. the sweet plaintive note of a little partridge, called _inamboo_, would sometimes tremble through the air and compel me to forget the spell of unholy sounds arising from the beasts of the jungle and river. throughout the evening this amorous bird would call to its mate, and somewhere there would be an answering call back in the woods. many were the nights when, weak with fever, i awoke and listened to their calling and answering. yet never did they seem to achieve the bliss of meeting, for after a brief lull the calling and answering voices would again take up their pretty song. slowly the days went by and, with their passing, the river fell lower and lower until the waters receded from the land itself and were confined once more to their old course in the river-bed. as the ground began to dry, the time came when the mosquitoes were particularly vicious. they multiplied by the million. soon the village was filled with malaria, and the hypodermic needle was in full activity. a crowd of about fifty indians from the curuça river had been brought to remate de males by launch. they belonged to the territory owned by mons. danon and slept outside the store-rooms of this plutocrat. men, women, and children arranged their quarters in the soft mud until they could be taken to his rubber estate some hundred miles up the javary river. they were still waiting to be equipped with rubber-workers' outfits when the malaria began its work among them. the poor mistreated indians seemed to have been literally saturated with the germs, as they always slept without any protection whatever; consequently their systems offered less resistance to the disease than the ordinary brazilian's. in four days there were only twelve persons left out of fifty-two. during the last weeks of my stay in remate de males, i received an invitation to take lunch with the local department secretary, professor silveiro, an extremely hospitable and well educated brazilian. the importance of such an invitation meant for me a radical change in appearance--an extensive alteration that could not be wrought without considerable pains. i had to have a five-months' beard shaved off, and then get into my best new york shirt, not to forget a high collar. i also considered that the occasion necessitated the impressiveness of a frock-coat, which i produced at the end of a long search among my baggage and proceeded to don after extracting a tarantula and some stray scolopendra from the sleeves and pockets. the sensation of wearing a stiff collar was novel, and not altogether welcome, since the temperature was near the ° mark. the reward for my discomfort came, however, in the shape of the best meal i ever had in the amazon region. during these dull days i was made happy by finding a copy of mark twain's _a tramp abroad_ in a store over in nazareth on the peruvian side of the javary river. i took it with me to my hammock, hailing with joy the opportunity of receiving in the wilderness something that promised a word from "god's own country." but before i could begin the book i had an attack of swamp-fever that laid me up four days. during one of the intermissions, when i was barely able to move around, i commenced reading mark twain. it did not take more than two pages of the book to make me forget all about my fever. when i got to the ninth page, i laughed as i had not laughed for months, and page made me roar so athletically that i lost my balance and fell out of my hammock on the floor. i soon recovered and crept back into the hammock, but out i went when i reached page , and repeated the performance at pages , , and until the supplementary excitement became monotonous. whereupon i procured some rags and excelsior, made a bed underneath the hammock, and proceeded to enjoy our eminent humourist's experience in peace. chapter iv the journey up the itecoahy river with the subsiding of the waters came my long-desired opportunity to travel the course of the unmapped itecoahy. in the month of june a local trader issued a notice that he was to send a launch up the river for trading purposes and to take the workers who had been sojourning in remate de males back to their places of employment, to commence the annual extraction of rubber. the launch was scheduled to sail on a monday and would ascend the itecoahy to its headwaters, or nearly so, thus passing the mouths of the ituhy, the branco, and las pedras rivers, affluents of considerable size which are nevertheless unrecorded on maps. the total length of the branco river is over three hundred miles, and it has on its shores several large and productive _seringales_. when on my way up the amazon to the brazilian frontier, i had stopped at manaos, the capital of the state of amazonas. there i had occasion to consult an englishman about the javary region. in answer to one of my inquiries, i received the following letter, which speaks for itself: referring to our conversation of recent date, i should wish once more to impress upon your mind the perilous nature of your journey, and i am not basing this information upon hearsay, but upon personal experience, having traversed the region in question quite recently. owing to certain absolutely untrue articles written by one h----, claiming to be your countryman, i am convinced that you can not rely upon the protection of the employees of this company, as having been so badly libelled by one, they are apt to forget that such articles were not at your instigation, and as is often the case the innocent may suffer for the guilty. on the other hand, without this protection you will find yourself absolutely at the mercy of savage and cannibal indians. i have this day spoken to the consul here at manaos and explained to him that, although i have no wish to deter you from your voyage, you must be considered as the only one responsible in any way for any ill that may befall you. finally, i hope that before disregarding this advice (which i offer you in a perfectly friendly spirit) you will carefully consider the consequences which such a voyage might produce, and, frankly speaking, i consider that your chance of bringing it to a successful termination is nil. believe me to be, etc., j.a.m. during the time of my journey up the river and of my stay in remate de males, i had seen nothing of the particular dangers mentioned in this letter. the only indians i had seen were such as smoked long black cigars and wore pink or blue pajamas. the letter further developed an interest, started by the hints of life in the interior, which had come to me in the civilisation of remate de males. i was, of course, particularly desirous of finding out all i could about the wild people of the inland regions, since i could not recall that much had been written about them. henry w. bates, the famous explorer who ascended the amazon as far as teffé, came within miles of the mouth of the javary river in the year , and makes the following statement about the indigenous tribes of this region: the only other tribe of this neighbourhood concerning which i obtained any information was the mangeromas, whose territory embraces several hundred miles of the western banks of the river javary, an affluent of the solimoës, a hundred and twenty miles beyond são paolo da olivença. these are fierce and indomitable and hostile people, like the araras of the madeira river. they are also cannibals. the navigation of the javary river is rendered impossible on account of the mangeromas lying in wait on its banks to intercept and murder all travellers. now to return to the letter; i thought that perhaps my english friend had overdrawn things a little in a laudable endeavour to make me more cautious. in other words, it was for me the old story over again, of learning at the cost of experience--the story of disregarded advice, and so i went on in my confidence. when the announcement of the launch's sailing came, i went immediately for an interview with the owner, a brazilian named pedro smith, whose kindness i shall never forget. he offered me the chance of making the entire trip on his boat, but would accept no remuneration, saying that i would find conditions on the little overcrowded vessel very uncomfortable, and that the trip would not be free from actual bodily risk. when even he tried to dissuade me, i began to think more seriously of the englishman's letter, but i told him that i had fully made up my mind to penetrate the mystery of those little known regions. i use the term "little known" in the sense that while they are well enough known to the handful of indians and rubber-workers yet they are "terra incognita" to the outside world. the white man has not as yet traversed this itecoahy and its affluents, although it would be a system of no little importance if located in some other country--for instance, in the united states. my object was to study the rubber-worker at his labour, to find out the true length of the itecoahy river, and to photograph everything worth while. i had with me all the materials and instruments necessary--at least so i thought. the photographic outfit consisted of a graflex camera with a shutter of high speed, which would come handy when taking animals in motion, and a large-view camera with ten dozen photographic plates and a corresponding amount of prepared paper. in view of the difficulties of travel, i had decided to develop my plates as i went along and make prints in the field, rather than run the risk of ruining them by some unlucky accident. perhaps at the very end of the trip a quantity of undeveloped plates might be lost, and such a calamity would mean the failure of the whole journey in one of its most important particulars. such a disastrous result was foreshadowed when a porter, loaded with my effects, clambering down the sixty-foot incline extreme low water made at remate de males, lost his balance in the last few feet of the descent and dropped into the water, completely ruining a whole pack of photographic supplies whose arrival from new york i had been awaiting for months. luckily this was at the beginning of this trip and i could replace them from my general stock. a hypodermic outfit, quinine, and a few bistouries completed my primitive medical department. later on these proved of the greatest value. i would never think of omitting such supplies even in a case where a few pounds of extra weight are not rashly to be considered. it turned out that in the regions i penetrated, medical assistance was a thing unheard of within a radius of several hundred miles. a luger automatic pistol of a calibre of nine millimetres, and several hundred cartridges, were my armament, and for weeks this pistol became my only means of providing a scant food supply. thus equipped i was on hand early in the morning of the day of starting, anxious to see what sort of shipmates i was to have. they proved all to be _seringueiros_, bound for the upper river. our craft was a forty-foot launch called the _carolina_. there was a large crowd of the passengers assembled when i arrived, and they kept coming. to my amazement, it developed that one hundred and twenty souls were expected to find room on board, together with several tons of merchandise. the mystery of how the load was to be accommodated was somewhat solved, when i saw them attach a lighter to each side of the launch, and again, when some of the helpers brought up a fleet of dugouts which they proceeded to make fast by a stern hawser. but the mystery was again increased, when i was told that none of the passengers intended to occupy permanent quarters on the auxiliary fleet. as i was already taken care of, i resolved that if the problem was to worry anybody, it would be the _seringueiros_, though i realised that i would be travelling by "slow steamer" when the little old-fashioned _carolina_ should at length begin the task of fighting the five-mile current with this tagging fleet to challenge its claim to a twelve-horse-power engine. the _seringueiros_ and their families occupied every foot of space that was not reserved for merchandise. hammocks were strung over and under each other in every direction, secured to the posts which supported the roof. between them the rubber-coated knapsacks were suspended. on the roof was an indiscriminate mass of chicken-coops with feathered occupants; and humanity. about midships on each lighter was a store-room, one of which was occupied by the clerk who accompanied the launch. in this they generously offered me the opportunity of making my headquarters during the trip. the room was about six feet by eight and contained a multitude of luxuries and necessities for the rubber-workers. there were . winchester rifles in large numbers, the usual, indispensable collins machete, and tobacco in six-feet-long, spindle-shaped rolls. there was also the "***" hennessy cognac, selling at , reis ($ . gold) a bottle; and every variety of canned edible from california pears to horlick's malted milk, from armour's corned beef to heinz's sweet pickles. every one was anxious to get started; i, who had more to look forward to than months of monotonous labour in the forests, not the least. at last the owner of the boat arrived, it being then two o'clock in the afternoon. he came aboard to shake hands with everyone and after a long period of talking pulled the cord leading to the steam-whistle, giving the official signal for departure. it then developed that one of the firemen was missing. without him we could not start on our journey. the whistling was continued for fully forty minutes without any answer. finally, the longed-for gentleman was seen emerging unsteadily from the local gin-shop with no sign of haste. he managed to crawl on board and we were off, amid much noise and firing of guns. after a two-hours' run we stopped at a place consisting of two houses and a banana patch. evidently the owner of this property made a side-business of supplying palm-wood as fuel for the launch. a load was carried on board and stowed beside the boiler, and we went once more on our way. i cannot say that the immediate surroundings were comfortable. there were people everywhere. they were lounging in the hammocks, or lying on the deck itself; and some were even sprawling uncomfortably on their trunks or knapsacks. a cat would have had difficulty in squeezing itself through this compact mass of men, chattering women, and crying children. but i had no sooner begun to reflect adversely on the situation, than the old charm of the amazon asserted itself again and made me oblivious to anything so trivial as personal comfort surroundings. i became lost to myself in the enjoyment of the river. that old fig-tree on the bank is worth looking at. the mass of its branches, once so high-reaching and ornamental, now lie on the ground in a confused huddle, shattered and covered with parasites and orchids, while millions of ants are in full activity destroying the last clusters of foliage. it is only a question of weeks, perhaps days, before some blast of wind will throw this humbled forest-monarch over the steep bank of the river. when the water rises again, the trunk with a few skeleton branches will be carried away with the current to begin a slow but relentless drift to old father amazon. here and there will be a little pause, while the river gods decide, and then it will move on, to be caught somewhere along the course and contribute to the formation of some new island or complete its last long journey to the atlantic ocean. as the launch rounds bend after bend in the river, the same magnificent forest scenery is repeated over and over again. sometimes a tall matamatá tree stands in a little accidental clearing, entirely covered with a luxuriant growth of vegetation. but these are borrowed plumes. bushropes, climbers, and vines have clothed it from root to topmost branch, but they are only examples of the legion of beautiful parasites that seem to abound in the tropics. they will sap the vitality of this masterpiece of nature, until in its turn it will fall before some stormy night's blow. all along the shore there is a myriad life among the trees and beautifully coloured birds flash in and out of the branches. you can hear a nervous chattering and discern little brown bodies swinging from branch to branch, or hanging suspended for fractions of a second from the network of climbers and aerial roots. they are monkeys. they follow the launch along the trees on the banks for a while and then disappear. the sun is glaring down on the little craft and its human freight. the temperature is degrees (f.) in the shade and the only place for possible relief is on a box of cognac alongside the commandant's hammock. he has fastened this directly behind the wheel so that he can watch the steersman, an indian with filed teeth and a machete stuck in his belt. would anyone think that these trees, lining the shore for miles and miles and looking so beautiful and harmless by day, have a miasmatic breath or exhalation at night that produces a severe fever in one who is subjected for any length of time to their influence. it would be impossible for even the most fantastical scenic artist to exaggerate the picturesque combinations of colour and form ever changing like a kaleidoscope to exhibit new delights. a tall and slender palm can be seen in its simple beauty alongside the white trunk of the embauba tree, with umbrella-shaped crown, covered and gracefully draped with vines and hanging plants, whose roots drop down until they reach the water, or join and twist themselves until they form a leaf-portière. and for thousands of square miles this ever changing display of floral splendour is repeated and repeated. and it would be a treat for an ornithologist to pass up the river. a hundred times a day flocks of small paroquets fly screaming over our heads and settle behind the trees. large, green, blue, and scarlet parrots, the araras, fly in pairs, uttering penetrating, harsh cries, and sometimes an egret with her precious snow-white plumage would keep just ahead of us with graceful wing-motion, until she chose a spot to alight among the low bushes close to the water-front. the dark blue toucan, with its enormous scarlet and yellow beak, would suddenly appear and fly up with peculiar jerky swoops, at the same time uttering its yelping cry. several times i saw light green lizards of from three to four feet in length stretched out on branches of dead trees and staring at us as we passed. night came and drew its sombre curtain over the splendours. i was now shown a place of unpretentious dimensions where i could suspend my hammock, but, unluckily, things were so crowded that there was no room for a mosquito-net around me. under ordinary circumstances, neglect of this would have been an inexcusable lack of prudence, but i lay down trusting that the draft created by the passage of the boat would keep the insect pests away, as they told me it would. i found that experience had taught them rightly. to the post where i tied the foot-end of my hammock there were fastened six other hammocks. consequently seven pairs of feet were bound to come into pretty close contact with each other. while i was lucky enough to have the hammock closest to the rail, i was unlucky enough to have as my next neighbour a woman; she was part brazilian negro and part indian. she had her teeth filed sharp like shark's teeth, wore brass rings in her ears, large enough to suspend portières from, and smoked a pipe continually. i found later that it was a habit to take the pipe to bed with her, so that she could begin smoking the first thing in the morning. she used a very expensive parisian perfume, whether to mitigate the effects of the pipe or not, i do not know. under the conditions i have described i lay down in my hammock, but found that sleep was impossible. there was nothing to do but resign myself to fate and find amusement, with all the philosophy possible, by staring at the sky. i counted the stars over and over again and tried to identify old friends among the constellations. among them the southern cross was a stranger to me, but the great dipper, one end of which was almost hidden behind the trees, i recognised with all the freedom of years of acquaintance. my mind went back to the last time i had seen it; across the house-tops of old manhattan it was, and under what widely different conditions! at last a merciful providence closed my eyes and i was soon transported by the arms of morpheus to the little lake in central park that i had liked so well. i dreamed of gliding slowly over the waters of that placid lake, and awoke to find myself being energetically kicked in the shins by my female neighbour. there was nothing to do but indulge in a few appropriate thoughts on this community-sleeping-apartment life, and then i got up to wander forward, as best i could in the dark, across the sleeping forms and take refuge on top of my case of cognac. we seemed to be down in a pool of vast darkness, of whose walls no one could guess the limits. i listened to the gurgling of water at the bow and wondered how it was possible for the man at the wheel to guide our course without colliding with the many tree trunks that were scattered everywhere about us. the river wound back and forth, hardly ever running straight for more than half a mile, and the pilot continually had to steer the boat almost to the opposite bank to keep the trailing canoes from stranding on the sand-bars at the turns. now and then a lightning flash would illuminate the wild banks, proving that we were not on the bosom of some cimmerian lake, but following a continuous stream that stretched far ahead, and i could get a glimpse of the dark, doubly-mysterious forests on either hand; and now and then a huge tree-trunk would slip swiftly and silently past us. the only interruption of the perfect quiet that prevailed was the occasional outburst of roars from the throat of the howling monkey, which i had come to know as making the night hideous in remate de males. but the present environment added just the proper atmosphere to make one think for a second that he was participating in some phantasm of dante's. there was no particular incident to record on the trip, till june the th, in the night-time, when we arrived at porto alegre, the glad harbour, which consisted of one hut. this hut belonged to the proprietor of a _seringale_. i followed the captain and the clerk ashore and, with them, was warmly received by the owner, when we had clambered up the ladder in front of the hut. he had not heard from civilisation for seven months, and was very glad to see people from the outside world, especially as they were bringing a consignment of merchandise that would enable him to commence the annual tapping of the rubber trees. about a dozen _seringueiros_ and their families disembarked here and went without ceremony to their quarters, where they had a fire going in less than no time. it is the custom in this section of brazil to make visitors welcome in a rather complicated manner. you first place your arm around the other man's waist, resting the palm of your hand on his back. then with the other hand you pat him on the shoulder, or as near that point as you can reach. whether it recalled my wrestling practice or not, i do not know, but the first time i ever tried this, i nearly succeeded in throwing down the man i was seeking to honour. after the proprietor had greeted each of us in this cordial way, we sat down. a large negress made her appearance, smoking a pipe and carrying a tray full of tiny cups, filled with the usual unsweetened jet-black coffee. after a brief stay, during which business was discussed and an account given of the manner of death of all the friends who had departed this life during the season in remate de males, we took our leave and were off again, in the middle of the night, amid a general discharging of rifles and much blowing of the steam-whistle. the night was intensely dark, what moon there was being hidden behind clouds most of the time, and an occasional flash of lightning would show us that we were running very close to the shores. i decided to go on the roof of the right-hand lighter, where i thought i would get better air and feel more comfortable than in the close quarters below. on the roof i found some old rags and a rubber coated knapsack. taking these to the stern, i lay down upon them and went to sleep. i imagine that i must have been asleep about two hours, when i was aroused by a crashing sound that came from the forepart of the boat. luckily, i had fallen asleep with my eyeglasses on, otherwise, as i am near-sighted, i should not have been able to grasp the situation as quickly as proved necessary. we were so close to the shore that the branches of a low-hanging tree swept across the top of the lighter, and it was this branch that caused the turmoil as the craft passed through it, causing everything to be torn from the roof; trunks, bags, and chicken-coops, in a disordered mass. i had received no warning and hardly had collected my senses before this avalanche was upon me. seizing the branches as they came, i held on for dear life. i tried to scramble over them to the other part of the roof, but having fallen asleep on the stern there was no chance. i felt myself being lifted off the boat, and as i blindly held on i had time to wonder whether the tree would keep me out of the water, or lower me into the waiting jaws of some late alligator. but it did better than that for me. the branches sagged under my weight, and i soon saw that they were going to lower me upon the trailing canoes. i did not wait to choose any particular canoe, but, as the first one came beneath me, i dropped off, landing directly on top of a sleeping rubber-worker and giving him probably as bad a scare as i had had. for the remainder of the night i considered the case of cognac, previously referred to, a marvellously comfortable and safe place to stay. during the next day we made two stops, and at the second took on board eighteen more passengers. it seemed to me that they would have to sleep in a vertical position, since, as far as i could discover, the places where it could be done horizontally were all occupied. at five in the afternoon of this day, we arrived at a small rubber estate called boa vista, where the owner kept cut palm-wood to be used for the launch, besides bananas, pineapples and a small patch of cocoa-plants. the firemen of our launch were busily engaged in carrying the wood, when one of them suddenly threw off his load and came running down the bank. the others scattered like frightened sheep, and only with difficulty could be brought to explain that they had seen a snake of a poisonous variety. we crept slowly up to the place under the wood-pile which they had pointed out, and there about a foot of the tail of a beautifully decorated snake was projecting. i jammed my twenty-four-inch machete through it longitudinally, at the same time jumping back, since it was impossible to judge accurately where the head might come from. it emerged suddenly about where we expected, the thin tongue working in and out with lightning speed and the reptile evidently in a state of great rage, for which i could hardly blame it, as its tail was pinned down and perforated with a machete. we dispatched it with a blow on the head and on measuring it found the length to be nearly nine feet. the interrupted loading of wood continued without much additional excitement and we were soon on our way again. that night i passed very badly. my female neighbour insisted on using the edge of my hammock for a foot-rest, and, to add to my general discomfort, my hammock persisted in assuming a convex shape rather than a more conventional and convenient concave, which put me in constant danger of being thrown headlong into the river, only a few inches away. finally, i took my hammock down from its fastenings and went aft where i found a vacant canoe among those still trailing behind. i threw my hammock in the bottom and with this for a bed managed to fall asleep, now and then receiving a blow from some unusually low branch which threatened to upset my floating couch. the next morning it was found that we had lost two canoes, evidently torn loose during the night without anybody noticing the accident. luckily, i had not chosen either of these to sleep in, nor had anyone else. i cannot help thinking what my feelings would have been if i had found myself adrift far behind the launch. for several days more we continued going up the seemingly endless river. human habitations were far apart, the last ones we had seen as much as eighty-five miles below. we expected soon to be in the territory owned by coronel da silva, the richest rubber proprietor in the javary region. i found the level of this land we were passing through to be slightly higher than any i had traversed as yet, although even here we were passing through an entirely submerged stretch of forest. there were high inland spaces that had already begun to dry up, as we could see, and this was the main indication of higher altitude than had been found lower down the river. another indication was that big game was more in evidence. the animals find here a good feeding place without the necessity of migrating to distant locations when the water begins to come through the forest. at a place, with the name of nova aurora, again consisting of one hut, we found a quantity of skins stretched in the sunlight to dry. they were mostly the hides of yellow jaguars, or pumas, as we call them in the united states, and seven feet from the nose to the end of the tail was not an unusual length. although, as we learned, they had been taken from the animals only a few weeks previously, they had already been partly destroyed by the gnawing of rats. a tapir, weighing nearly seven hundred and fifty pounds, had been shot the day before and was being cut up for food when we arrived. we were invited to stay and take dinner here, and i had my first opportunity of tasting roast tapir. i found that it resembled roast beef very much, only sweeter, and the enjoyment of this food belongs among the very few pleasant memories i preserve of this trip. while they were getting dinner ready, i noticed what i took to be a stuffed parrot on a beam in the kitchen. but when i touched its tail i found that it was enough alive to come near snapping my finger off. it was a very large arara parrot with two tail feathers, each about thirty-six inches long, a magnificent specimen worthy of a place in a museum. parrots of this particular species are very difficult to handle, being as stupid and malicious as they are beautiful. they often made me think of dandies who go resplendent in fine clothes but are less conspicuous for mental excellences. after having indulged in black coffee, we were invited to give the house and the surroundings a general inspection. directly behind the structure was the smoking hut, or _defumador_, as it is called. inside this are a number of sticks inclined in pyramid form and covered with palm-leaves. in the floor a hole was dug for the fire that serves for coagulating the rubber-milk. over this pit is hung a sort of frame for guiding the heavy stick employed in the smoking of the rubber. at this time the process had not become for me the familiar story that it was destined to be. beneath the hut were several unfinished paddles and a canoe under construction. the latter are invariably of the "dugout" type. a shape is roughly cut from a tree-trunk and then a fire is built in the centre and kept burning in the selected places until the trunk is well hollowed out. it is then finished off by hand. paddles are formed from the buttresses which radiate from the base of the matamatá tree, forming thin but very strong spurs. they are easily cut into the desired shape by the men and receive decorations from the hands of the women who often produce striking colour effects. a beautiful scarlet tint is obtained from the fruit of the urueu plant, and the genipapa produces a deep rich-black colour. these dyes are remarkably glossy, and they are waterproof and very stable. after sunset the launch was off again. everything went quietly until midnight, when we were awakened with great suddenness. the launch had collided with a huge log that came floating down the stream. it wedged itself between the side of the boat and the lighter and it required much labour to get ourselves loose from it. after we got free, the log tore two of the canoes from their fastenings and they drifted off; but the loss was not discovered until the next morning, when we were about thirty-five miles from the scene of the accident. two more days passed without any incident of a more interesting nature than was afforded by occasional stops at lonely _barracãos_ where merchandise was unloaded and fuel for the engine taken in. we were always most cordially received by the people and invited to take coffee, while murmurs of "_esta casa e a suas ordenes_"--this house is at your disposal--followed our departure. unlike many conventional phrases of politeness, i do not know that the sentiment was entirely exaggerated, it is typical of the brazilian and is to be reckoned with his other good qualities. they always combine a respect for those things that are foreign, with their decided patriotism. the hospitality the stranger receives at their hands is nothing short of marvellous, and no greater insult can be inflicted than to offer to pay for accommodations. i find any retrospective glance over the days i spent among these people coloured with much pleasure when i review incidents connected with my contact with them. there is a word in the portuguese language which holds a world of meaning for anyone who has been in that land so richly bestowed with the blessings of nature, brazil. it is _saudades_, a word that arouses only the sweetest and tenderest of memories. there were seven more days of travel before we reached the headquarters of floresta, the largest rubber-estate in the javary region. it covers an area somewhat larger than long island. coronel da silva, the owner, lives in what would be called an unpretentious house in any other place but the amazon. here it represents the highest achievement of architecture and modern comfort. it is built on sixteen-foot poles and stands on the outskirts of a half-cleared space which contains also six smaller buildings scattered around. the house had seven medium-sized rooms, equipped with modern furniture of an inexpensive grade. there was also an office which, considering that it was located about miles from civilisation, could be almost called up-to-date. i remember, for instance, that a clock from new haven had found its way here. in charge of the office was a secretary, a mr. da marinha, who was a man of considerable education and who had graduated in the federal capital. several years of health-racking existence in the swamps had made him a nervous and indolent man, upon whose face a smile was never seen. the launch stopped here twenty-four hours, unloading several tons of merchandise, to replenish the store-house close to the river front. i took advantage of the wait to converse with coronel da silva. he invited me cordially to stop at his house and spend the summer watching the rubber-work and hunting the game that these forests contained. it was finally proposed that i go with the launch up to the branco river, only two days' journey distant, and that on its return i should disembark and stay as long as i wished. to this i gladly assented. we departed in the evening bound for the branco river. on this trip i had my first attack of fever. i had no warning of the approaching danger until a chill suddenly came over me on the first day out from floresta. i had felt a peculiar drowsiness for several days, but had paid little attention to it as one generally feels drowsy and tired in the oppressive heat and humidity. when to this was added a second chill that shook me from head to foot with such violence that i thought my last hour had come, i knew i was in for my first experience of the dreaded javary fever. there was nothing to do but to take copious doses of quinine and keep still in my hammock close to the rail of the boat. the fever soon got strong hold of me and i alternated between shivering with cold and burning with a temperature that reached and degrees. towards midnight it abated somewhat, but left me so nearly exhausted that i was hardly able to raise my head to see where we were going. our boat kept close to the bank so as to get all possible advantage of the eddying currents. i was at length aroused from a feverish slumber by being flung suddenly to the deck of the launch with a violent shock, while men and women shouted in excitement that the craft would surely turn over. we were careened at a dangerous angle when i awoke and in my reduced condition it was not difficult to imagine that a capsize was to be the result. but with a ripping, rending sound the launch suddenly righted itself. it developed that we had had a more serious encounter with a protruding branch than in any of the previous collisions. this one had caught on the very upright to which my hammock was secured. the stanchion in this case was iron and its failure to give way had caused the boat to tilt. finally the iron bent to an s shape and the branch slipped off after tearing the post from its upper fastenings. it was a narrow escape from a calamity, but the additional excitement aggravated my fever and i went from bad to worse. therefore it was found advisable, when we arrived, late the next day, at the mouth of the branco, to put me ashore to stay in the hut of the manager of the rubber estate, so that i might not cause the crew and the passengers of the launch inconvenience through my sickness and perhaps ultimate death. i was carried up to the hut and placed in a hammock where i was given a heavy dose of quinine. i dimly remember hearing the farewell-toot of the launch as she left for the down-river trip, and there i was alone in a strange place among people of whose language i understood very little. in the afternoon a young boy was placed in a hammock next to mine, and soon after they brought in a big, heavy brazilian negro, whom they put on the other side. like me they were suffering from javary fever and kept moaning all through the afternoon in their pain, but all three of us were too sick to pay any attention to each other. that night my fever abated a trifle and i could hear the big fellow raving in delirium about snakes and lizards, which he imagined he saw. when the sun rose at six the next morning he was dead. the boy expired during the afternoon. it was torture to lie under the mosquito-net with the fever pulsing through my veins and keeping my blood at a high temperature, but i dared not venture out, even if i had possessed the strength to do so, for fear of the mosquitoes and the sand-flies which buzzed outside in legions. for several days i remained thus and then began to mend a little. whether it was because of the greater vitality of the white race or because i had not absorbed a fatal dose, i do not know, but i improved. when i felt well enough, i got up and arranged with the rubber-estate manager to give me two indians to paddle me and my baggage down to floresta. i wanted to get down there where i could have better accommodations before i should become sick again. chapter v floresta: life among the rubber-workers it was half past five in the morning when we arrived at the landing of the floresta estate. since it was too early to go up to the house i placed my trunk on the bank and sat admiring the surrounding landscape, partly enveloped in the mist that always hangs over these damp forests until sunrise. the sun was just beginning to colour the eastern sky with faint warm tints. before me was the placid surface of the itecoahy, which seemed as though nothing but my indian's paddles had disturbed it for a century. just here the river made a wide turn and on the sand-bar that was formed a few large freshwater turtles could be seen moving slowly around. the banks were high and steep, and it appeared incredible that the flood could rise so high that it would inundate the surrounding country and stand ten or twelve feet above the roots of the trees--a rise that represented about sixty-seven feet in all. when i turned around i saw the half-cleared space in front of me stretching over a square mile of ground. to the right was coronel da silva's house, already described, and all about, the humbler _barracãos_ or huts of the rubber-workers. in the clearing, palm-trees and guava brush formed a fairly thick covering for the ground, but compared with the surrounding impenetrable jungle the little open space deserved its title of "clearing." a few cows formed a rare sight as they wandered around nibbling at the sparse and sickly growth of grass. by-and-bye the sun was fully up; but even then it could not fully disperse the mists that hung over the landscape. the birds were waking and their calls filled the air. the amorous notes of the inamboo were repeated and answered from far off by its mate, and the melancholy song of the wacurão piped musically out from the vastness of the forest. small green paroquets flew about and filled the air with their not altogether pleasant voices. these are the same birds that are well-known to the residents of new york and other large cities, where a dozen of them can often be seen in charge of an intrepid italian, who has them trained to pick cards out of a box for anyone desiring his fortune told for the sum of five cents. here they must provide by their own efforts for their own futures, however. even at this hour the howling monkey had not left off disturbing the peace with its hideous din. gradually the camp woke up to the day's work. a tall pajama-clad man spied me and was the first to come over. he was a very serious-looking gentleman and with his full-bearded face looked not unlike the artist's conception of the saviour. he bade me welcome in the usual generous terms of the brazilians and invited me into the house, where i again met coronel da silva. this first-mentioned grave-looking man was mr. da marinha. the kindness with which he welcomed me was most grateful; especially so in my present physical condition. i noticed what had not been so apparent on my first meeting with him, that recent and continuous ravages of fevers and spleen troubles had reduced him, though a fairly young man, to the usual nerve-worn type that the white man seems bound to become after any long stay in the upper amazon region. not knowing where i might stop when i left remate de males, i had brought with me a case of canned goods. i only succeeded in insulting the coronel when i mentioned this. he gave me his best room and sent for a new hammock for me. such attentions to a stranger, who came without even a letter of introduction, are typical of brazilian hospitality. after a plentiful meal, consisting of fried fish and roast loin of tapir, which tasted very good, we drank black coffee and conversed as well as my limited knowledge of the portuguese language permitted. after this, naturally, feeling very tired from my travels and the heat of the day, i arranged my future room, strung my hammock, and slept until a servant announced that supper was served. this meal consisted of jerked beef, farinha, rice, black beans, turtle soup, and the national goiabada marmalade. the cook, who was nothing but a sick rubber-worker, had spoiled the principal part of the meal by disregarding the juices of the meat, and cooking it without salt, besides mixing the inevitable farinha with everything. but it was a part of the custom of the country and could not be helped. _de gustibus non est disputandum._ when this meal was over, i was invited to go with the secretary, mr. da marinha, the man who had first greeted me in the morning, to see a sick person. at some distance from the house was a small barracão, where we were received by a _seringueiro_ named marques. this remarkable man was destined to figure prominently in experiences that i had to undergo later. he pulled aside a large mosquito-net which guarded the entrance of the inner room of this hut. in the hammock we found a middle-aged woman; a native of cearã. her face was not unattractive but terribly emaciated, and she was evidently very sick. she showed us an arm bound up in rags, and the part exposed was wasted and dark red. it was explained that three weeks before, an accident had forced a wooden splinter into her thumb and she had neglected the inflammation that followed. i asked her to undo the wrappings, a thing which i should never have done, and the sight we saw was most discouraging. the hand was swollen until it would not have been recognised as a hand, and there was an immense lesion extending from the palm to the middle of the forearm. the latter was in a terrible condition, the flesh having been eaten away to the bone. it was plainly a case of gangrene of a particularly vicious character. suddenly it dawned upon me that they all took me for a doctor; and the questions they asked as to what should be done, plainly indicated that they looked to me for assistance. i explained that i had no knowledge of surgery, but that in spite of this i was sure that if something were not done immediately the woman would have little time to live. i asked if there was not a doctor that could be reached within a few days' journey. we discussed sending the woman to remate de males by canoe, but this idea was abandoned, for the journey even undertaken by the most skilful paddlers could not be made in less than eighteen days, and by that time the gangrene would surely have killed the patient. coronel da silva was called in. he said that the woman was the wife of the chief of the _caucheros_ and that her life must be saved if possible. i explained my own incapacity in this field once more, but insisted that we would be justified in undertaking an amputation as the only chance of preventing her death. i now found myself in a terrible position. the operation is a very difficult one even in the hands of a skilful surgeon, and here i was called to perform it with hardly an elementary knowledge of the science and not even adequate instruments. at the same time, it seemed moral cowardice to avoid it, since evidently i was the one best qualified, and the woman would die in agony if not soon relieved. i trembled all over when i concluded that there was no escape. we went to the room and got the bistoury and the forceps given me by a medical friend before i left home. besides these, i took some corrosive sublimate, intended for the preparation of animal skins, and some photographic clips. the secretary, after a search produced an old and rusty hacksaw as the only instrument the estate could furnish. this we cleaned as carefully as possible with cloths and then immersed it in a solution of sublimate. before going to the patient's hut i asked the owner and the woman's husband if they were reconciled to my attempt and would not hold me responsible in case of her death. they answered that, as the woman was otherwise going to die, we were entirely right in doing whatever we could. i found the patient placidly smoking a pipe, her injured arm over the edge of the hammock. by this time she understood that she was to have her arm amputated by a surgical novice. she seemed not to be greatly concerned over the matter, and went on smoking her pipe while we made the arrangements. we placed her on the floor and told her to lie still. we adjusted some rubber cloth under the dead arm. her husband and three children stood watching with expressionless faces. two monkeys, tied to a board in a corner were playing and fighting together. a large parrot was making discursive comment on the whole affair, while a little lame dog seemed to be the most interested spectator. the secretary took the bistoury from the bowl containing the sublimate and handed it to me with a bow. with a piece of cotton i washed the intended spot of operation and traced a line with a pencil on the arm. imagine with what emotions i worked! after we had once started, however, we forgot everything except the success of our operation. i omit a description of the details, as they might prove too gruesome. the woman fainted from shock just before we touched the bone,--nature thus supplying an effective, if rude, anæsthetic. we had forgotten about sewing together the flesh, and when we came to this a boy was dispatched to the owner's house for a package of stout needles. these were held in the fire for a few seconds, and then immersed when cold in the sublimate before they were used to join the flesh. by the time it was done, i was, myself, feeling very sick. finally i could stand the little room of torture no longer, and left the secretary dressing the wound. would she recover from the barbaric operation? this question kept coursing through my head as i vainly tried for a long time to go to sleep. the next day, after an early observation of my patient, who seemed to have recovered from the shock and thus gave at least this hope of success, i spent my time going around to visit the homes of the _seringueiros_. they were all as polite as their chief, and after exchanging the salute of "boa dia," they would invite me to climb up the ladder and enter the hut. here they would invariably offer me a cup of strong coffee. there were always two or three hammocks, of which i was given the one i liked best. the huts generally consist of two rooms with a few biscuit-boxes as chairs, and winchester rifles and some fancy-painted paddles to complete the furniture. the following day i arose with the sun and, after some coffee, asked a huge small-pox-scarred fellow to accompany me on my first excursion into the real jungle. up to this time i had only seen it from my back porch in remate de males and from the deck of the launch _carolina_, but now i was in the heart of the forest and would indulge in jungle trips to my heart's content. we entered through a narrow pathway called an _estrada_, whose gateway was guarded by a splendid palm-tree, like a cerberus at the gates of dark hades. the _estrada_ led us past one hundred to one hundred and fifty rubber trees, as it wound its way over brooks and fallen trees. each of the producing trees had its rough bark gashed with cuts to a height of ten to twelve feet all around its circumference. these marks were about an inch and a half in length. alongside of the tree was always to be found a stick, on the end of which were a dozen or so of small tin-cups used in collecting the rubber-milk. every worker has two _estradas_ to manage, and by tapping along each one alternately he obtains the maximum of the product. this particular _estrada_ was now deserted as the _seringueiro_ happened to be at work on the other one under his jurisdiction. it was in a sense agreeable to work there as the sun could not penetrate the dense foliage and the air was therefore cool. after we had walked for about an hour, my big guide complained of being tired and of feeling unwell. i told him he could go back to the camp and leave me to find my way alone. accordingly he left me and i now had the task of carrying without assistance my large x view-camera, a shotgun, a revolver, and a machete. gradually my ear caught a terrible sound which to the uninitiated would have seemed like the roaring of a dozen lions in combat, but the dreadful notes that vibrated through the forest were only those of the howling monkey. i always had a great desire to see one of this species in the act of performing this uncanny forest-concert, therefore i left the rubber pathway after placing my camera on the ground, up against a rubber tree, and commenced following the noise, cutting my way through the underbrush. i walked and walked, but the sound seemed to remain the same distance away, and i stopped to reconnoitre. i hesitated whether to proceed or not, fearing i might lose the way and not be able to find my camera again. the monkey was not visible at all; it fact, it was not possible to see anything, unless it was very close by, so dense was the foliage. i laid my automatic pistol on a fallen tree-trunk, and was trying to figure out the chances of getting a look at my simian friend and at the same time not losing my valuable property on the pathway, when i heard another startling sound, this time near-by. i prepared myself for whatever species of animal was due, and could feel the excitement a hunter knows when he thinks he is about to get a sight of big game. suddenly the undergrowth parted in front of me and a herd of wild boars came trotting out. i drew a bead on the biggest of the lot and fired, letting five soft-nose bullets go through his head to make sure; the others fled, and i hastened to the spot to examine my prize more closely. it was a boar of medium size, weighing in the neighbourhood of one hundred and twenty-five pounds, and he had a fine set of tusks. he was rather vicious-looking and was doing considerable kicking before he gave up the ghost. it was impossible for me to carry him through the bush owing to the fact that i had the valuable camera and apparatus to take care of, so i made a mental note of the spot, and cut his ears off. it took four hours' search to find the camera, in spite of my belief that i had not gone far, and it was late in the afternoon when i arrived at headquarters. the very next morning there was a good opportunity to see the smoking of rubber-milk. a _seringueiro_ had collected his product and when i went to the smoking-hut i found him busy turning over and over a big stick, resting on two horizontal guides, built on both sides of a funnel from which a dense smoke was issuing. on the middle of the stick was a huge ball of rubber. over this he kept pouring the milk from a tin-basin. gradually the substance lost its liquidity and coagulated into a beautiful yellow-brown mass which was rubber in its first crude shipping state. the funnel from which the smoke issued was about three feet high and of a conical shape. at its base was a fire of small wooden chips, which when burning gave forth an acrid smoke containing a large percentage of creosote. it is this latter substance which has the coagulating effect upon the rubber-milk. when the supply of milk was exhausted, he lifted the ball and stick off the guides and rolled it on a smooth plank to drive the moisture out of the newly-smoked rubber. then he was through for the day. he placed the stick on two forked branches and put some green leaves over the funnel to smother the fire. on top of the leaves he put a tin-can and a chunk of clay, then filled the hole in the ground with ashes. under this arrangement the fire would keep smouldering for twenty-four hours, to be used anew for the next repetition of the smoking process. in the afternoon we again went out to hunt. this time i took only a -gauge shotgun. as we travelled through the forest i was impressed once more by the fascination of the grandly extravagant vegetation. but there is little charm about it, nothing of the tranquillity our idyllic catskills or even the sterner adirondacks, create. there is no invitation to repose, no stimulus to quiet enjoyment, for the myriad life of the amazon's jungle forest never rests. there is always some sound or some movement which is bound to stir in one the instinct of self-preservation. you have to be constantly alive to the danger of disagreeable annoyance from the pests that abound, or of actual bodily harm from animals of the reptilian order. were i in possession of adequate descriptive power i could picture the impression that this jungle creates upon the mind of one from the north, but now, as i once more sit in a large city with sky-scrapers towering about me, and hear the rattling noise of the elevated railway train as it rushes past, my pen fails me and i have to remove myself on the wings of thought to those remote forests, fully realising, "_beatus ille, qui procul negotiis, ut_" etc., etc. then i can feel again the silence and the gloom that pervade those immense and wonderful woods. the few sounds of birds and animals are, generally, of a pensive and mysterious character, and they intensify the feeling of solitude rather than impart to it a sense of life and cheerfulness. sometimes in the midst of the noon-day stillness, a sudden yell or scream will startle one, coming from some minor fruit-eating animal, set upon by a carnivorous beast or serpent. morning and evening, the forest resounds with the fearful roar of the howling monkeys, and it is hard, even for the stoutest heart, to maintain its buoyancy of spirit. the sense of inhospitable wilderness, which the jungle inspires, is increased tenfold by this monstrous uproar. often in the still hours of night, a sudden crash will be heard, as some great branch or a dead tree falls to the ground. there are, besides, many sounds which are impossible to account for and which the natives are as much at a loss to explain as myself. sometimes a strange sound is heard, like the clang of an iron bar against a hard, hollow tree; or a piercing cry rends the air. these are not repeated, and the succeeding stillness only tends to heighten the unpleasant impression which they produce on the mind. the first thing that claimed our attention, shortly after we started, was a sound of breaking branches and falling leaves, somewhere in the distance. through the trees i could perceive that it was a big dark-grey monkey, which we had alarmed. he was scrambling up a tall tree when i fired at him. i evidently missed, for i could see him prepare for a mighty jump to a lower tree where he would be out of sight. but in the jump he got another load of pellets, which struck him in the back. his leap fell short of the mark and he landed headlong among some bushes, kicking violently as i came up to him. as he seemed strongly built and had a rather savage expression, it did not seem wise to tackle him with bare hands, therefore, as i desired to get him alive, i ran back and procured my focussing cloth, which i tied around his head. thus i got him safely back to the camp, where he was tied to a board and the bullets extracted from his flesh. then his wounds, which were not serious, were bound up and he was put into a cage with a bunch of bananas and a saucer of goat's milk to cheer him up a bit. the suddenness with which these monkey delicacies disappeared, convinced me that his complete recovery was a matter of only a short time, unless perchance some hungry rubber-worker, surreptitiously, had removed these viands while nobody was looking, for bananas and milk are things which will tempt any amazonian from the narrow path of rectitude; but it was not so in this case. the conviction as to recovery proved right, and with the improvement of his health he displayed a cheerful and fond disposition that decided me to take him back with me to new york when i should go. i have since been informed that he belonged to the humboldt sika species. i watched him for several months and came to like him for the innocent tricks he never tired of playing. one night he managed to liberate himself from the tree near the hut where he was tied. he disappeared for two days, but on the third he returned, chains and all. he had doubtless found life in the jungle trees not altogether cheerful with a heavy chain secured to his waist, and he had returned reconciled to captivity and regular meals. there is at present one specimen of this kind of monkey at the bronx zoölogical gardens in charge of the head keeper. at the time of low water, the so-called _prayas_ appear at the bends of the river; they grow with the accumulation of sand and mud. they are wide and often of a considerable area, and on them the alligators like to bask in the sunshine of early morning and late afternoon, and the _tartarugas_, or fresh-water turtles, lay their eggs. these eggs are laid in the months of september and october on moon-lit nights and are somewhat smaller than the ordinary hen's egg, the yolk tasting very much the same, but they are covered with a tough parchment-like shell. here on the upper amazon the people prepare a favourite meal by collecting these eggs and storing them for two or three weeks, when they tear open the shell and squeeze out the yolks, mixing them all up into a mush with the inevitable farinha. few people, except native brazilians, ever acquire a relish for this remarkable dish. i spent a whole day waiting for the elusive alligators on one of these sand-bars, but evidently they were too wise, for they never came within camera-range. i did, however, see some tapir-tracks, leading down to the water's edge. after the long wait i grew discouraged, and chose a camping place farther up the river, where i prepared a meal consisting of turtle eggs and river water. the meal was not absolutely undisturbed, as the air was full of a species of fly that derives its principal sustenance from the bodies of various dead animals always to be found through the jungle, whose teeming life crowds out all but those fittest to survive. i had begun my vigil before sunrise, when there are two or three hours very cool and humid. in the dry season the dew which collects is of the greatest importance to animal and plant life. for the tired and thirsty wanderer, the calyx of the beautiful scarlet orchid, which grows abundantly in this region, contains the refreshment of two or three ounces of clear, cool water. but you must look carefully into this cup of nature to see that no insects lurk in its depths to spoil the draught. i have previously described the breakfast table of the millionaire coronel r. da silva, with its black beans, the dreadful farinha, the black coffee, and the handful of mutilated _bolachas_ or biscuits. the only variable factor was the meat, sometimes wild hog, occasionally tapir, and very often the common green parrot or the howling monkey. at most meals the _pirarucu_ fish appears, especially on mondays when the rubber-workers have had the whole of sunday in which to indulge in the sport of shooting this gamy two-hundred-pound fish. they carry their _pirarucu_ to headquarters and courteously offer the best cuts to the coronel, afterwards cutting the rest into long strips and leaving them to dry in the sun. jerked beef was always to be relied upon when other supplies ran low. there must have been some terrible mystery connected with the milk. there were twenty-one cows on the place, but never a drop of milk from them was to be had. i was always afraid to ask any questions about this deficiency for fear i might be treading on dangerous ground, but with the lack of any other explanation i ascribe it to continual sickness from which the cattle must probably suffer, in common with every other living thing here. during the month of september, the number of patients from fever, pleurisy, and accidents, at floresta headquarters, amounted to % of the population. a fever resembling typhoid resulted in several cases from drinking the river-water. the coronel claimed that mangeroma indians living in the interior about miles from floresta had poisoned the creeks and affluents of the itecoahy to take revenge upon the traders who brought the much dreaded peruvian rubber-workers up to the itecoahy river estates. these peruvians are hated because they abduct the women of the indigenous tribes, when on their expeditions far into the forests where these tribes live, and consequently they are hunted down and their entrance to the region as far as possible prevented. at this morning hour in new york (floresta is on the same meridian as new york), thousands of toilers are entering the hot subways and legions of workers are filing into their offices and stuffy shops to take their places at the huge machinery which keeps the world in motion. at the very same hour a handful of rubber-workers are passing my house, returning from their first trip in the _estradas_, where they have been tapping the trees, and on their way to the huts and a frugal breakfast. here in the wilds of brazil there are no subways, no worry about the "market," nor indeed any thought for the morrow. nature supplies the rubber trees, and the "boss" the tools to work them with; the philosophy of the rubber-worker goes no farther. a shirt, trousers, and a hat are all the dress that fashion requires, and often the worker even finds the shirt superfluous. he wears a pair of overalls, and carries slung over his shoulder his rifle and the little hatchet for tapping the trees, besides a small rubber bag in which he keeps a supply of farinha and jerked beef, should he be prevented from reaching his hut in regulation time. the _seringueiro_ is free in his movements and in his mind, he is a quick and keen observer of nature, and an expert in knowledge of the cries and calls of the animals of the forest. he knows their habits and hiding-places to perfection, and he could probably astonish the naturalist by informing him of many things he has observed that his brother scientist never has heard of. he knows the names of the trees and plants in the forest and what they can be used for, though his knowledge of them is often supplemented by superstitious imaginings. he knows the multitudinous fish of the amazon, whether they are to be caught with a net, speared, or shot with bow and arrows, or, if the hunter is of a progressive disposition, shot with rifle ball. there are varieties that have, as yet, not been seen, classified, or identified by the scientist of to-day--i am positive of having seen several such. the inhabitant of this region is clean in his habits and in his mind as soon as he gets away from the evil influence of civilisation--which for him is the town of remate de males or "culmination of evils." he takes a bath at least twice a day, and attends closely to the cleanliness of his wardrobe, which for that matter does not absorb any considerable amount of time. as a rule, he is industrious, but frequent attacks of fever, dysentery, liver and spleen complaints, or pneumonia make him in the end, like all living things here not native to the forests, sluggish in general, and irritable on occasion. a little distance from the headquarters lies a beautiful lake. it is not wider than the itecoahy itself, four hundred feet on an average, and is about five miles long. it runs parallel with the river, and has only one outlet. in the dry season this amounts to nothing more than a little rivulet across which a large fallen tree has formed a natural bridge, but in january, when the waters rise, the creek is so full that the servants of coronel da silva can wash the linen there. after some weeks of sojourn at floresta, i found my way to this lake, and it was here that i was able to observe some of the largest specimens of amazonian reptiles in their haunts, where the equatorial sun had full opportunity to develop an amazing growth of faunal and floral life. it was a most enchanting stretch of water. i had heard of the dangers lurking beneath its surface long before i saw it, so when i arrived there one morning i was surprised to find a placid lake, set in picturesque and romantic surroundings. my first impulse was to exclaim, partly to myself, and partly to the indian joão who accompanied me, "why, this is lake innocence," so peaceful did it appear. in fact, so much did it charm me that during the remainder of my stay at floresta there was hardly a day some part of which i did not spend in the immediate vicinity of this lake. but it was treacherous. it was the home of six or seven old alligators and of young ones--too numerous to count; the oldest reaching a length of about seventeen feet. they would lie perfectly still under the banks, among the dead branches and snags, which made the shores generally inaccessible to boat or canoe, but when a person approached they would make their presence known by violent splashing in the water and repeated loud grunts, very much resembling those of a walrus. then they would burrow under the soft mud and remain quiet for an hour or two. in the early forenoon, before the sun became too hot, they would sun themselves, but in the sweltering mid-day hours they remained buried in the mud, and were then very hard to rouse. i found, on the shores of the lake, two alligator nests, formed of many twigs and branches stuck together, half in the water and half in the soft slimy mud. there they deposited their eggs, oblong tough ones; and one could always count on finding the female in the neighbourhood, should one desire to visit her. i came near stepping on one of these female alligators during a morning hunt with my camera. i was intently examining a group of eggs i found under a cluster of branches, when i was startled by a splash in the water and a loud grunt. as fast as the muddy ground would let me, i scrambled up the bank, and when i reached the top i saw the alligator swimming away from the very spot where i had been standing, its small close-set eyes fastened on me. then it disappeared in the mud. my next encounter occurred one forenoon, when i was sitting close to the dried-up canal which formed the outlet of the lake. it was almost mid-day. i was sitting in the shade, safe from the blazing sun, enjoying a peaceful smoke. the air was fairly vibrating with heat, causing the blood to surge through my veins. not a sound was heard except the irritating buzz of the ever-present mosquitoes. for some time i had been aware of the slow, stealthy movement of a large body near-by, though only half consciously. the heat made me sluggish and sleepy, but suddenly i awoke to the fact that the moving thing, whatever it might be, was near me. mechanically, i released the "safety" of my automatic pistol, and then realised that out of the reeds near me was creeping a medium-sized alligator. he was making straight for the water, and i do not know whether he was cognisant of my presence or not. he was moving steadily, advancing a few inches, stopping for a minute, then resuming the journey. i believe i was not more than five feet from the head as it emerged from the fringe of reeds. i raised my camera, secured a focus, and snapped the shutter. the click of the apparatus and perhaps my movement drew his attention. he stopped abruptly. the long jaws opened toward me, displaying an enormous expanse of pink flesh and two rows of shining teeth. i lost not a second in throwing aside the camera and jumping back to a position of relative safety, whence i fired into the open mouth of the beast. i killed him. on examining the carcass, i noticed that he had unusually large eyes, indicating that he was a young specimen. a few days later i again went to this lake--which, from my remarks, had now come to be generally called "lago innocencia"--to catch fish with my indian friend joão. he carried a bow, four arrows with detachable heads, and a harpoon six feet long. the little boat which we found close to the outlet of the lake was pushed away from the shore, we each seized one of the peculiarly decorated paddles, and were off, looking for finny game. we paddled quietly along near the shore, now and then receiving a bump from some concealed snag which nearly upset us. it requires considerable skill to navigate one of these poorly-made dugouts, the slightest move causing a disproportionate amount of disturbance of equilibrium. suddenly joão jumped up, his black eyes glowing with excitement. he motioned me to keep quiet, but it was quiet superfluous for him to do this, as i was unable to talk, or even look around, for fear the canoe might upset. he seized the harpoon, and with a powerful swing sent it into the water ahead of us, at the same time grasping the line which was attached to the end. the spear sank deep into the water, and then by the vivacity with which it danced around i could tell there was something on the end of it. as he began to pull in the line, the struggle became so violent that i crept forward on my knees in the bottom of the canoe and helped him recover the spear. only after some strenuous balancing feats and a stiff fight by both of us, did we land our game. it was a large flat fish at least four feet square, with a long whip-shaped tail, at the base of which were two barbed bones each about three and a half inches in length. our first act was to sever this tail with a hatchet, as it was far too active to make the fish a pleasant neighbour in close quarters. when the sting-ray, or, as the brazilians call it, the _araya_, was dead, i cut out the two barbed bones and no longer wondered why these fish are so dreaded by those who know them. joão told me that they attack anyone who ventures into the water, and with their sharp, barbed bones inflict a wound that in most cases proves fatal, for the bones are brittle and break off in the flesh. superstition and carelessness are the main factors that make the wound dangerous; the people believe too much in an ever-present evil spirit which abides in all the vicious and fiendish animals of the forest and swamp. once wounded by any of these malignant creatures, they believe there is no hope of recovery and they hardly try to survive. besides, lack of proper care and treatment of a wound generally results in its terminating in a case of septicaemia and ultimately gangrene. i have mentioned the _pirarucu_ several times as being the largest edible fish of the amazon. when full grown, it attains a weight of two hundred and fifty pounds. in lake innocence we saw this remarkable fish feeding close to the shore in shallow water, surrounded by a school of young ones. the old one was about seven feet in length and the others but recently hatched, from nine to ten inches. the indian who pointed them out to me stood up in the bow of the canoe and, fitting one of his five-foot arrows to the bow-string, sent it through the air and into the head of the big fellow. the bow which he used was of his own manufacture. it was about seven and a half feet long, very tough and straight, and made of caripari wood. the shafts of the arrows were made of long straight reeds, the stalks of a certain species of wild cane. the detachable part of the arrow is a short but extremely hard piece of wood upon which is fitted an iron head with two barbs. when the point pierces the flesh this hard piece comes off, but remains attached to the shaft by a short stout cord. this allows the shaft free play so that it will not break during the struggles of the victim. then there is a line attached to the head itself so that the hunter can handle the struggling animal or fish by means of it and of the shaft of the arrow. the whole contrivance is a marvel of ingenuity in meeting the conditions the amazon hunter is called on to face. when the arrow struck this particular _pirarucu_, at close range, he made straight for the shore, hauling the canoe and its contents after him at considerable speed. we got tangled among the low branches and fought the fish in considerable danger of being overturned--and i should not at all care to be capsized on lake innocence. finally, we got our prize ashore. i sent the indian to headquarters, telling him to go, as fast as he could and bring assistance so that we could get the fish home. i myself mounted guard over the carcass to see that neither the turkey buzzards nor the carnivorous mammals should destroy it. if we had left it alone for even a short time, we would have found, on our return, little to remind us of its existence. the indian returned shortly with two men. they stuck a pole through the great gills of the _pirarucu_ and in this fashion carried it to the settlement. these waters contain great quantities of another and smaller fish known as the _piranha_, scientifically termed _serraselmus piraya_. this is quite as much dreaded by the natives as the alligator, or even as the shark along the coast. its ferocity seems to know no bounds. it will attack other fish and bite large pieces out of their fins and tails. although it is not much larger than the herring it can make fatal attacks on man when in large numbers. mr. c.b. brown in his work on guiana gives the following account of this fish: the _piranhas_ in the corentins were so abundant and were so ferocious that at times it was dangerous to go into the water to a greater depth than the knees. even then small bodies of these hungry creatures would swim in and make a dash close to our legs, and then retreat to a short distance. they actually bit the steering paddles as they were drawn through the water astern of the boat. a tapir which i shot as it swam across the water had his nose bitten off by them whilst we were towing it to the shore. the men used to catch some of them for the sport of it, and in taking the hook from the mouth produced a wound from which the blood ran freely. on throwing them back into the water in this injured condition, they were immediately set upon and devoured by their companions. even as one was being hauled in on the line, its comrades, seeing that it was in difficulties, attacked it at once. i heard about these fiends but had no opportunity to witness their ferocity until one day, in crossing the river in a dugout, we wounded a wild hog that had also decided to cross at the same time and at the same place. the man with the stern paddle seized his machete as he saw the hog swimming close by the port-side of the canoe and stabbed it in the shoulder, intending to tow it ashore and have a luxurious dinner of roast hog. but his dream was never realised, for the _piranhas_ which had tasted the blood, i suppose, came in large numbers and set upon the unfortunate hog. in a minute the water seemed to be boiling, so great was the activity of the little demons as they tore away pieces of the flesh until it was vanishing by inches. when we reached the other shore there was not enough left of the hog to furnish a single meal. later i learned that certain indian tribes leave their dead in the river for the _piranhas_ to strip the flesh from the bones. it is then customary to take the remaining skeleton and let it dry in the sun, after which it is rubbed with the juice of the _urucu_ plant (the _bixa orellana_), which produces a bright scarlet colour. then it is hung up in the hut and the indians consider that a token of great reverence has been thus bestowed on the deceased. before leaving the subject of fish, i will mention another species, smaller than the _piranha_, yet, although not as ferocious, the cause of much dread and annoyance to the natives living near the banks of the rivers. in fact, throughout the amazon this little worm-like creature, called the _kandiroo_, is so omnipresent that a bath-house of a particular construction is necessary. the kandiroo is usually three to four inches long and one sixteenth in thickness. it belongs to the lampreys, and its particular group is the myxinos or slime-fish. its body is coated with a peculiar mucus. it is dangerous to human beings, because when they are taking a bath in the river it will approach and with a swift powerful movement penetrate one of the natural openings of the body whence it can be removed only by a difficult and dangerous operation. a small but hard and pointed dorsal fin acts as a barb and prevents the fish from being drawn back. while i was in remate de males the local doctor was called upon to remove a _kandiroo_ from the urethra of a man. the man subsequently died from the hemorrhage following the operation. largely through the danger of the attack from this scourge, though perhaps not entirely, the natives have adopted the method of bathing in use. a plunge into the river is unheard of, and bath-houses are constructed so as to make this unnecessary. a hole about eighteen inches square is cut in the middle of the floor--built immediately above the water--through which the bather, provided with a calabash or gourd of the bread-fruit tree, dips water up and pours it over himself after he has first examined it carefully. the indigenous indians, living in the remote parts of the forest, do not use this mode of protection, but cover the vulnerable portions of the body carefully with strips of bark, which render complete immersion less dangerous. during my walks in the forest i often came across snakes of considerable length, but never found any difficulty in killing them, as they were sluggish in their movements and seemed to be inoffensive. the rubber-workers, who had no doubt had many encounters with reptiles, told me about large _sucurujus_ or boa-constrictors, which had their homes in the river not many miles from headquarters. they told me that these snakes were in possession of hypnotic powers, but this, like many other assertions, should be taken with a large grain of salt. however, i will relate an incident which occurred while i lived at floresta, and in which i have absolute faith, as i had the opportunity of talking to the persons involved in the affair. josé perreira. a rubber-worker, had left headquarters after having delivered his weekly report on the rubber extracted, and was paddling his canoe at a good rate down the stream, expecting to reach his hut before midnight. arriving at a recess in the banks formed by the confluence of a small creek called igarapé do inferno, or the creek of hell, he thought that he heard the noise of some game, probably a deer or tapir, drinking, and he silently ran his canoe to the shore, where he fastened it to a branch, at the same time holding his rifle in readiness. finally, as he saw nothing, he returned to the canoe and continued his way down-stream. hardly more than ten yards from the spot, he stopped again and listened. he heard only the distant howling of a monkey. this he was used to on his nightly trips. no! there was something else! he could not say it was a sound. it was a strange something that called him back to the bank that he had left but a few minutes before. he fastened his canoe again to the same branch and crept up to the same place, feeling very uneasy and uncomfortable, but seeing nothing that could alarm him--nothing that he could draw the bead of his rifle on. yet, something there was! for the second time he left, without being able to account for the mysterious force that lured him to this gloomy, moon-lit place on the dark, treacherous bank. in setting out in the stream again he decided to fight off the uncanny, unexplainable feeling that had called him back, but scarcely a stone's throw from the bank he had the same desire to return,--a desire that he had never before experienced. he went again, and looked, and meditated over the thing that he did not understand. he had not drunk _cachassa_ that day and was consequently quite sober; he had not had fever for two weeks and was in good health physically as well as mentally; he had never so much indulged in the dissipations of civilisation that his nerves had been affected; he had lived all his life in these surroundings and knew no fear of man or beast. and now, this splendid type of manhood, free and unbound in his thoughts and unprejudiced by superstition, broke down completely and hid his face in his hands, sobbing like a child in a dark room afraid of ghosts. he had been called to this spot three times without knowing the cause, and now, the mysterious force attracting him, as a magnet does a piece of iron, he was unable to move. helpless as a child he awaited his fate. luckily three workers from headquarters happened to pass on their way to their homes, which lay not far above the "creek of hell," and when they heard sobbing from the bank they called out. the hypnotised _seringueiro_ managed to state that he had three times been forced, by some strange power, to the spot where he now was, unable to get away, and that he was deadly frightened. the rubber-workers, with rifles cocked, approached in their canoe, fully prepared to meet a jaguar, but when only a few yards from their comrade they saw directly under the root where the man was sitting the head of a monstrous boa-constrictor, its eyes fastened on its prey. though it was only a few feet from him, he had been unable to see it. one of the men took good aim and fired, crushing the head of the snake, and breaking the spell, but the intended victim was completely played out and had to lie down in the bottom of the canoe, shivering as if with ague. the others took pains to measure the length of the snake before leaving. it was palmas or feet inches. in circumference it measured palmas, corresponding to a diameter of inches. its mouth, they said, was two palmas or sixteen inches, but how they mean this to be understood i do not know. this event happened while i was living at headquarters. i had a long talk with perreira, but could not shake his statement, nor that of the three others; nevertheless, i remained a sceptic as to this alleged charming or mesmeric power of the snakes, at least so far as man is concerned. at that time we were awaiting the arrival of the monthly launch from the town of remate de males, and had spent a day weighing rubber at the camp of one of the employees, half a day's journey from headquarters. the rubber-pellets were loaded into our large canoe to take up to floresta. we spent the evening drinking black coffee and eating some large, sweet pineapples, whereafter we all took a nap lasting until midnight, when we got up to start on our night trip. it had been considered best to travel at night, when it was nice and cool with none of the pestering insects to torture us, and we were soon paddling the heavy canoe at a merry rate, smoking our pipes and singing in the still, dark night. soon we rounded a point where the mighty trees, covered with orchids and other parasitic plants, sent their branches down to the very water which in its depths was hiding the dreaded water-snakes. the only sound we heard was the weird calling of the night-owl, the "mother of the moon" as the indians call it. except this and the lapping sound of water, as we sped along, nothing disturbed the tranquillity of the night. i was in the act of lighting another pipe when one of the men cried out: "what's this?" we all stopped paddling and stared ahead at a large dark object, resting on a moon-lit sand-bar not far from us. then someone said, "_sucuruju_." few people can comprehend the feeling that creeps into one's heart when this word is pronounced, under such circumstances, in the far-off forest, in the middle of the night. the word means boa-constrictor, but it meant a lot more at this moment. an indescribable feeling of awe seized me. i knew now that i was to face the awful master of the swamps, the great silent monster of the river, of which so much had been said, and which so few ever meet in its lair. running the canoe ashore we advanced in single file. i now had a chance to inspect the object. on a soft, muddy sand-bar, half hidden by dead branches, i beheld a somewhat cone-shaped mass about seven feet in height. from the base of this came the neck and head of the snake, flat on the ground, with beady eyes staring at us as we slowly advanced and stopped. the snake was coiled, forming an enormous pile of round, scaly monstrosity, large enough to crush us all to death at once. we had stopped at a distance of about fifteen feet from him, and looked at each other. i felt as if i were spellbound, unable to move a step farther or even to think or act on my own initiative. the snake still made no move, but in the clear moonlight i could see its body expand and contract in breathing; its yellow eyes seeming to radiate a phosphorescent light. i felt no fear, nor any inclination to retreat, yet i was now facing a beast that few men had ever succeeded in seeing. thus we stood looking at each other, scarcely moving an eyelid, while the great silent monster looked at us. i slid my right hand down to the holster of my automatic pistol, the mm. luger, and slowly removed the safety lock, at the same time staring into the faces of the men. in this manner i was less under the spell of the mesmerism of the snake, and could to some extent think and act. i wheeled around while i still held control of my faculties, and, perceiving a slight movement of the snake's coils, i fired point-blank at the head, letting go the entire chamber of soft-nose bullets. instantly the other men woke up from their trance and in their turn fired, emptying their winchesters into the huge head, which by this time was raised to a great height above us, loudly hissing in agony. our wild yelling echoed through the deep forest. the snake uncoiled itself and writhing with pain made for the water's edge. by this time we were relieved of the terrible suspense, but we took care to keep at a respectful distance from the struggling reptile and the powerful lashing of its tail, which would have killed a man with one blow. after half an hour the struggles grew weaker, yet we hesitated to approach even when it seemed quiet and had its head and a portion of its body submerged in the water. we decided to stay through the night and wait here a day, as i was very anxious to skin the snake and take the trophy home to the states as a souvenir of a night's adventure in this far-off jungle of the amazon. we went up in the bushes and lit a fire, suspended our hammocks to some tree-trunks, and slept soundly not more than ten yards from the dying leviathan. we all got up before sunrise, had our coffee in haste, and ran down to see the snake. it was dead, its head practically shot to pieces. we set to work, stretching the huge body out on the sand-bar, and by eight o'clock we had the entire snake flat on the ground, ready to measure and skin. it was a most astonishing sight, that giant snake lying there full length, while around it gathered six amazon indians and the one solitary new yorker, here in the woods about as far from civilisation as it is possible to get. i proceeded to take measurements and used the span between my thumb and little finger tips as a unit, knowing that this was exactly eight inches. beginning at the mouth of the snake, i continued to the end and found that this unit was contained eighty-four times. thus times divided by gives exactly feet as the total length. in circumference, the unit, the "palma," was contained times and a fraction, around the thickest part of the body. from this i derived the diameter feet inch. these measurements are the result of very careful work. i went from the tail to the nose over again so as to eliminate any error, and then asked the men with me also to take careful measurements in their own manner, which only confirmed the figures given above. then we proceeded to skin the snake, which was no easy task under the fierce sun now baking our backs. great flocks of _urubus_, or vultures, had smelled the carcass and were circling above our heads waiting for their share of the spoils. each man had his section to work on, using a wooden club and his machete. the snake had been laid on its belly and it was split open, following the spinal column throughout its length, the ventral part being far too hard and unyielding. about two o'clock in the afternoon we had the work finished and the carcass was thrown into the river, where it was instantly set upon by the vigilant _piranhas_ and alligators. standing in front of this immense skin i could not withhold my elation. "men," i said, "here am i on this the th day of july, , standing before a snake-skin the size of which is wonderful. when i return to my people in the united states of america, and tell them that i have seen and killed a boa-constrictor nearly eighteen metres in length, they will laugh and call me a man with a bad tongue." whereupon my friend, the chief, rose to his full height and exclaimed in a grieved tone: "sir, you say that your people in the north will not believe that we have snakes like this or even larger. that is an insult to brazilians, yet you tell us that in your town nova york there are _barracãos_ that have thirty-five or even forty stories on top of each other! how do you expect us to believe such an improbable tale as that?" i was in a sad plight between two realities of such mighty proportions that they could be disbelieved in localities far removed from each other. we brought the skin to headquarters, where i prepared it with arsenical soap and boxed it for later shipment to new york. the skin measured, when dried, feet inches, with a width of feet inch. kind reader, if you have grown weary of my accounts of the reptilian life of the amazon, forgive me, but such an important role does this life play in the every-day experience of the brave rubber-workers that the descriptions could not be omitted. a story of life in the amazon jungle without them would be a deficient one, indeed. there is a bird in the forests, before referred to, called by the indians "_a mae da lua_," or the "mother of the moon." it is an owl and makes its habitation in the large, dead, hollow trees in the depths of the jungle, far away from the river front, and it will fly out of its nest only on still, moonlit nights, to pour forth its desolate and melancholy song. this consists of four notes uttered in a major key, then a short pause lasting but a few seconds, followed by another four notes in the corresponding minor key. after a little while the last two notes in the minor key will be heard and then all is still. when the lonely wanderer on the river in a canoe, or sitting in his hammock, philosophises over the perplexing questions of life, he is assisted in his dreary analysis by the gloomy and hair-raising cry of the mother of the moon. when the first four notes strike his ear, he will listen, thinking that some human being in dire distress is somewhere out in the swamps, pitifully calling for help, but in so painful a manner that it seems as if all hope were abandoned. still listening, he will hear the four succeeding melancholy notes, sounding as if the desolate sufferer were giving up the ghost in a last desperate effort. the final two notes, following after a brief interval, tell him that he now hears the last despairing sobs of a condemned soul. so harrowing and depressing is this song that, once heard, the memory of it alone will cause one's hair to stand on end and he will be grateful when too far away to hear again this sob of the forest. a surprise was in store for me one day when i visited the domicile of a rubber-worker living at the extreme end of the estate. i expected to find a dwelling of the ordinary appearance, raised on poles above the ground, but instead this hut was built among the branches of a tree some twenty feet above the level of the earth. i commenced climbing the rickety ladder leading to the door of the hut. half-way up a familiar sound reached my ear. yes, i had surely heard that sound before, but far away from this place. when i finally entered the habitation and had exchanged greetings with the head of the family, i looked for the source of the sound. turning round i saw a woman sitting at a _sewing-machine_, working on a shirt evidently for her husband. i examined this machine with great curiosity and found it to be a "new home" sewing-machine from new york. what journeys and transfers had not this apparatus undergone before it finally settled here in a tree-top in this far-off wilderness! one afternoon while sitting in the office at headquarters discussing amazonian politics with coronel da silva, francisco, a rubber-worker, came up and talked for a while with the coronel, who then turned to me and said: "do you want to get the skin of a black jaguar? francisco has just killed one on his _estrada_ while collecting rubber-milk; he will take you down to his _barracão_, and from there he will lead you to the spot where the jaguar lies, and there you can skin him." i thanked francisco for his information and went for my machete, having my pistol already in my belt. i joined him at the foot of the river bank outside the main building, where he was waiting for me in his canoe, and we paddled down-stream to his hut. on our way (he lived about two miles below floresta) he told me that he was walking at a good rate on the narrow path of the _estrada_ when he was attracted by a growling and snarling in the thicket. he stopped and saw a black jaguar grappling with a full-grown buck in a small opening between the trees. the jaguar had felled the buck by jumping on its back from the branches of a tree, and, with claws deeply imbedded in the neck, broke its spine and opened its throat, when francisco drew the bead on the head or neck of the jaguar and fired. the jaguar fell, roaring with pain. francisco was too much in a hurry to leave the narrow path of the rubber-workers and go to the spot where the victim was writhing in its death agonies, but hastened on for his dinner. remembering later that the coronel had offered an attractive sum of money for any large game they would bag for my benefit, and having finished his dinner, he paddled up to headquarters and reminded the coronel of the promised reward. when we came to the hut of the rubber-worker a large dog greeted us. this dog looked like a cross between a great dane and a russian greyhound; it was rather powerfully built, although with a softness of movement that did not correspond with its great frame. francisco whistled for the dog to follow us. he carried his winchester and a machete, while i discovered that my pistol had been left unloaded when i hurried from headquarters, so i was armed with nothing but a machete. after walking for nearly half an hour, we slowed down a little and francisco looked around at the trees and said that he thought we were on the spot where he had heard the growlings of the jaguar. it was nearing half-past five and the sun was low so we launched ourselves into the thicket towards the spot where the jaguar had been killed. we advanced rapidly; then slower and slower. the great dog at first had been very brave, but the closer we came to the spot we were looking for, the more timid the dog became, until it uttered a fearful yell of fright, and with its tail between its legs slunk back. there was nothing to do but to leave the contemptible brute alone with its fear, so we pushed ahead. suddenly we came to the place, but there was no jaguar. there were plenty of evidences of the struggle. the mutilated body of a beautiful marsh-deer was lying on the moist ground, pieces of fur and flesh were scattered around, and the blood had even spurted on the surrounding leaves and branches. francisco had wounded the jaguar, no doubt--at least he said so, but plainly he had not killed it nor disabled it to such extent that it had remained on the spot. we commenced searching in the underbrush, for it was evident it could not be far off. the bloody track could be followed for some distance; in fact, in one place the thorny roots of the remarkable _pachiuba_ palm-tree, the roots that the women here use for kitchen graters, had torn off a bunch of long, beautiful hair from the sides of the jaguar, which very likely was weak and was dragging itself to some cluster of trees where it could be safe, or else to find a point of vantage to fall upon its pursuers. we searched for some time. the forest was growing dark, and the many noises of the night began. first came the yelping of the toucan, which sounded like the carefree yap-yap of some clumsy little pup. then came the chattering of the night monkeys and the croaking of the thousands of frogs that hide in the swamps. and still no traces of the jaguar. again we separated. the dog had run home utterly scared. now and then we would whistle so as not to lose track of each other. i regretted that i had been so careless as to leave my ammunition at home, as it might happen that the wounded and enraged cat would spring at us from some dark cluster of branches, and then a machete would hardly be an adequate weapon. we searched for over an hour until it was pitch dark, but, sad to relate, we never found that jaguar. we went home silently. francisco did not secure the reward. this incident is of no particular interest as the result of the excursion was nil and our humour consequently very bad. but it serves to show how the mind of man will be influenced by local surroundings, and how it adapts itself to strange customs, and how a novice may be so greatly enthused that he will, half-armed, enter upon a reckless hunt for a wounded jaguar. chapter vi the fatal march through the forest thus i lived among these kind and hospitable people for five months until one day my lust for further excitement broke out again, induced by a seemingly commonplace notice posted outside the door of the storeroom. it read: "the men--marques, freitas, anisette, magellaes, jerome, and brabo--are to make themselves ready to hunt caoutchouc in the eastern virgin forest." puzzled as to the meaning of this, i consulted the chief and was informed that coronel da silva was about to equip and send out a small expedition into the forests, far beyond the explored territory, to locate new caoutchouc trees, which were to be cut and the rubber or caoutchouc collected, whereupon the expedition was to return to headquarters with these samples and a report on the number of trees observed. this greatly interested me, and i asked the chief, marques, whose wife i had operated upon previously, if i could accompany him on this trip. he consented unwillingly, saying that it was very dangerous and that the same number of men that went out never came back. however, this was too rare a chance to let pass, and i made my preparations to accompany the expedition on this journey into regions where even the native _caucheros_ had never before been. on a monday morning we all assembled at the floresta headquarters, where coronel da silva bade us good-bye, and at the same time once more warned me against venturing on this trip, but i was determined and could not be persuaded to give it up. the expedition consisted of the six men, above mentioned, all, except the chief, marques, unmarried. after leaving the main building we went down to the store-room where we chose the necessary articles of food--enough to last us for three or four weeks. our staples were to be dried _pirarucu_, the largest fish of the amazon, some dried or "jerked" beef, and a large quantity of the farinha, the eternal woody and unpalatable meal that figures on every brazilian's table. besides these, we carried sugar, coffee, rice, and several bottles of "painkiller" from fulton street, n.y. hammocks and cooking utensils completed our outfit. i took with me a large plate camera, photographic plates and paper, chemicals, scales and weights; also a magnifying glass, a primitive surgical outfit, and a hypodermic needle with several dozen prepared "ampules." my men were armed with the usual . winchesters and some ancient muzzle-loaders, while i had my mm. automatic luger pistol. when we were fully packed, each man carried a load weighing eighty-five pounds, strapped by means of bark strips to the shoulders, with his rifle in his left hand and a machete to clear the path in his right. thus equipped, we left headquarters, not knowing how or when we would see it again, while the natives fired a farewell salute, wishing us god-speed. after a few hours by canoe, up the itecoahy, we left the river and turned our faces inland. our way now led through dense forest, but for four hours we travelled in a region familiar to the rubber-workers, and we were able to follow pathways used by them in their daily work. let no one think that a jungle trail is broad and easy. as i stumbled along the tortuous, uneven path, in the sweltering mid-day heat, pestered by legions of _piums_ or sand-flies and the omnipresent mosquitoes, climbing, fallen trees that impeded us at every turn, i thought that i had reached the climax of discomfort. little could i know that during the time to come i was to look back upon this day as one of easy, delightful promenading. the four hours' march brought us to an open place, apparently a clearing, where the _estrada_ suddenly seemed to stop. exhausted, i threw myself on the moist ground while the chief explained our position. he said that we were now at the end of the cut _estrada_ and that beyond this we would have no path to follow, though he had somewhat explored the region farther on the year previous, during a similar expedition. we found that the undergrowth had been renewed to such an extent that his old track was indistinguishable, and we had to hew our every step. when we resumed the march i received a more thorough understanding of what the word _jungle_ really means. ahead of us was one solid and apparently impenetrable wall of vegetation, but my men attacked it systematically with their heavy machetes. slowly we advanced, but i wondered that we made any progress at all. the skill of these sons of the forest in cutting a pathway with their long knives became a constant wonder to me. where an inexperienced person would have lost himself, looking for a round-about easy course, these men moved straight ahead, hewing and hacking right and left, the play of the swift blades seemingly dissolving all obstacles in their path. some idea of the density of the growth can be gathered from the fact that if a man moved off he became instantly invisible although he might be only a yard or two away. late in the afternoon we reached a small hut or _tambo_ built on the former trip by the chief. it was nothing but a roof on poles, but it was a welcome sight to us as it meant rest and food. we were tired and hungry and were glad to find a small creek close by where we could refresh ourselves, taking care to keep out of the reach of the alligators and water-snakes swimming close to the weeds by the shore. for our supper we gave the dried _pirarucu_ flesh a boil and soaked some farinha in water, eating this tasteless repast with as much gusto as we would if it had been roast beef. let me here recommend this diet for any gourmet whose appetite has been impaired, and he will soon be able to enjoy a stew of shoe-leather. one of the men, a good-natured athlete, jerome by name, was sent out after fresh meat, and brought back a weird little animal resembling a fox (_cuti_). we decided to test it as a stew, but, lacking salt, we found the dried _pirarucu_ preferable. the excitement of the night was furnished by ants, which had built a nest in the _tambo_ where we had swung our hammocks. the visitors swarmed up poles and down ropes and would not be denied entrance. wads of cotton smeared with vaseline and bandaged around the fastenings of the hammock proved no obstacle. it was impossible to sleep; mosquitoes came to the assistance of the ants and managed to find their way through the mosquito-net. to complete the general "cheerfulness," the tree-tops were full of little spider-monkeys whispering mournfully throughout the dark and showery night. the second day's march took us through the region which the chief had explored the year before, and we spent the night in another _tambo_ built on that occasion. our progress, however, was made with increasing difficulty, as the land had become more hilly and broken and the forest, if possible, more dense and wild. we were now at a considerable distance from the river-front and in a region where the yearly inundation could never reach. this stage of the journey remains among the few pleasant memories of that terrible expedition, through what i may call the gastronomic revel with which it ended. jerome had succeeded in bringing down with his muzzle-loader a _mutum_, a bird which in flavour and appearance reminds one of a turkey, while i was so lucky as to bag a nice fat deer (marsh-deer). this happened at _tambo_ no. . we called each successive hut by its respective number. here we had a great culinary feast, so great that during the following days i thought of this time with a sad "_ils sont passé, ces jours de fête_." now, guided by the position of the sun, we held a course due west, our ultimate destination being a far-off region where the chief expected to find large areas covered with fine caoutchouc trees. the ground was hilly and interspersed with deeply cut creeks where we could see the ugly heads of the _jararaca_ snakes pop up as if they were waiting for us. there was only one way of crossing these creeks; this was by felling a young tree across the stream for a bridge. a long slender stick was then cut and one end placed at the bottom of the creek, when each man seizing this in his right hand steadied himself over the tree to the other side of the deep treacherous water. it required steady nerve to walk this trunk, such as i did not possess, therefore i found it safer to hang from the levelled bole by my hands and travel across in that manner. _tambo_ no. we constructed ourselves, as we did every other for the rest of the journey. we always selected a site near a creek that we were following, and cleared away the underbrush so as to leave an open area of about twenty-five feet square, always allowing one tree to remain for a corner. a framework of saplings tied together with strips of _matamata_ bark was raised for a roof, and across this were laid gigantic leaves of the _murumuru_, twenty-five to thirty feet long. the hammocks were then strung beneath, and we managed to keep comparatively sheltered from the nightly rain that always occurs in these deep forests. after the frugal meal of _pirarucu_ and dried farinha, or of some game we had picked up during the march, we would creep into our hammocks and smoke, while the men told hunting stories, or sang their monotonous, unmelodious tribal songs. it must have been about two o'clock in the morning when i was awakened by a terrific roaring which fairly made the forest tremble. sitting up and staring fearfully into the darkness, i heard the crashing of underbrush and trees close upon us. my first thought was of a hurricane, but in the confusion of my senses, stunned by the impact of sound, i had few clear impressions. my companions were calling one another. the noise grew louder, more terrifying. suddenly the little world around me went to smash in one mad upheaval. the roof of the _tambo_ collapsed and fell upon us. at the same instant i felt some huge body brush past me, hurling me sprawling to the ground. the noise was deafening, mingled with the shrieks and excited yellings of my men, but the object passed swiftly in the direction of the creek. some one now thought of striking a light to discover the extent of the damage. the _tambo_ was a wreck; the hammocks were one tangled mass. jerome, who had jumped from his hammock when he first heard the noise, followed the "hurricane" to the creek and soon solved the mystery of the storm that swept our little camp. he told us, it was a jaguar, which had sprung upon the back of a large tapir while the animal was feeding in the woods behind our _tambo_. the tapir started for the creek in the hope of knocking the jaguar off its back by rushing through the underbrush; not succeeding in this, its next hope was the water in the creek. it had chosen a straight course through our _tambo_. the next day we were successful in killing two howling monkeys; these were greeted with loud yells of joy, as we had not been able to locate any game during the last twenty-four hours' march. this is easy to understand. we were much absorbed in cutting our way through the bushes and the game was scared away long before we could sight it. after the ninth day of wearisome journeying, the chief found signs of numerous caoutchouc trees, indicating a rich district, and it was accordingly decided that _tambo_ no. should be our last. we were now fully miles from the floresta headquarters and some miles back in the absolutely unknown. that night the temperature went down to ° fahrenheit, a remarkable drop so close to the equator and on such low ground, but it was undoubtedly due to the fact that the sun never penetrates the dark foliage of the surrounding dense forests where the swamps between the hills give off their damp exhalations. up to this point i had not feared the jungle more than i would have feared any other forest, but soon a dread commenced to take hold of me, now that i could see how a great danger crept closer and closer--danger of starvation and sickness. our supplies were growing scant when we reached _tambo_ no. , and yet we lingered, forgetful of the precarious position into which we had thrust ourselves, and the violated wilderness was preparing to take its revenge. i suppose our carelessness in remaining was due in part to the exhausted state to which we had been reduced, and which made us all rejoice in the comfort of effortless days rather than face new exertions. chapter vii the fatal "tambo no. " we were three weeks at _tambo_ no. before the sharp tooth of necessity began to rouse us to the precarious situation. occasionally a lucky shot would bring down a _mutum_ or a couple of monkeys and, on one occasion, a female tapir. thus feasting to repletion, we failed to notice that the lucky strikes came at longer intervals; that the animals were deserting our part of the forest. during these three weeks we were not wholly idle. the chief had the men out every day making excursions in the neighbourhood to locate the caoutchouc trees. as soon as a tree was found, they set to work bleeding the base of it to let the milky sap ooze out on the ground where it would collect in a small pool. then they would fell the tree and cut rings in the bark at regular intervals so that the milk could flow out. in a few days when the milk had coagulated, forming large patches of caoutchouc, they would return for it. the pieces were washed in the creek and then tied into large bundles ready for transporting. in all they located more than caoutchouc trees. at this time too i made my remarkable discovery of gold deposits in the creek. it seems to me now like the plot of some old morality play, for while we were searching eagerly for the thing that we considered the ultimate goal of human desires--wealth, the final master, death, was closing his net upon us day by day. our food supply was nearly gone. while strolling along the shores of the creek in search of game, i noticed irregular clumps or nodules of clay which had accumulated in large quantities in the bed of the stream, especially where branches and logs had caused whirlpools and eddies to form. they had the appearance of pebbles or stones, and were so heavy in proportion to their size that my curiosity was aroused, and throwing one of them on the bank i split it open with my machete. my weakened heart then commenced to beat violently, for what i saw looked like gold. i took the two pieces to my working table near our _tambo_, and examining the dirty-yellow heart with my magnifying glass, i found the following: a central mass about one cubic inch in size, containing a quantity of yellowish grains measuring, say, one thirty-second of an inch in diameter, slightly adhering to each other, but separating upon pressure of the finger, and around this a thick layer of hard clay or mud of somewhat irregular shape. it immediately struck me that the yellow substance might be gold, though i could not account for the presence of it in the centre of the clay-balls. i carefully scraped the granules out of the clay, and washing them clean, placed them on a sheet of paper to dry in the sun. by this time the attention of the other men had been attracted to what i was doing, and it seemed to amuse the brave fellows immensely to watch my painstaking efforts with the yellow stuff. i produced some fine scales i had for weighing chemicals for my photographic work, and suspended these above a gourd filled with water. then i went down to the creek and collected more of the clay-balls and scraped the mud of one away from the solid centre of what i took to be grains of gold. a fine thread i next wound around the gold ball and this was tied to one end of the balance. after an equilibrium had been established, i found that the weight of the gold was grains. next i raised the gourd until the water reached the suspended ball, causing the opposite pan of the scales to go down. to again establish equilibrium, i had to add grains. with this figure i divided the actual weight of the gold, which gave me . , and this i remembered was close to the specific gravity of pure gold. still a little in doubt, i broke the bulb of one of my clinical thermometers and, placing the small quantity of mercury thus obtained in the bottom of a tray, i threw a few of the grains into it, and found that they immediately united, forming a dirty-grey amalgam. i was now sure the substance was gold and in less than five hours i collected enough to fill five photographic × plate-boxes, the only empty receptacles i could lay my hands on. i could have filled a barrel, for the creek was thick with the clay-balls as far as i could see; but i had a continuous fever and this, with the exhaustion from semi-starvation, caused me to be indifferent to this great wealth. in fact, i would have gladly given all the gold in the creek for _one_ square meal. if the difficulties in reaching this infernal region were not so great, i have no doubt that a few men could soon make themselves millionaires. the deadly fever came among us after a few days. it struck a young man called brabo first; the next day i fell sick with another serious attack of swamp-fever, and we both took to our hammocks. for five days and nights i was delirious most of the time, listening to the mysterious noises of the forest and seeing in my dreams visions of juicy steaks, great loaves of bread, and cups of creamy coffee. in those five days the only food in the camp was howling monkey, the jerked beef and the dried farinha having given out much to my satisfaction, as i became so heartily disgusted with this unpalatable food that i preferred to starve rather than eat it again. at first i felt the lack of food keenly, but later the pain of hunger was dulled, and only a warm, drugged sensation pervaded my system. starvation has its small mercies. i became almost childishly interested in small things. there was a peculiar sound that came from the deep forest in the damp nights; i used to call it the "voice of the forest." to close one's eyes and listen was almost to imagine oneself near the murmuring crowd of a large city. it was the song of numerous frogs which inhabited a creek near our _tambo_. then i would hear four musical notes uttered in a major key from the tree-tops close by, soon answered by another four in a similar pitch, and this musical and cheerful(!) conversation was continued all night long. the men told me that this was the note of a species of frog that lived in the trees. one day the jungle took the first toll from us. young brabo was very low; i managed to stagger out of my hammock to give him a hypodermic injection, but he was too far gone for it to do him any good. he died in the early afternoon. we dug a grave with our machetes right behind our _tambo_. no stone marks this place; only a small wooden cross tied together with bark-strips shows where our comrade lies--a son of the forest whom the forest claimed again. the arrival of death in our camp showed us all how far we were in the grasp of actual, threatening danger. we stood about the grave in silence. these men, these indians of the amazon, were very human; somehow, i always considered them equals and not of an inferior race. we had worked together, eaten and slept and laughed together, and now together we faced the mystery of death. the tie between us became closer; the fraternity of common flesh and blood bound us. the next day i arose and was able to walk around, having injected my left arm with copious doses of quinine and arsenical acid. borrowing thus false strength from drugs, i was able, to some extent, to roam around with my camera and secure photographs that i wanted to take home with me to the states. i had constructed a table of stalks of the _murumuru_ palm-leaves, and i had made a sun-dial by the aid of a compass and a stick, much to the delight of the men, who were now able to tell the hour of the day with precision. the next day i had another attack of fever and bled my arm freely with the bistoury, relieving myself of about sixteen ounces of blood. shortly after nine o'clock in the morning i heard a shot which i recognised as being that of jerome's muzzle-loader; soon afterward he made his appearance with a splendid specimen of a jet-black jaguar, killed by a shot behind the ear. he skinned it after first asking me if i wanted to get up and take a photograph of it, but i was too weak to do it and had to decline. the chief one day brought into camp a fine deer and a _mutum_ bird, which relieved our hunger for a while. as we were preparing a luxurious meal, jerome returned with two red howling monkeys, but we had all the meat we could take care of, and these monkeys were rejected and thrown away. by this time the chief informed us that enough caoutchouc trees had been located to justify our return to the floresta headquarters with a satisfactory report--of course, excepting the death of poor brabo. furthermore it was decided that owing to the lack of provisions we should separate. he directed that the men freitas, magellaes, and anisette should take a course at a right angle to the itecoahy, so as to reach this river in a short time, where they were to procure a canoe and secure assistance for the rest of us. this, of course, was a chance, but under the circumstances every step was a chance. the chief himself, jerome, and i would retrace the route which we had lately travelled and reach floresta that way. the evening before our departure i did not think myself strong enough to carry my load a single step, but the hypodermic needle, with quinine, which had now become my constant stand-by, lent me an artificial strength, and when the packing was done the next morning, i stood up with the rest and strapped the load on my shoulders. we parted with the other three men before sunrise, with clasps of the hand that were never to be repeated, and so turned our faces toward the outer world. my only hope was to retain sufficient strength in my emaciated, fever-racked body to drag myself back to floresta, and from there, in the course of time, get canoe or launch connection to the frontier down the river, and then wait for the steamer that would take me back to "god's country," where i could eat proper food, and rest--rest. the jungle no longer seemed beautiful or wonderful to me, but horrible--a place of terror and death. in my drug-dazed sleep on that back-track, i started up in my hammock, bathed in a sweat of fear from a dream; i saw myself and my companions engulfed in a sea of poisonous green, caught by living creepers that dragged us down and held us in a deadly octopus embrace. the forest was something from which i fled; it was hideous, a trap, with its impenetrable wall of vegetation, its dark shadows, and moist, treacherous ground. i longed for the open; struggled for it, as the swimmer struggles up for air to escape from the insidious sucking of the undertow. starving, weak from fever, oppressed by the thought of death, but lashed on by stimulants and the tenacity of life, i headed with my two comrades out of the world of the unknown, toward the world of men--to _life_. chapter viii what happened in the forest on the second day of the return trip, we had a remarkable experience. probably not more than two hundred yards from the _tambo_ where we had spent the night, we heard the noise, as we thought, of a tapir, but nothing could surpass our astonishment when we saw a human being. who could it be that dared alone to disturb the solitude of the virgin forest, and who went along in these dreary woods humming a melody? it was a young indian who approached us cautiously when jerome spoke in a tongue i did not understand, and evidently told him that we were friends on the way back to our homes by the river. he was an unusually fine specimen of a savage, well built, beautifully proportioned, and with a flawless skin like polished bronze. his clothing was limited to a bark girdle, and a feather head-dress not unlike that worn by some north american indians. he was armed with bow and arrows and a blow-gun; and he had a small rubber pouch filled with a brownish substance, the remarkable wourahli poison. he explained to jerome that his tribe lived in their _maloca_, or tribal house, about hours' march from this place, and that he had been chasing a tapir all day, but had lost its track, and was now returning to his home. he pointed in a north-western direction with his blow-gun, signifying thereby the general route he was going to follow in order to reach his destination. we sat down on the ground and looked at each other for quite a while, and thus i had my first chance of studying a blow-gun and the poisoned arrows, outside a museum, and in a place where it was part of a man's life. at the time i did not know that i was to have a little later a more thorough opportunity of examining this weapon. i asked the indian, jerome acting as interpreter, to demonstrate the use of the gun, to which he consented with a grin. we soon heard the chattering of monkeys in the tree-tops, and deftly inserting one of the thin poisoned arrows in the ten-foot tube he pointed the weapon at a swiftly moving body among the branches, and filling his lungs with air, let go. with a slight noise, hardly perceptible, the arrow flew out and pierced the left thigh of a little monkey. quick as lightning he inserted another arrow and caught one of the other monkeys as it was taking a tremendous leap through the air to a lower branch. the arrow struck this one in the shoulder, but it was a glancing shot and the shaft dropped to the ground. in the meantime the indian ran after the first monkey and carried it up to me. it seemed fast asleep, suffering no agony whatever; and after five or six minutes its heart ceased beating. the other monkey landed on the branch it was aiming for in its leap, but after a short while it seemed uneasy and sniffed at everything. finally, its hold on the branch relaxed, it dropped to the ground and was dead in a few minutes. it was a marvellous thing to behold these animals wounded but slightly, the last one only scratched, and yet dying after a few minutes as if they were falling asleep. it was then explained to me that the meat was still good to eat and that the presence of poison would not affect the consumer's stomach in the least; in fact, most of the game these indians get is procured in this manner. i was lucky enough to secure a snap-shot of this man in the act of using his blow-gun. it proved to be the last photograph i took in the brazilian jungles. accidents and sickness subsequently set in, and the fight for life became too hard and all-absorbing even to think of photographing. he left us after an hour's conversation, and we resumed our journey homewards. we had a slight advantage in retracing our former path. although the reedy undergrowth had already choked it, we were travelling over ground that we knew, and it was also no longer necessary to delay for the building of _tambos_; we used the old ones again. jerome had complained for some time of a numbness in his fingers and toes, and also of an increasing weakness of the heart that made every step a torment. the chief and i tried our best to cheer him up, although i felt certain that the brave fellow himself knew what dreadful disease had laid its spell upon him. however, we kept on walking without any words that might tend to lower our already depressed spirits. but our march was no longer the animated travel it had been on the way out; we talked like automatons rather than like human, thinking beings. suffering, hunger, and drugs had dulled our senses. only the will to escape somehow, the instinct of self-preservation, was fully awake in us. a sweep of the machete to cut a barrier bushrope or climber, one foot placed before the other, meant that much nearer to home and safety. such was now the simple operation of our stupefied and tired brains, brains that could not hold one complex thought to its end; too tired--tired! at nightfall we stumbled into our old _tambo_ no. . there was no thought of securing food, no possibility of getting any; we had been too tired to even attempt to shoot game during the day. the two monkeys which the indian had killed with his blow-gun were the only food we had and these we now broiled over the camp-fire and devoured fiercely. after this meal, none too good, we slung our hammocks with difficulty and dropped in. jerome's numbness increased during the night. we were up and on the trail again with the dawn. in the afternoon we descended a hill to find ourselves confronted by a swamp of unusual extent. the chief was in the lead as we crossed the swamp and we lost him from our sight for a few minutes. while crossing this wide, slimy-bottomed place, i noticed a peculiar movement in the water near me, and soon made out the slender bodies of swamp-snakes as they whipped past among the branches and reeds. these snakes are called by the brazilians _jararacas_ and are very poisonous; however, i had no fear for myself as i wore heavy buffalo-hide boots, but the men walked barefooted, and were in great danger. i cried out a warning to jerome, who took care to thrash about him. we supposed that we had passed this snake-hole without mishap when we rejoined the chief on "terra firma." he was leaning over, as we approached him, and he turned a face to us that was stricken with fear. he pointed to the instep of his right foot and there on the skin were two tiny spots, marked by the fangs of the snake. without a word we sank to the ground beside him in despair. the unfortunate man, with dilated eyes fixed upon the ground, crouched waiting for the coming of the pain that would indicate that the poison was working its deadly course, and that the end was near if something was not done immediately. losing no more time, i cried to jerome to pour out some gunpowder while i sucked the wound. while doing this i fumbled in the spacious pockets of my khaki hunting-coat and secured the bistoury with which i made a deep incision in the flesh over the wound, causing the blood to flow freely. in the meantime, jerome had filled a measure with black powder and this was now emptied into the bleeding wound and a burning match applied at once. the object of this was to cauterise the wound, a method that has been used with success in the outskirts of the world where poisonous reptiles abound and where proper antidotes cannot be had. the chief stood the ordeal without a murmur, never flinching even at the explosion of the gunpowder. jerome and i made him as comfortable as possible, and sat sadly by his side watching him suffer and die by inches. it is no easy thing to see a man meet death, but under these circumstances it was particularly distressing. the chief had been a man of a strong constitution particularly adapted to the health-racking work of a rubber-hunter. he it was who with his forest-wisdom had planned all our moves, and had mapped our course through the blind forest, where a man could be lost as easily as on the open sea. he had proved himself a good leader, save for the fatal mistake in delaying our return, over-anxious as he was to render his employer, coronel da silva, full and faithful service. he was extremely capable, kind, and human, and a good friend to us all. we had looked to him for advice in all our needs. he knew the language of the wild beasts of the forest, he knew a way out of everything, and at home he was a most devoted father. now, this splendid fellow, the sole reliance, in this vast and intricate maze, of jerome and myself, succumbed before our eyes to one of the dangers of the merciless wilderness. he was beyond all hope. nothing in our power could to any extent add to the prolongation of his life which slowly 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. 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. and in my own case, the fever which i had fought off by constant use of the hypodermic needle, now swept over me with renewed violence. the drug did not have the same effect as when i was new to the ravages of the fever. at this point my recollections became almost inextricably confused. i know that at times i raved wildly as i staggered on, for occasionally i came to myself with strange phrases on my lips addressed to no one in particular. when these lucid moments brought coherent thought, it was the jungle, the endless, all-embracing, fearful jungle, that overwhelmed my mind. no shipwrecked mariner driven to madness by long tossing on a raft at sea ever conceived such hatred and horror of his surroundings as that which now came upon me for the fresh, perpetual, monotonous green of the interminable forest. about noon the weight on my back became unbearable and i resolved to sacrifice my precious cargo. i threw away my camera, my unexposed plates, all utensils, and four of the boxes of gold dust. this left me with one box of gold, a few boxes of exposed plates (which i eventually succeeded in carrying all the way back to new york), and fifty-six bullets, the automatic revolver, and the machete. last, but not least, i kept the hypodermic needle and a few more ampules. we had walked scarcely a quarter of a mile when jerome collapsed. the poor fellow declared that he was beaten; it was no use to fight any more; he begged me to hurry the inevitable and send a bullet through his brain. the prospect of another visitation of death aroused me from my stupor. i got him to a dry spot and found some dry leaves and branches with which i started a fire. jerome was beyond recognising me. he lay by the fire, drawing long, wheezing breaths, and his face was horribly distorted, like that of a man in a violent fit. he babbled incessantly to himself and occasionally stared at me and broke out into shrill, dreadful laughter, that made my flesh creep. all this overwhelmed me and sapped the little energy i had left. i threw myself on the ground some little distance from the fire, not caring if i ever rose again. how long it was before a penetrating, weird cry aroused me from this stupor, i do not know, but when i raised my head i saw that the forest was growing dark and the fire burning low. i saw too that jerome was trying to get on his feet, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his face crimson in colour. he was on one knee, when the thread of life snapped, and he fell headlong into the fire. i saw this as through a hazy veil and almost instantly my senses left me again. i have no clear knowledge of what happened after this. throughout the rest of the night, my madness mercifully left me insensible to the full appreciation of the situation and my future prospects. it was night again before i was able to arouse myself from my collapse. the fire was out, the forest dark and still, except for the weird cry of the owl, the uncanny "mother of the moon." poor jerome lay quiet among the embers. i did not have the courage, even if i had had the strength, to pull the body away, for there could be nothing left of his face by now. i looked at him once more, shuddering, and because i could not walk, i crept on all fours through the brush, without any object in mind,--just kept moving--just crept on like a sick, worthless dog. one definite incident of the night i remember quite distinctly. it occurred during one of those moments when my senses returned for a while; when i could realise where i was and how i got there. i was crawling through the thicket making small, miserable progress, my insensible face and hands torn and scratched by spines and thorns which i did not heed, when something bumped against my thigh; i clutched at it and my hand closed around the butt of my automatic pistol. the weapon came out of its holster unconsciously, but as i felt my finger rest in the curve of the trigger, i knew that some numbed and exhausted corner of my brain had prompted me to do this thing; indeed, as i weighed the matter with what coolness i could bring to bear, it did not seem particularly wicked. with the pistol in my hand and with the safety released, i believed that the rest would have been easy and even pleasant. what did i have in my favour? what prospect did i have of escaping the jungle? none whatever--none! there was no shadow of hope for me, and i had long ago given up believing in miracles. for eight days i had scarcely had a mouthful to eat, excepting the broiled monkey at _tambo_ no. , shot by the young indian. the fever had me completely in its grasp. i was left alone more than one hundred miles from human beings in absolute wilderness. i measured cynically the tenaciousness of life, measured the thread that yet held me among the number of the living, and i realised now what the fight between life and death meant to a man brought to bay. i had not the slightest doubt in my mind that this was the last of me. surely, no man could have been brought lower or to greater extremity and live; no man ever faced a more hopeless proposition. yet i could or would not yield, but put the pistol back where it belonged. all night long i crawled on and on and ever on, through the underbrush, with no sense of direction whatever, and still i am sure that i did not crawl in a circle but that i covered a considerable distance. for hours i moved along at the absolute mercy of any beast of the forest that might meet me. the damp chill of the approaching morning usual in these regions came to me with a cooling touch and restored once more to some extent my sanity. my clothes were almost stripped from my body, and smeared with mud, my hands and face were torn and my knees were a mass of bruises. chapter ix among the cannibal mangeromas i have a vague recollection of hearing the barking of dogs, of changing my crawling direction to head for the sound, and then, suddenly, seeing in front of me a sight which had the same effect as a rescuing steamer on the shipwrecked. to my confused vision it seemed that i saw many men and women and children, and a large, round house; i saw parrots fly across the open space in brilliant, flashing plumage and heard their shrill screaming. i cried aloud and fell forward when a little curly-haired dog jumped up and commenced licking my face, and then i knew no more. when i came to i was lying in a comfortable hammock in a large, dark room. i heard the murmur of many voices and presently a man came over and looked at me. i did not understand where i was, but thought that i, finally, had gone mad. i fell asleep again. the next time i woke up i saw an old woman leaning over me and holding in her hand a gourd containing some chicken-broth which i swallowed slowly, not feeling the cravings of hunger, in fact not knowing whether i was dead or alive. the old woman had a peculiar piece of wood through her lip and looked very unreal to me, and i soon fell asleep again. on the fifth day, so i learned later, i began to feel my senses return, my fever commenced to abate, and i was able to grasp the fact that i had crawled into the _maloca_, or communal village, of the mangeromas. i was as weak as a kitten, and, indeed, it has been a marvel to me ever since that i succeeded at all in coming out of the shadow. the savages, by tender care, with strengthening drinks prepared in their own primitive method, wrought the miracle, and returned to life a man who was as near death as any one could be, and not complete the transition. they fed me at regular intervals, thus checking my sickness, and when i could make out their meaning, i understood that i could stay with them as long as i desired. luckily i had kept my spectacles on my nose (they were the kind that fasten back of the ears) during the previous hardships, and i found these sticking in their position when i awoke. my khaki coat was on the ground under my hammock, and the first thing was to ascertain if the precious contents of its large pockets had been disturbed, but i found everything safe. the exposed plates were there in their closed boxes, the gold dust was also there and mocked me with its yellow glare, and my hypodermic outfit was intact and was used without delay, much to the astonishment of some of the men, standing around my hammock. when my head was clear and strong enough to raise, i turned and began my first visual exploration of my immediate surroundings. the big room i found to be a colossal house, forty feet high and one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, thatched with palm-leaves and with sides formed of the stems of the _pachiuba_ tree. it was the communal residence of this entire tribe, consisting, as i learned later, of two hundred and fifty-eight souls. a single door and a circular opening in the roof were the only apertures of this enormous structure. the door was very low, not more than four feet, so that it was necessary to creep on one's knees to enter the place, and this opening was closed at night, that is to say, about six o'clock, by a sliding door which fitted so snugly that i never noticed any mosquitoes or _piums_ in the dark, cool room. the next day i could get out of my hammock, though i could not stand or walk without the aid of two women, who took me over to a man i later found to be the chief of the tribe. he was well-fed, and by his elaborate dress was distinguished from the rest of the men. he had a very pleasant, good-natured smile, and almost constantly displayed a row of white, sharp-filed teeth. this smile gave me some confidence, but i very well knew that i was now living among cannibal indians, whose reputation in this part of the amazon is anything but flattering. i prepared for the new ordeal without any special fear--my feelings seemed by this time to have been pretty well exhausted and any appreciation of actual danger was considerably reduced as a result of the gamut of the terrors which i had run. i addressed the chief in the portuguese language, which i had learned during my stay at floresta headquarters, and also in spanish but he only shook his head; all my efforts were useless. he let me know in a friendly manner that my hammock was to be my resting-place and that i would not be molested. his tribe was one that occupied an almost unknown region and had no connection with white men or brazilians or people near the river. i tried in the course of the mimical conversation to make him understand that, with six companions from a big chief's _maloca_ (meaning coronel da silva and the floresta headquarters), i had penetrated into the woods near this mighty chief's _maloca_,--here i pointed at the chief--that the men had died from fever and i was left alone and that luckily, i had found my way to the free men of the forest (here i made a sweeping movement with my hands). he nodded and the audience was over. i was led back to my hammock to dream and eat, and dream again. although the chief and his men presented an appearance wholly unknown to me, yet it did not seem to distract me at the first glance, but as my faculties slowly returned to their former activity, i looked at them and found them very strange figures, indeed. every man had two feathers inserted in the cartilage of his nose; at some distance it appeared as if they wore moustaches. besides this, the chief had a sort of feather-dress reaching half way down to his knees; this was simply a quantity of _mutum_ feathers tied together as a girdle by means of plant-fibres. the women wore no clothing whatever, their only ornamentation being the oval wooden piece in the lower lip and fancifully arranged designs on face, arms, and body. the colours which they preferred were scarlet and black, and they procured these dyes from two plants that grew in the forest near by. they would squeeze the pulp of the fruits and apply the rich-coloured juice with their fingers, forming one scarlet ring around each eye, outside of this a black and larger ring, and, finally, two scarlet bands reaching from the temples to the chin. there were probably sixty-five families in this communal hut, all having their little households scattered throughout the place without any separating partitions whatever. the many poles which supported the roof formed the only way of distinguishing the individual households. the men strung their hammocks between the poles in such a way that they formed a triangle, and in the middle of this a fire was always going. here the women were doing the cooking of game that the men brought in at all times of the day. the men slept in the hammocks, while the women were treated less cavalierly; they slept with their children on the ground under the hammocks around the little family triangle. as a rule they had woven mats made of grass-fibre and coloured with the juices of the _urucu_ plant and the _genipapa_, but in many instances they had skins of jaguars, and, which was more frequent, the furs of the three-toed sloths. these were placed around the family fire, directly under the hammocks occupied by the men. in these hammocks the men did most of the repair work on their bows and arrows when necessary, here they fitted the arrow heads to the shafts, in fact, they spent all their time in them when not actually hunting in the forests. the hospitality of my friends proved unbounded. the chief appointed two young girls to care for me, and though they were not startling from any point of view, especially when remembering their labial ornaments and their early developed abdominal hypertrophies, they were as kind as any one could have been, watching me when i tried to walk and supporting me when i became too weak. there was a certain broth they prepared, which was delicious, but there were others which were nauseating and which i had to force myself to eat. i soon learned that it was impolite to refuse any dish that was put in front of me, no matter how repugnant. one day the chief ordered me to come over to his family triangle and have dinner with him. the meal consisted of some very tender fried fish which were really delicious; then followed three broiled parrots with fried bananas which were equally good; but then came a soup which i could not swallow. the first mouthful almost choked me,--the meat which was one of the ingredients tasted and smelled as if it had been kept for weeks, the herbs which were used were so bitter and gave out such a rank odour that my mouth puckered and the muscles of my throat refused to swallow. the chief looked at me and frowned, and then i remembered the forest from which i had lately arrived and the starvation and the terrors; i closed my eyes and swallowed the dish, seeking what mental relief i could find in the so-called auto-suggestion. but i had the greatest respect for the impulsive, unreasoning nature of these sons of the forest. easily insulted, they are well-nigh implacable. this incident shows upon what a slender thread my life hung. the friends of one moment might become vindictive foes of the next. besides the head-chief there were two sub-chiefs, so that in case of sickness or death there would be always one regent. they were plainly distinguished by their dress, which consisted mainly of fancifully arranged feather belts of _arara_, _mutum_, and trumpeter plumes covering the shoulders and abdomen. these articles of dress were made by young women of the tribe: women who wanted to become favourites of the chief and sub-chiefs. they often worked for months on a feather dress and when finished presented it to the particular chief whose favour they desired. the chiefs had several wives, but the tribesmen were never allowed to take more than one. whenever a particularly pretty girl desired to join the household of the great chief or of a sub-chief, she set to work and for months and months she made necklaces of alligator teeth, peccary teeth, and finely carved ivory nuts and coloured pieces of wood. she also would weave some elaborate hammock and fringe this with the bushy tails of the squirrels and the forest-cats, and when these articles were done, she would present them to the chief, who, in return for these favours, would bestow upon her the great honour of accepting her as a wife. there seemed to be few maladies among these people; in fact, during the five weeks i spent with them, i never saw a case of fever nor of anything else. when a person died the body was carried far into the woods, where a fire was built, and it was cremated. the party would then leave in a hurry and never return to the same spot; they were afraid of the spirit of the dead. they told me that they could hear the spirit far off in the forests at night when the moon was shining. the men were good hunters and were experts in the use of bow and arrow and also the blow-gun, and never failed to bring home a fresh supply of game for the village. this supply was always divided equally, so that no one should receive more than he needed for the day. at first glance the men might appear lazy, but why should they hurry and worry when they have no landlord, and no grocer's bills to pay; in fact, the value of money is entirely unknown to them. i was allowed to walk around as i pleased, everybody showing me a kindness for which i shall ever gratefully remember these "savages." i frequently spent my forenoons on a tree trunk outside the _maloca_ with the chief, who took a particular interest in my welfare. we would sit for hours and talk, he sometimes pointing at an object and giving its indian name, which i would repeat until i got the right pronunciation. thus, gradually instructed, and by watching the men and women as they came and went, day after day, i was able to understand some of their language and learned to answer questions fairly well. they never laughed at my mistakes, but repeated a word until i had it right. the word of the chief was law and no one dared appeal from the decisions of this man. in fact, there would have been nobody to appeal to, for the natives believed him vested with mysterious power which made him the ruler of men. i once had occasion to see him use the power which had been given him. i had accompanied two young indians, one of whom was the man we had met in the forest on our return trip not far from that fatal _tambo_ no. . his name, at least as it sounded to me, was reré. they carried bows and arrows and i my automatic pistol, although i had no great intention of using it. what little ammunition i had left i desired to keep for an emergency and, besides, i reasoned that i might, at some future time, be able to use the power and noise of the weapon to good advantage if i kept the indians ignorant of them for the present. we had scarcely gone a mile, when we discovered on the opposite side of a creek, about one hundred and fifty yards away, a wild hog rooting for food. we were on a slight elevation ourselves and under cover of the brush, while the hog was exposed to view on the next knoll. almost simultaneously my companions fitted arrows to their bow-strings. instead of shooting point blank, manipulating the bows with their hands and arms, they placed their great and second toes on the cords on the ground, and with their left arms gave the proper tension and inclination to the bows which were at least eight feet long. with a whirr the poisoned arrows shot forth and, while the cords still twanged, sailed gracefully through the air, describing a hyperbola, fell with a speed that made them almost invisible, and plunged into the animal on each side of his neck a little back from the base of the brain. the hog dropped in his tracks, and i doubt if he could have lived even though the arrows had not been poisoned. tying his feet together with plant-fibres we slung the body over a heavy pole and carried it to the _maloca_. all the way the two fellows disputed as to who was the owner of the hog, and from time to time they put the carcass on the ground to gesticulate and argue. i thought they would come to blows. when they appealed to me i declared that the arrows had sped so rapidly that my eyes could not follow them and therefore could not tell which arrow had found its mark first. a few yards from the house my friends fell to arguing again, and a crowd collected about them, cheering first the one then the other. my suggestion that the game be divided was rejected as showing very poor judgment. finally, the dispute grew to such proportions that the chief sent a messenger to learn the cause of the trouble and report it to him. the emissary retired and the crowd immediately began to disperse and the combatants quieted. the messenger soon returned saying that the great chief would judge the case and ordered the men to enter the _maloca_. with some difficulty the hog was dragged through the door opening and all the inhabitants crawled in after. the chief was decked out in a new and splendid feather dress, his face had received a fresh coat of paint (in fact, the shells of the _urucu_ plant with which he coloured his face and body scarlet were still lying under his hammock), and his nose was supplied with a new set of _mutum_ feathers. he was sitting in his hammock which was made of fine, braided, multi-coloured grass-fibres and was fringed with numerous squirrel tails. the whole picture was one which impressed me as being weirdly fantastic and extremely picturesque, the reddish, flickering light from the fires adding a mystic colour to the scene. on the opposite side of the fire from where the chief was sitting lay the body of the hog, and at each end of the carcass stood the two hunters, straight as saplings, gazing stolidly ahead. in a semi-circle, facing the chief and surrounding the disputants, was the tribe, squatting on the ground. the chief motioned to me to seat myself on the ground alongside of the hammock where he was sitting. the men told their story, now and then looking to me for an affirmative nod of the head. after having listened to the argument of the hunters for a considerable time without uttering a syllable, and regarding the crowd with a steady, unblinking expression, with a trace of a satirical smile around the corners of his mouth, which suited him admirably, the chief finally spoke. he said, "the hog is mine.--go!" the matter was ended with this wise judgment, and there seemed to be no disposition to grumble or re-appeal to the great authority. my life among the mangeromas was, for the greater part, free from adventure, at least as compared with former experiences, and yet i was more than once within an inch of meeting death. in fact, i think that i looked more squarely in the eyes of death in that peaceful little community than ever i did out in the wilds of the jungle or in my most perilous adventures. the creek that ran near the _maloca_ supplied the indians with what water they needed for drinking purposes. besides this the creek gave them an abundant supply of fish, a dish that made its appearance at every meal. whatever washing was to be done--the natives took a bath at least twice a day--was done at some distance down the creek so as not to spoil the water for drinking and culinary purposes. whenever i was thirsty i was in the habit of stooping down at the water's edge to scoop the fluid up in my curved hands. one morning i had been tramping through the jungle with two companions who were in search of game, and i was very tired and hot when we came to a little stream which i took to be the same that ran past the _maloca_. my friends were at a short distance from me, beating their way through the underbrush, when i stooped to quench my thirst. the cool water looked to me like the very elixir of life. at that moment, literally speaking, i was only two inches from death. hearing a sharp cry behind me i turned slightly to feel a rough hand upon my shoulders and found myself flung backwards on the ground. "poison," was the reply to my angry question. then my friend explained, and as he talked my knees wobbled and i turned pale. it seems that the mangeromas often poison the streams below the drinking places in order to get rid of their enemies. in the present case there had been a rumour that a party of peruvian rubber-workers might be coming up the creek, and this is always a signal of trouble among these indians. although you cannot induce a brazilian to go into the indian settlements or _malocas_, the peruvians are more than willing to go there, because of the chance of abducting girls. to accomplish this, a few peruvians sneak close to the _maloca_ at night, force the door, which is always bolted to keep out the evil spirit, but which without difficulty can be cut open, and fire a volley of shots into the hut. the indians sleep with the blow-guns and arrows suspended from the rafters, and before they can collect their sleepy senses and procure the weapons the peruvians, in the general confusion, have carried off some of the girls. the mangeromas, therefore, hate the peruvians and will go to any extreme to compass their death. the poisoning of the rivers is effected by the root of a plant that is found throughout the amazon valley; the plant belongs to the genus _lonchocarpus_ and bears a small cluster of bluish blossoms which produce a pod about two inches in length. it is only the yellow roots that are used for poisoning the water. this is done by crushing the roots and throwing the pulp into the stream, when all animal life will be killed or driven away. it seems strange that during my stay among the mangeromas, who were heathens and even cannibals, i saw no signs of idolatry. they believed implicitly in a good and an evil spirit. the good spirit was too good to do them any harm and consequently they did not bother with him; but the evil spirit was more active and could be heard in the dark nights, howling and wailing far off in the forest as he searched for lonely wanderers, whom he was said to devour. thinking to amuse some of my friends, i one day kindled a flame by means of my magnifying glass and a few dry twigs. a group of ten or twelve indians had gathered squatting in a circle about me, to see the wonder that i was to exhibit, but at the sight of smoke followed by flame they were badly scared and ran for the house, where they called the chief. he arrived on the scene with his usual smile. he asked me to show him what i had done. i applied the focussed rays of the sun to some more dry leaves and twigs and, finally, the flames broke out again. the chief was delighted and begged me to make him a present of the magnifier. as i did not dare to refuse, i showed him how to use it and then presented it with as good grace as i could. some time after this, i learned that two peruvians had been caught in a trap set for the purpose. the unfortunate men had spent a whole night in a pit, nine feet deep, and were discovered the next forenoon by a party of hunters, who immediately killed them with unpoisoned, big-game arrows. in contrast to the north-american indians they never torture captives, but kill them as quickly as possible. i had plenty of opportunity to investigate the different kinds of traps used by the mangeromas for catching peruvian _caboclos_ or half-breeds. first of all in importance is the pit-trap, into which the aforesaid men had fallen. it is simple but ingenious in its arrangement. a hole about nine feet deep and eight feet wide is dug in the ground at a place where the _caboclos_ are liable to come. a cover is laid across this and cleverly disguised with dead leaves and branches so as to exactly resemble the surrounding soil. this cover is constructed of branches placed parallel, and is slightly smaller than the diameter of the pit. it is balanced on a stick, tied across the middle in such a manner that the slightest weight on any part will cause it to turn over and precipitate the object into the pit whence egress is impossible. besides this, the walls of the pit are inclined, the widest part being at the bottom, and they gradually slope inward till the level of the ground is reached. when the victim is discovered he is quickly killed, as in the case noted above. the second trap, which i had an opportunity to investigate, is the so-called _araya_ trap. it is merely a small piece of ground thickly set with the barbed bones of the sting-ray. these bones are slightly touched with wourahli poison and, concealed as they are under dead leaves, they inflict severe wounds on the bare feet of the _caboclos_, and death follows within a short period. the third trap, and the most ingenious of all, is the blow-gun trap. one day the sub-chief, a tall, gloomy-looking fellow, took me to one of these traps and explained everything, till i had obtained a thorough knowledge of the complicated apparatus. the blow-gun of these indians is supplied with a wide mouth-piece and requires but slight air pressure to shoot the arrow at a considerable speed. in the trap one is placed horizontally so as to point at a right angle to the path leading to the _maloca_. at the "breech" of the gun is a young sapling, severed five feet above the ground. to this is tied a broad and straight bark-strip which, when the sapling is in its normal vertical position, completely covers the mouth-piece. the gun was not loaded on this occasion, as it had been accidentally discharged the day before. to set the trap, a long, thin, and pliable climber, which in these forests is so plentiful, is attached to the end of the severed sapling, when this is bent to its extreme position and is then led over branches, serving as pulleys, right across the path and directly in front of the mouth of the blow-gun and is tied to some small root covered with leaves. when the _caboclo_ passes along this path at night to raid the indian _maloca,_ he must sever this thin bushrope or climber, thereby releasing suddenly the tension of the sapling. the bark-flap is drawn quickly up against the mouth-piece with a slap that forces sufficient air into the gun to eject the arrow. all this takes place in a fraction of a second; a slight flapping sound is heard and the arrow lodges in the skin of the unfortunate _caboclo_. he can never walk more than twenty yards, for the poison rapidly paralyses his limbs. death follows in less than ten minutes. the bodies of these captured _caboclos_ are soon found by the "police warriors" of the tribe and carried to the _maloca_. on such occasions a day of feasting always follows and an obscure religious rite is performed. it is true that the mangeromas are cannibals, but at the same time their habits and morals are otherwise remarkably clean. without their good care and excellent treatment, i have no doubt i would now be with my brave companions out in that dark, green jungle. but to return to my story of the two peruvians caught in the pit-trap: the warriors cut off the hands and feet of both corpses, pulled the big game arrows out of the bodies, and had an audience with the chief. he seemed to be well satisfied, but spoke little, just nodding his head and smiling. shortly after the village prepared for a grand feast. the fires were rebuilt, the pots and jars were cleaned, and a scene followed which to me was frightful. had it not happened, i should always have believed this little world out in the wild forest an ideal, pure, and morally clean community. but now i could only hasten to my hammock and simulate sleep, for i well knew, from previous experience, that otherwise i would have to partake of the meal in preparation: a horrible meal of human flesh! it was enough for me to see them strip the flesh from the palms of the hands and the soles of the feet and fry these delicacies in the lard of tapir i hoped to see no more. an awful thought coursed through my brain when i beheld the men bend eagerly over the pans to see if the meat were done. how long would it be, i said to myself, before they would forget themselves and place my own extremities in the same pots and pans. such a possibility was not pleasant to contemplate, but as i had found the word of these indians to be always good, i believed i was safe. they were never false and they hated falsehood. true, they were cunning, but once their friend always their friend, through thick and thin. and the chief had promised that i should not be eaten, either fried or stewed! therefore i slept in peace. i had long desired to see the hunters prepare the mysterious wourahli poison, which acts so quickly and painlessly, and which allows the game killed by it to be eaten without interfering with the nutritive qualities. only three men in this village understood the proper mixing of the ingredients, although everybody knew the two plants from which the poisonous juices were obtained. one of these is a vine that grows close to the creeks. the stem is about two inches in diameter and covered with a rough greyish bark. it yields several round fruits, shaped like an apple, containing seeds imbedded in a very bitter pulp. the other is also a vine and bears small bluish flowers, but it is only the roots of this that are used. these are crushed and steeped in water for several days. the three men in our village who understood the concoction of this poison collected the plants themselves once a month. when they returned from their expedition they set to work at once scraping the first named vine into fine shavings and mixing these in an earthen jar with the crushed pulp of the roots of the second plant. the pot is then placed over a fire and kept simmering for several hours. at this stage the shavings are removed and thrown away as useless and several large black ants, the _tucandeiras_, are added. this is the ant whose bite is not only painful but absolutely dangerous to man. the concoction is kept boiling slowly until the next morning, when it has assumed a thick consistency of a brown colour and very bitter to the taste. the poison is then tried on some arrows and if it comes up to the standard it is placed in a small earthen jar which is covered with a piece of animal skin and it is ready for use. the arrows, which are from ten to twelve inches long, are made from the stalks of a certain palm-leaf, the jacy palm. they are absolutely straight and true; in fact, they resemble very much a lady's hat-pin. when the gun is to be used, a piece of cotton is wound around the end of an arrow and the other end or point inserted first in the barrel, the cotton acting as a piston by means of which the air forces the shaft through the tube. the men always carry a small rubber-pouch containing a few drams of the poison; the pouch was worn strapped to the waist on the left side, when on their hunting excursions, and they were extremely careful in handling it and the arrows. the slightest scratch with the poison would cause a quick and sure death. i was so far recuperated by this time that i thought of returning to civilisation, and i, accordingly, broached the subject to the chief, who answered me very kindly, promising that he would send me by the next full-moon, with some of the wourahli men, down to the branco river, and from there they would guide me within a safe distance of the rubber-estate, situated at the junction with the itecoahy. one day i was informed that a friendly call on a neighbouring tribe was being contemplated and that i could accompany the chief and his men. at last the time arrived and the expedition was organised. i was not absolutely sure how i would be treated by these up-stream indians, and i am almost ashamed to confess that, in spite of all the faithful, unswerving friendship which the mangeromas had shown me, i had it in my mind that these other indians might harm me, so black was the name that people down at the settlements had given them. until this time, as related above, i had thought best not to exhibit the character of my automatic pistol, and i had never used it here, but before i started on this journey i decided to give them an example of its power, and possibly awe them. inviting the chief and all the tribe to witness my experiment, i explained to them that this little weapon would make a great noise and bore a hole through a thick tree. the chief examined it gingerly after i had locked the trigger mechanism. he had heard of such arms, he said, but thought that they were much larger and heavier. this one, he thought, must be a baby and he was inclined to doubt its power. selecting an "assai" palm of about nine inches diameter, across the creek, i took steady aim and fired four bullets. three of the bullets went through the same hole and the fourth pierced the trunk of the palm about two inches higher. the chief and his men hurried across the creek and examined the holes which caused then to discuss the affair for more than an hour. the empty shells which had been ejected from the magazine were picked up by two young girls who fastened them in their ears with wire-like fibres, whereupon a dozen other women surrounded me, beseeching me to give them also cartridge-shells. i discharged more than a dozen bullets, to please these children of the forest, who were as completely the slaves of fashion as are their sisters of more civilised lands. early the next morning we started up the river. in one canoe the chief and i sat on jaguar skins, while two men paddled. in another canoe were four men armed with bows and arrows and blow-guns, and a fifth who acted in the capacity of "wireless operator." the system of signalling which he employed was by far the most ingenious device i saw while in brazil, and considering their resources and their low state of culture the affair was little short of marvellous. before the canoes were launched, a man fastened two upright forked sticks on each side of one, near the middle. about three and a half feet astern of these a cross-piece was laid on the bottom of the craft. to this was attached two shorter forked sticks. between each pair of upright forked sticks was placed another cross-piece, thus forming two horizontal bars, parallel to each other, one only a few inches from the bottom of the boat and the other about a foot and a half above the gunwales. next, four slabs of caripari wood of varying thickness, about three feet long and eight inches wide, were suspended from these horizontal bars, so as to hang length-wise of the canoe and at an angle of forty-five degrees. each pair of slabs was perforated by a longitudinal slit and they were joined firmly at their extremities by finely carved and richly painted end-pieces. the operator strikes the slabs with a wooden mallet or hammer, the head of which is wrapped with an inch layer of caoutchouc and then with a cover of thick tapir-skin. each section of the wooden slabs gives forth a different note when struck, a penetrating, xylophonic, tone but devoid of the disagreeably metallic, disharmonic bysounds of that instrument. the slabs of wood were suspended by means of thin fibre-cords from the crosspieces, and in this manner all absorption by the adjacent material was done away with. by means of many different combinations of the four notes obtained which, as far as i could ascertain, were _do--re--mi--fa_, the operator was able to send any message to a person who understood this code. the operator seized one mallet with each hand and gave the thickest section, the _do_ slat, a blow, followed by a blow with the left hand mallet on the _re_ slat; a blow on the _mi_ slat and on the _fa_ slat followed in quick succession. these four notes, given rapidly and repeated several times, represented the tuning up of the "wireless," calculated to catch the attention of the operator at the _maloca_ up-creek. the sound was very powerful, but rather pleasant, and made the still forest resound with a musical echo. he repeated this tuning process several times, but received no answer and we proceeded for a mile. then we stopped and signalled again. very faintly came a reply from some invisible source. i learned afterwards that at this time we were at least five miles from the answering station. as soon as communication was thus established the first message was sent through the air, and it was a moment of extreme suspense for me when the powerful notes vibrated through the depth of the forest. i shall never forget this message, not only because it was ethnographically interesting, but because so much of my happiness depended upon a favourable reply. i made the operator repeat it for my benefit when we later returned to our village, and i learned it by heart by whistling it. when printed it looks like this: after each message the operator explained its meaning. the purport of this first message was so important to me that i awaited the translation with much the same feelings that a prisoner listens for the verdict of the jury when it files back into the court-room. questions and answers now came in rapid succession. "a white man is coming with us; he seems to have a good heart, and to be of good character." whereupon the deciding answer was translated: "you are all welcome provided you place your arms in the bottom of the canoe." next message: "we ask you to place your arms in the _maloca_; we are friends." after the last message we paddled briskly ahead, and at the end of one hour's work we made a turn of the creek and saw a large open space where probably five hundred indians had assembled outside of two round _malocas_, constructed like ours. how much i now regretted leaving my precious camera out in the forest, but that was a thing of the past and the loss could not be repaired. the view that presented itself to my eyes was a splendid and rare one for a civilised man to see. the crowd standing on the banks had never seen a white man before; how would they greet me? little dogs barked, large scarlet _araras_ screamed in the tree-tops, and the little children hid themselves behind their equally fearful mothers. the tribal chief, a big fellow, decorated with squirrel tails and feathers of the _mutum_ bird around, his waist and with the tail feathers of the scarlet and blue _arara_-parrot adorning his handsome head, stood in front with his arms folded. we landed and the operator dismantled his musical apparatus and laid it carefully in the bottom of the canoe. the two chiefs embraced each other, at the same time uttering their welcome greeting "_he--he_." i was greeted in the same cordial manner and we all entered the chief's _maloca_ in a long procession. here in the village of the kindred tribe we stayed for two days, enjoying unlimited hospitality and kindness. most of the time was spent eating, walking around the _malocas_, looking at dugouts, and at the farinha plants. on the third day we went back to our _maloca_ where i prepared for my return trip to civilisation. it was now the beginning of october. i would, finally, have recorded many words of the mangeroma language had not my pencil given out after i had been there a month. the pencil was an "ink-pencil," that is, a pencil with a solid "lead" of bluish colour, very soft, sometimes called "indelible pencil." this lead became brittle from the moisture of the air and broke into fragments so that i could do nothing with it, and my recording was at an end. fortunately i had made memoranda covering the life and customs before this. chapter x the fight between the mangeromas and the peruvians i was sitting outside the _maloca_ writing my observations in the note-book which i always carried in my hunting-coat, when two young hunters hurried toward the chief, who was reclining in the shade of a banana-tree near the other end of the large house. it was early afternoon, when most of the men of the mangeromas were off hunting in the near-by forests, while the women and children attended to various duties around the village. probably not more than eight or ten men remained about the _maloca_. i had recovered from my sickness and was not entirely devoid of a desire for excitement--the best tonic of the explorer. the two young hunters with bows and arrows halted before the chief. they were gesticulating wildly; and although i could not understand what they were talking about, i judged from the frown of the chief that something serious was the matter. he arose with unusual agility for a man of his size, and shouted something toward the opening of the _maloca_, whence the men were soon seen coming with leaps and bounds. anticipating trouble, i also ran over to the chief, and, in my defective mangeroma lingo, inquired the cause of the excitement. he did not answer me, but, in a greater state of agitation than i had previously observed in him, he gave orders to his men. he called the "wireless" operator and commanded him to bring out his precious apparatus. this was soon fastened to the gunwales of the canoe where i had seen it used before, on my trip to the neighbouring tribe, and soon the same powerful, xylophonic sounds vibrated through the forest. it was his intention to summon the hunters that were still roaming around the vicinity, by this "c.q.d." message. the message i could not interpret nor repeat, although it was not nearly as complex as the one i had learned before. after a while, the men came streaming into the _maloca_ from all directions, with anxiety darkening their faces. i had now my first inkling of what was the cause of the commotion, and it did not take me long to understand that we were in danger from some peruvian _caboclos_. the two young men who had brought the news to the chief had spied a detachment of peruvian half-breeds as they were camping in our old _tambo_ no. , the one we had built on our sixth day out from floresta. there were about a score of them, all ugly _caboclos_, or half-breed _caucheros_, hunting rubber and no doubt out also for prey in the shape of young mangeroma girls, as was their custom. the traps set by the indians, as described in a previous chapter, would be of no avail in this case, as the number of peruvians was greater than in any previous experience. the enemy had been observed more than ten miles off, in an easterly direction, when our two hunters were on the trail of a large herd of peccaries, or wild boars, they had sighted in the early morning. the peruvians were believed to be heading for the _maloca_ of the mangeromas, as there were no other settlements in this region excepting the up-creek tribe, but this numbered at least five hundred souls, and would be no easy prey for them. i now had a remarkable opportunity to watch the war preparations of these savage, cannibal people, my friends, the mangeromas. their army consisted of twelve able-bodied men, all fine muscular fellows, about five feet ten in height, and bearing an array of vicious-looking weapons such as few white men have seen. first of all were three club-men, armed with strong, slender clubs, of hard and extremely tough caripari wood. the handle, which was very slim, was provided with a knob at the end to prevent the club from slipping out of the hand when in action. the heavy end was furnished with six bicuspid teeth of the black jaguar, embedded in the wood and projecting about two inches beyond the surface. the club had a total length of five feet and weighed about eight pounds. the second division of the wild-looking band consisted of three spear-men, each provided with the three-pronged spears, a horrible weapon which always proves fatal in the hands of these savages. it is a long straight shaft of caripari wood, about one inch in thickness, divided into three parts at the end, each division being tipped with a barbed bone of the sting-ray. these bones, about three and a half inches long, were smeared with wourahli poison, and thus rendered absolutely fatal even when inflicting only a superficial wound. each man carried two of these spears, the points being protected by grass-sheaths. the third division was composed of three bow-and-arrow men, the youngest men in the tribe, boys of sixteen and seventeen. they were armed with bows of great length, from six to seven feet, and each bore, at his left side, a quiver, containing a dozen big-game arrows fully five feet long. these arrows, as far as i could ascertain, were not poisoned, but their shock-giving and rending powers were extraordinary. the arrow-heads were all made of the bones of the sting-ray, in themselves formidable weapons, because of the many jagged barbs that prevent extraction from a wound except by the use of great force, resulting in ugly laceration. the fourth and last division consisted of three blow-gun men, the most effective and cunning of this deadly and imposing array. as so much depended upon the success of a first attack on the peruvians, who not only outnumbered us, but also were armed with winchesters, the blow-guns were in the hands of the older and more experienced men. all, except the club-men, wore, around the waist, girdles fringed with _mutum_ plumes, and the captains added, to their uniforms multi-coloured fringes of squirrel tails. their faces all had the usual scarlet and black stripes. the chief, and his principal aide, or sub-chief, had on their gayest feathers, including head ornaments of _arara_ plumes and egrets. the club-men were naked, except for their head-gear, which consisted simply of a band of _mutum_ plumes. when the warriors stood together in their costumes, ready for battle, they presented an awe-inspiring sight. the chief gave the order for the bow-and-arrow men to start in single file, the others to follow after, in close succession. the chief and i fell in at the rear. in the meantime i had examined my luger automatic pistol to make sure of the smooth action of the mechanism, and found besides that i had in all thirty-seven soft-nose bullets. this was my only weapon, but previous narrow escapes from death and many close contacts with danger had hardened me, so i was willing to depend entirely upon my pistol. the women and children of the _maloca_ stood around, as we disappeared in the jungle, and, while they showed some interest in the proceeding, they displayed little or no emotion. a couple of sweethearts exchanged kisses as composedly as if they had been bluecoats parting with the ladies of their choice before going to the annual parade. soon we were in the dark, dense jungle that i was now so well acquainted with, and, strange to say, the green and tangled mass of vegetation contained more terrors for me than the bloody combat that was to follow. for an hour we travelled in a straight line, pushing our way as noiselessly as possible through the thick mass of creepers and lianas. about three o'clock, one of the scouts sighted the peruvians, and our chief decided that an attack should be made as soon as possible, before darkness could set in. we stopped and sent out two bow-and-arrow men to reconnoitre. an anxious half hour passed before one of them returned with the report that the peruvians were now coming towards us and would probably reach our position in a few minutes. i could almost hear my heart thump; my knees grew weak, and for a moment i almost wished that i had stayed in the _maloca_. the chief immediately directed certain strategic movements which, in ingenuity and foresight, would have been worthy of a napoleon. we were between two low hills, covered with the usual dense vegetation, which made it impossible to see an advancing enemy at a distance of more than five yards. the three blow-gun men were now ordered to ascend the hills on each side of the valley and conceal themselves about half-way up the slopes, and towards the enemy. they were to insert the poisoned arrows in their guns and draw a bead on the peruvians as they came on cutting their way through the underbrush. the bow-and-arrow men posted themselves farther on about five yards behind the blow-gun men, with big-game arrows fitted to the bowstrings, ready to shoot when the first volley of the deadly and silent poisoned arrows had been fired. farther back were the spear-men with spears unsheathed, and finally came the three brave and ferocious club-men. of these last warriors, a tall athlete was visibly nervous, not from fear but from anticipation. the veins of his forehead stood out, pulsating with every throb of his heart. he clutched the heavy club and continually gritted his white, sharp-filed teeth in concentrated rage. it was wisely calculated that the peruvians would unconsciously wedge themselves into this trap, and by the time they could realise their danger their return would be cut off by our bow-and-arrow men in their rear. after a pause that seemed an eternity to most of us no doubt, for the savage heart beats as the white man's in time of danger and action, we heard the talking and shouting of the enemy as they advanced, following the natural and easiest route between the hills and cutting their way through the brush. i stood near the chief and the young club-man arara, who, on account of his bravery and great ability in handling his club, had been detailed to remain near us. before i could see any of the approaching foe, i heard great shouts of anger and pain from them. it was easy for me to understand their cries as they spoke spanish and their cursings sounded loud through the forest. the blow-gun men, perceiving the peruvians at the foot of the hill only some twenty feet away, had prudently waited until at least half a dozen were visible, before they fired a volley of poisoned arrows. the three arrows fired in this first volley all hit their mark. hardly had they gone forth, when other arrows were dexterously inserted in the tubes. the work of the blow-gun men was soon restricted to the picking out of any stray enemy, their long, delicate, and cumbersome blow-guns preventing them from taking an active part in the mêlée. now the conflict was at its height and it was a most remarkable one, on account of its swiftness and fierceness. the bow-and-arrow men charging with their sting-ray arrows poisoned with the wourahli took the place of the cautiously retreating blow-gun men. at the same instant the spear-men rushed down, dashing through the underbrush at the foot of the hill, like breakers on a stormy night. the rear-guard of the peruvians now came into action, having had a chance to view the situation. several of them filed to the right and managed to fire their large-calibre bullets into the backs of our charging bow-and-arrow men, but, in their turn, they were picked off by the blow-gun men, who kept firing their poisoned darts from a safe distance. the fearful yells of our men, mingled with the cursing of the peruvians, and the sharp reports of their heavy rifles, so plainly heard, proved that the centre of battle was not many yards from the spot where i was standing. the club-men now broke into action; they could not be kept back any longer. the tension had already been too painful for these brave fellows, and with fierce war-cries of "_yob--hee--hee_" they launched themselves into the fight, swinging their strong clubs above their heads and crashing skulls from left to right. by this time the peruvians had lost many men, but the slaughter went on. the huge black clubs of the mangeromas fell again and again, with sickening thuds, piercing the heads and brains of the enemy with the pointed jaguar teeth. suddenly two peruvians came into view not more than twelve feet from where the chief, arara the big club-man, and i were standing. one of these was a spaniard, evidently the captain of this band of marauders (or, to use their correct name, _caucheros_). his face was of a sickly, yellowish hue, and a big, black moustache hid the lower part of his cruel and narrow chin. he took a quick aim as he saw us in his path, but before he could pull the trigger, arara, with a mighty side-swing of his club literally tore the spaniard's head off. now, at last, the bonds of restraint were broken for this handsome devil arara, and yelling himself hoarse, and with his strong but cruel face contracted to a fiendish grin, he charged the enemy; i saw him crush the life out of three. the chief took no active part in the fight whatever, but added to the excitement by bellowing with all his might an encouraging "_aa--oo--ah_." no doubt, this had a highly beneficial effect upon the tribesmen, for they never for an instant ceased their furious fighting until the last peruvian was killed. during the final moments of the battle, several bullets whirred by me at close range, but during the whole affair i had had neither opportunity nor necessity for using my pistol. now, however, a _caboclo_, with a large, bloody machete in his hand, sprang from behind a tree and made straight for me. i dodged behind another tree and saw how the branches were swept aside as he rushed towards me. then i fired point-blank, sending three bullets into his head. he fell on his face at my feet. as i bent over him, i saw that he had a blow-gun arrow in his left thigh; he was therefore a doomed man before he attacked me. this was my first and only victim, during this brief but horrible slaughter. as i was already thoroughly sick from the noise of cracking rifles and the thumping of clubs smashing their way into the brains of the peruvians, i rushed toward the centre of the valley where the first attack on the advance guard of the enemy had taken place, but even more revolting was the sight that revealed itself. here and there bushes were shaking as some _caboclo_ crawled along on all fours in his death agony. those who were struck by the blow-gun arrows seemed simply to fall asleep without much pain or struggle, but the victims of the club-men and the bow-and-arrow men had a terrible death. they could not die by the merciful wourahli poison, like those shot by the blow-gun, but expired from hemorrhages caused by the injuries of the ruder weapons. one poor fellow was groaning most pitifully. he had received a well-directed big-game arrow in the upper part of the abdomen, the arrow having been shot with such terrible force that about a foot of the shaft projected from the man's back. the arrow-head had been broken off by striking a vertebra. the battle was over. soon the _urubus_, or vultures, were hanging over the tree-tops waiting for their share of the spoils. the men assembled in front of the chief for roll-call. four of our men were killed outright by rifle-bullets, and it was typical of these brave men that none were killed by machete stabs. the entire marauding expedition of twenty peruvians was completely wiped out, not a single one escaping the deadly aim of the mangeromas. thus was avoided the danger of being attacked in the near future by a greater force of peruvians, called to this place from the distant frontier by some returning survivor. it is true that the mangeromas lay in ambush for their enemy and killed them, for the greater part, with poisoned arrows and spears, but the odds were against the indians, not only because the _caboclos_ were attacking them in larger numbers, but because they came with modern, repeating fire-arms against the hand weapons of the mangeromas. these marauders, too, came with murder and girl-robbery in their black hearts, while the mangeromas were defending their homes and families. but it is true that after the battle, so bravely fought, the indians cut off the hands and feet of their enemies, dead or dying, and carried them home. the fight lasted only some twenty minutes, but it was after sunset when we reached the _maloca_. the women and children received us with great demonstrations of joy. soon the pots and pans were boiling inside the great house. i have previously observed how the mangeromas would partake of parts of the human body as a sort of religious rite, whenever they had been successful with their man-traps; now they feasted upon the hands and feet of the slain, these parts having been distributed among the different families. i crept into my hammock and lit my pipe, watching the great mass of naked humanity. all the men had laid aside their feather-dresses and squirrel tails, and were moving around among the many fires on the floor of the hut. some were sitting in groups discussing the battle, while women bent over the pots to examine the ghastly contents. here, a woman was engaged in stripping the flesh from the palm of a hand and the sole of a foot, which operation finished, she threw both into a large earthen pot to boil; there, another woman was applying an herb-poultice to her husband's wounds. over it all hung a thick, odoriferous smoke, gradually finding its way out through the central opening in the roof. this was a feast, indeed, such as few white men, i believe, have witnessed. that night and the next day, and the following four days, great quantities of _chicha_ were drunk and much meat was consumed to celebrate the great victory, the greatest in the annals of the mangeromas of rio branco. earthen vessels and jars were used in the cooking of food. the red clay (tabatinga clay) found abundantly in these regions formed a superior material for these utensils. they were always decorated symbolically with juices of the scarlet _urucu_ and the black _genipapa_. even when not burned into the clay, these were permanent colours. men and women wore their hair long and untrimmed as far as i could observe. the older and more experienced of the tribesmen would have quite elaborate head-gear, consisting of a band of _mutum_ plumes, interspersed with parrot-tail feathers, while the younger hunters wore nothing but a band of the _mutum_ plumes. the body was uncovered, save by a narrow strip of bark encircling the waist. a broad piece, woven of several bark-strips into a sort of mat, protected the lower anterior part of the abdomen. the women wore no clothing whatever. their colour was remarkably light. probably nothing can designate this better than the statement that if a mangeroma were placed alongside of an italian, no difference would be noticeable. their cheek-bones were not as high as is usual with tribes found on the amazon; they seemed to come from a different race. their eyes were set straight without any tendency to the mongolian slanting that characterises the peruvian _caboclos_ and the tribes of the northern affluents. the women had unusually large feet, while those of the men were small and well-shaped. the general appearance of a young mangeroma was that of a well-proportioned athlete, standing about five feet ten in his bare feet. no moccasins, nor any other protection for the feet, were worn. the supply of wourahli poison had run low and three wourahli men were to go out in the forest to collect poison plants, a journey which would require several days to complete. this occasion was set as the time of my departure. it was a rainy morning when i wrapped my few belongings in a leaf, tied some grass-fibres around them, and inserted them in the large pocket of my khaki-coat. the box with the gold dust was there, also the boxes with the exposed photographic plates. most of the gold had filtered out of the box, but a neat quantity still remained. one of my servants--a handsome girl--who, excepting for the labial ornaments, could have been transformed into an individual of quite a civilised appearance by opportunity, gave me a beautiful black necklace as a souvenir. it was composed of several hundred pieces, all carved out of ebony nuts. it had cost her three weeks of constant work. i embraced and was embraced by almost everybody in the _maloca_, after which ceremony we went in procession to the canoe that was to take me down to the branco river. the chief bade me a fond farewell, that forever shall be implanted in my heart. i had lived here weeks among these cannibal indians, had enjoyed their kindness and generosity without charge; i could give them nothing in return and they asked nothing. i could have stayed here for the rest of my natural life if i had so desired, but now i was to say good-bye forever. how wonderful was this farewell! it was my opportunity for acknowledging that the savage heart is by no means devoid of the feelings and sentiments that characterise more elevated, so-called civilised individuals. for the last time i heard the little dog bark, the same that had licked my face when i fainted in front of the _maloca_ upon my first arrival; and the large _arara_ screamed in the tree-tops as i turned once more towards the world of the white man. the journey was without incident. the wourahli men set me off near the mouth of the branco river, at a distance which i covered in less than five hours by following the banks. i was greeted by coronel maya of the _compagnie transatlantique de caoutchouc_, who sent me by canoe down the old itecoahy, until we reached the floresta headquarters. here i gave coronel da silva an account of the death of chief marques, and the brave jerome, which made a deep impression upon this noble man. the three men, magellaes, anisette, and freitas, had returned in safety after they separated from us. i met the wife of chief marques. she was the woman whose arm i had amputated. when i saw her she was carrying, with the arm left to her, a pail of water from the little creek behind headquarters. she was a different woman, and i was pleased to know that my desperate surgical operation had resulted so well. her cheeks were full and almost rosy. her health, i was told, excepting for occasional attacks of ague, was very good. soon after, the launch arrived from remate de males and i put my baggage on board. the coronel accompanied me down river for about forty-eight hours and then, reaching the northern extremity of his estate, he bade me a fond good-bye with the words: "_sempre, illustrissimo senhor, minha casa e a suas ordenes_," "my house, most illustrious sir, is always at your disposal." when i arrived at remate de males i had another attack of malaria, which almost severed the slender thread by which my life hung; my physical resistance was gone. but i managed to develop my plates before breaking down completely, and after having disposed of my small quantity of gold dust, for which i realised some three hundred and forty dollars, i was taken down to the mouth of the javary river, where i had landed almost a year previous, now a physical and, i might almost say, mental wreck. i stayed in the house of coronel monteiro, the frontier official at esperança, for five long days, fighting with death, until one afternoon i saw the white hull of the r.m.s. _napo_ appear at a bend of the amazon, only five hundred yards away. closer she came--this rescuing instrument of providence. she was none too soon, for i had now reached the last notch of human endurance. she dropped anchor; a small gasoline launch was lowered into the water; three white-coated officers stepped into it--they came ashore--they climbed the stairs. the captain, a stout, kind-looking englishman, approached my hammock and found therein a very sick white man. i was carried aboard and placed in the hands of the ship's physician. at last those black forests of the amazon were left behind. after twenty-two days' sail, sandy hook lighthouse loomed on our port side, and soon after, i could rest--rest, and _live_ again! none transcriber's note: all apparent mistakes in dialogue have been retained. italic text has been marked with _underscores_, while underlined text is marked with +plus signs+. the inca emerald +by samuel scoville, jr.+ the blue pearl boy scouts in the wilderness the inca emerald more wild folk the red diamond [illustration: from the heart of the jungle sounded the deep, coughing roar of a jaguar] the inca emerald by samuel scoville, jr. author of "boy scouts in the wilderness," "the blue pearl," etc. illustrated by charles livingston bull [illustration] d. appleton-century company incorporated new york london copyright, , by the century co. copyright, , by samuel scoville, jr. printed in u. s. a. to alice trumbull scoville my kindest critic contents chapter page i the beginning ii a new world iii the vampires iv death river v shipwreck vi the black tiger vii the yellow snake viii the man-eaters ix the pit x sky bridge xi the lost city xii eldorado list of illustrations from the heart of the jungle sounded the deep, coughing roar of a jaguar _frontispiece_ facing page "the bushmaster is the largest, rarest, and deadliest of south american serpents" it showed itself as the great condor of the andes, the second largest bird that flies hideous heads suddenly showed over the edge of the wall chapter i the beginning it was a bushmaster which started the quest of the emerald--and only a possible bushmaster at that. one may evening in cornwall, big jim donegan, the lumber-king, sat in the misty moonlight with his slippered feet on the rail of the veranda of the great house in which he lived alone. he was puffing away at a corn-cob pipe as placidly as if he did not have more millions than cornwall has hills--which is saying something, for cornwall has twenty-seven of the latter. along the gravel walk, which wound its way for nearly half a mile to the entrance of the estate, came the sound of a dragging footstep. a moment later, from out of the shadows stepped a man over six feet in height, a little stooped, and who wore a shiny frock-coat surmounted by a somewhat battered silk hat. the stranger had a long, clean-shaven, lantern-jawed face. his nose jutted out like a huge beak, a magnificent, domineering nose, which, however, did not seem in accord with his abstracted blue eyes and his precise voice. "what do you want?" snapped big jim, bringing his feet to the floor with alarming suddenness. the stranger blinked at him mildly for a moment with a gaze that seemed to be cataloguing the speaker. "this is mr. james donegan," he finally stated. "how do you know?" demanded the lumber-king. "you have all the characteristics of a magnate," returned the other, calmly, "energy, confidence, bad temper, worse manners, and--" "whoa!" shouted big jim, whose bark was worse than his bite and who always respected people who stood up to him. "never mind any more statistics. who are you!" "my name is ditson," responded the other, sitting down without invitation in the most comfortable chair in sight. "professor amandus ditson. i am connected with the smithsonian national museum." "well," returned mr. donegan, stiffening, "i don't intend to subscribe any money to the smithsonian museum or any other museum, so there's no use of your asking me." "i had no intention of asking you for anything," returned professor ditson, severely. "i had understood that you were a collector of gems, and i came to place at your disposal certain information in regard to the finest emeralds probably now in existence. i too am a collector," he went on abstractedly. "humph!" grunted big jim. "what do you collect?" he inquired, regarding his visitor shrewdly. "bushmasters," responded professor ditson, simply. "come again," returned big jim, much puzzled, "i don't quite get you. what are bushmasters?" "the bushmaster," announced professor ditson, with more animation than he had yet shown, "is the largest, the rarest and the deadliest of south american serpents. it attains a length of over twelve feet and has fangs an inch and a half long. you will hardly believe me," he went on, tapping mr. donegan's knee with a long, bony forefinger, "but there is not a single living specimen in captivity at present, even in our largest cities." the lumber-king regarded the scientist with undisguised astonishment. "professor amandus ditson," he announced solemnly, "so far as i'm concerned, there can continue to be a lack of bushmasters not only in our great cities, but everywhere else. snakes of any kind are absolutely nothing in my young life." [illustration: "the bushmaster is the largest, rarest, and deadliest of south american serpents"] "tut! tut!" responded the professor, reprovingly. "i think that i could convince you that you are wrong in your unfortunate aversion to reptiles." "no you couldn't," returned big jim, positively, "not if you were to lecture all the rest of the year." "well," responded professor ditson soothingly, "suppose we discuss your hobby, which i understand is precious stones." "now you're talking," returned the other, enthusiastically, "i suppose i've about the finest collection of gems in this country, and in some lines perhaps the best on earth. take pearls, for instance," he boasted. "why, professor ditson, some boys right here in cornwall helped me get the finest examples of pink and blue pearls that there are in any collection. when it comes to emeralds, there are half a dozen collectors who beat me out. what's all this dope you have about them, anyway?" "last year," replied the other, "i was in peru at a time when they were repairing one of the oldest cathedrals in that country. a native workman, knowing that i was interested in rarities of all kinds, brought me an old manuscript, which turned out to be a map and a description of the celebrated lake of eldorado." "that's the name of one of those dream places," interrupted mr. donegan, impatiently. "i've no time to listen to dreams." professor ditson was much incensed. "sir," he returned austerely, "i deal in facts, not in dreams. i have traveled one thousand miles to see you, but if you can not speak more civilly, i shall be compelled to terminate this interview and go to some one with better manners and more sense." "just what i was going to suggest," murmured big jim, taken aback, but much pleased by the professor's independence. "so long, however, as you've beat me to it, go on. i'll hear you out anyway." professor ditson stared at him sternly. "for nearly four hundred years," he began at last, "there have been legends of a sacred lake somewhere in bolivia or peru. once a year, before the spanish conquest, the chief of the incas, the dominant race of peru, covered with gold-dust, would be ferried out to the center of this lake. there he would throw into the lake the best emerald that had been found in their mines during the year and then leap in himself. at the same time the other members of the tribe would stand on the shores with their backs to the lake and throw into the water over their shoulders emeralds and gold ornaments." "why on earth did they do that?" exclaimed the old collector. "as an offering to the spirit of the lake," returned the professor. "the spaniards, when they heard the story, named the lake, eldorado--the lake of the golden man. as the centuries went by, the location was lost--until i found it again." there was a long pause, which was broken at last by the lumber-king. "have you any proof that this story of yours is true?" he inquired sarcastically. for answer, the scientist fished a dingy bag from his pocket and shook out on the table a circlet of soft, pale gold in which gleamed three green stones. "i found this ten feet from the shore," he said simply. the lumber-king gasped as he studied the stones with an expert eye. "professor ditson," he admitted at last, "you're all right and i'm all wrong. that's south american gold. i know it by the color. african gold is the deepest, and south american the palest. those stones are emeralds," he went on; "flawed ones, to be sure, but of the right color. the common emerald from the ural mountains is grass-green," lectured mr. donegan, fairly started on his hobby. "a few emeralds are gray-green. those come from the old mines of the pharaohs along the coast of the red sea. they are found on mummies and in the ruins of pompeii and along the beach in front of alexandria, where treasure-ships have been wrecked." professor ditson yawned rudely. "once in a blue moon," went on the old collector, earnestly, "a real spring-green emerald with a velvety luster, like these stones, turns up. we call 'em 'treasure emeralds,'" he continued, while professor ditson shifted uneasily in his chair. "most of them are in spanish collections, and they are supposed to be part of the loot that cortez and pizarro brought back to spain when they conquered mexico and peru. how large did these old peruvian emeralds run?" he inquired suddenly. he had to repeat this question before professor ditson, who had been dozing lightly, roused himself. "ah yes, quite so, very interesting, i'm sure," responded that scientist, confusedly. "as to the size of south american emeralds," he went on, rubbing his eyes, "the spanish record shows that pizarro sent back to spain several which were as large as pigeon eggs, and there is a native tradition that the last inca threw into eldorado an oval emerald as large as a hen's egg." donegan's face flushed with excitement. "professor ditson," he said at last, "i've got to have one of those emeralds. come in," he went on, getting up suddenly, "and i'll show you my collection." professor ditson sat still. "no, mr. donegan," he said, "it would be just a waste of time. to me, gems are just a lot of colored crystals." the old lumber-king snorted. "i suppose you prefer snakes," he said cuttingly. professor ditson's face brightened at the word. "there," he said enthusiastically, "is something worth while. i only wish that i had you in my snake-room. i could show you live, uncaged specimens which would interest you deeply." "they sure would," returned mr. donegan, shivering slightly. "well," he went on, "every man to his own taste. what's your idea about this emerald secret? can we do business together?" the professor's face assumed an air of what he fondly believed to be great astuteness. "i would suggest," he said, "that you fit out an expedition to the amazon basin under my direction, to remain there until i collect one or more perfect specimens of the bushmaster. then i will guide the party to eldorado and assist them, as far as i can, to recover the sunken treasure." he came to a full stop. "well," queried the lumber-king, "what else?" the professor looked at him in surprise. "i have nothing else to suggest," he said. "suppose we get emeralds which may be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars--what percentage will you claim?" persisted mr. donegan. "i thought that i had made it plain," returned the professor, impatiently, "that i have no interest whatever in emeralds. if you will pay the expenses of the expedition and allow me to keep as my own property any specimens of bushmasters obtained, it will be entirely satisfactory to me. of course," finished the scientist, generously, "if we catch several bushmasters, i should have no objections to your having one." "heaven forbid!" returned the lumber-king. "professor," he went on with great emphasis, "i am perfectly willing that you shall have absolutely for your own use and benefit any and all bushmasters, crocodiles, snakes, toads, tarantulas, and any other similar bric-à-brac which you may find in south america. moreover," he continued, "i'll fit out an expedition right here from cornwall that will do the business for both of us. there's a good-for-nothin' old chap in this town named jud adams who has been all over the north huntin' an' trappin' an' prospectin'. in his younger days he was a pearl-diver. then there're two young fellows here that went off last year with him for me and brought back the finest blue pearl in the world. i ain't got no manner of doubt but what all three of 'em will jump at the chance to go after emeralds and bushmasters." "bushmasters and emeralds, please," corrected the professor. "just as you say," responded the lumber-king. "now you come right in and i'll put you up for the night and we'll send over at once for the crowd that i have in mind and get this expedition started right away." "the sooner the better," responded the professor, heartily. "any day, some collector may bring back a bushmaster and beat me out with the smithsonian." "i feel the same way," agreed the lumber-king. "i want jim donegan to have the first crack at those inca emeralds." * * * * * while all this talk about gold and emeralds and bushmasters was going on in big jim's big house, over in a little house on the tiptop of yelpin hill, jud adams, the old trapper, was just sitting down to supper with two of his best friends. one of these was will bright, a magnificently built boy of eighteen with copper-colored hair and dark blue eyes, and the other his chum, joe couteau, silent, lithe, and swart as his indian ancestors. jud himself was not much over five feet tall, with bushy gray hair and beard and steel-sharp eyes. these three, with fred perkins, the runner, had won their way to goreloi, the island of the bear, and brought back jim donegan's most prized gem, as already chronicled in "the blue pearl." they had learned to care for one another as only those can who have fought together against monsters of the sea, savage beasts, and more savage men. joe and will, moreover, had shared other life-and-death adventures together, as told in "boy scouts in the wilderness," and, starting without clothes, food, or fire, had lived a month in the heart of the woods, discovered the secret of wizard pond, and broken up scar dawson's gang of outlaws. will never forgot that joe had saved him from the carcajou, nor joe that it was will who gave him the first chance of safety when the bloodhounds were hot on their heels through the hidden passage from wizard pond. each one of the four, as his share of the blue pearl, and the sea-otter pelt brought back from akotan, had received fifteen thousand dollars. fred had invested his money in his brother's business in boston, left cornwall, and bade fair to settle down into a successful business man. will and joe had both set aside from their share enough to take them through yale. as for jud, the day after he received his winnings in the game which the four had played against danger and death, he had a short interview with his old friend mr. donegan. "all my life long," began jud, "i've been makin' money; but so far, i haven't got a cent saved up. i know how to tame 'most any other kind of wild animal, but money allers gets away from me. they do say, jim," went on the old man, "that you've got the knack of keepin' it. probably you wouldn't be worth your salt out in the woods, but every man's got somethin' that he can do better 'n most. so you just take my share of the blue-pearl money an' put it into somethin' safe an' sound that'll bring me an income. you see, jim," he went on confidentially, "i ain't so young as i used to be." "i should say you ain't!" exclaimed big jim, knowing how jud hated to be called old. "you're 'most a hundred now." "i ain't! i ain't!" howled jud, indignantly. "i ain't a day over fifty--or thereabouts." "well, well," said his friend, soothingly, "we won't quarrel over it. i'll take care of your money and see that you get all that's comin' to you for the two or three years which you've got left"; and with mutual abuse and affection the two parted as good friends as ever. to-night the old trapper and his guests had just finished supper when the telephone rang. "jud," came mr. donegan's voice over the wire, "what would you and bill and joe think of another expedition--after emeralds this time?" "we'd think well of it," returned jud, promptly. "the kids are here at my house now." "good work!" exclaimed the lumber-king. "all three of you come right over. i've got a scientist here who's going to guide you to where the emeralds grow." "you got a what?" queried jud. "a scientist!" shouted big jim, "a perfesser. one of those fellows who know all about everything except what's useful." "we'll be right over," said jud, hanging up the receiver and breaking the news to his friends. "listens good," said will, while joe grunted approvingly. "it's a pity old jim ain't young and supple enough to go on these trips with us himself," remarked jud, complacently. "he ten years younger than you," suggested joe, slyly, who always delighted in teasing the old trapper about his age. "where do you get such stuff?" returned jud, indignantly. "jim donegan's old enough to be my father--or my brother, anyway," he finished, staring sternly at his grinning guests. "you're quite right, jud," said will, soothingly. "let's go, though, before that scientist chap gets away." "he no get away," remarked joe, sorrowfully, who had listened to the telephone conversation. "he go with us." "i don't think much of that," said jud, wagging his head solemnly. "the last perfesser i traveled with was while i was prospectin' down in arizona. he sold a cure for snakebites an' small-pox, an' one night he lit out with all our cash an' we never did catch him." half an hour later found the whole party in mr. donegan's study, where they were introduced to professor ditson. "what might you be a perfesser of?" inquired jud, staring at him with unconcealed hostility. the other stared back at him for a moment before he replied. "i have specialized," he said at last, "in reptiles, mammals, and birds, besides some research work in botany." "didn't leave out much, did you?" sneered jud. "also," went on the professor, more quietly, "i learned early in life something about politeness. you would find it an interesting study," he went on, turning away. "now, now," broke in mr. donegan, as jud swallowed hard, "if you fellows are going treasure-hunting together, you mustn't begin by scrappin'." "i, sir," returned professor ditson, austerely, "have no intention of engaging in an altercation with any one. in the course of collecting-trips in the unsettled portions of all four continents, i have learned to live on good terms with vagabonds of all kinds, and i can do it again if necessary." "exactly!" broke in mr. donegan, hurriedly, before jud could speak; "that certainly shows a friendly spirit, and i am sure jud feels the same way." "i do," returned the latter, puffingly, "just the same way. i got along once with a perfesser who was no darn good, and i guess i can again." "then," said mr. donegan, briskly, "let's get down to business. professor ditson, show us, please, the map and manuscript with which you located lake eldorado." for reply, the gaunt scientist produced from a pocket a small copper cylinder, from which he drew a roll of yellowed parchment. half of it was covered with crabbed writing in the imperishable sepia ink which the old scriveners used. the other half was apparently blank. the lumber-king screwed his face up wisely over the writing. "h'm-m," he remarked at last. "it's some foreign language. let one of these young fellers who're going to college try." will took one look at the paper. "i pass," he said simply; while joe shook his head without even looking. "you're a fine lot of scholars!" scoffed jud, as he received the scroll. "listen now to perfesser adams of the university of out-of-doors." then, to the astonishment of everybody, in his high-pitched voice he began to translate the labored lines, reading haltingly, like a school-boy: "i, alvarado, companion of pizarro, about to die at dawn, to my dear wife oriana. i do repent me of my many sins. i am he who slew the inca atahualpa and many of his people, and who played away the sun before sunrise. now it comes that i too must die, nor of the wealth that i have won have i aught save the secret of eldorado. on a night of the full moon, i myself saw the golden man throw into the lake the great emerald of the incas and a wealth of gold and gems. this treasure-lake lies not far from orcos in which was thrown the chain. i have drawn a map in the way thou didst show me long years ago. take it to the king. there be treasure enough there for all spain; and through his justice, thou and our children shall have a share. forgive me, oriana, and forget me not. alvarado" there was a silence when he had finished. it was as if the shadow of the tragedy of that wasted life and vain repentance had drifted down the centuries and hung over the little company who had listened to the reading of the undelivered letter. the stillness was broken by mr. donegan. "where did you learn to read spanish, you old rascal?" he inquired of jud. "down among the greasers in mexico," chuckled the latter, delightedly. "what does he mean by 'playing away the sun' and the 'chain'?" asked will, of the scientist. "when the treasures of the incas were divided," explained professor ditson, precisely, "alvarado had for his share a golden image of the sun over ten feet in diameter. this he gambled away in a single night. the chain," continued professor ditson, "surrounded the chief inca's residence. it was made of gold, and was two hundred and thirty-three yards long. it was being carried by two hundred indians to cuzco to form part of the chief's ransom--a room filled with gold as high as he could reach. when the gold came to his shoulder, he was killed. at the news of his death, the men who were bringing the chain threw it into lake orcos." "but--but," broke in the lumber-king, "where is the map? if you've got it with you, let's have a look at it." without speaking, professor ditson reached over and took the match from the table. lighting it, he held the flame for an instant close to the parchment. on the smooth surface before their eyes, suddenly appeared a series of vivid green lines, which at last took the form of a rude map. "what he learned from oriana," explained professor ditson, "was how to make and use invisible ink." "fellows," broke in mr. donegan, earnestly, "i believe that professor ditson has found eldorado, and i'm willing to go the limit to get one of the emeralds of the incas. i'll finance the expedition if you'll all go. what do you say?" "aye," voted will. "aye," grunted joe. "i assent," said professor ditson, with his usual preciseness. jud alone said nothing. "how about it, jud?" inquired big jim. "well," returned jud, doubtfully, "who's goin' to lead this expedition?" "why, the professor here," returned the lumber-king, surprised. "he's the only one who knows the way." "that's it," objected jud. "it's likely to be a rough trip, an' treasure-huntin' is always dangerous. has the perfesser enough pep to keep up with us younger men?" professor ditson smiled bleakly. "i've been six times across south america, and once lived among the south american indians for two years without seeing a white man," he remarked acidly. "perhaps i can manage to keep up with an old man and two boys who have never been in the country before. you should understand," he went on, regarding the old trapper sternly, "that specialization in scientific investigation does not necessarily connote lack of physical ability." jud gasped. "i don't know what he means," he returned angrily, "but he's wrong--specially that part about me bein' old." "i feel it is my duty to warn you," interrupted professor ditson, "that this trip may involve a special danger outside of those usual to the tropics. when i was last in peru," he went on, "i had in my employ a man named slaughter. he was an expert woodsman, but sinister in character and appearance and with great influence over the worst element among the indians. one night i found him reading this manuscript, which he had taken from my tent while i was asleep. i persuaded him to give it up and leave my employ." "how did you persuade him?" queried jud, curiously. "automatically," responded professor ditson. "at least, i used a colt's automatic," he explained. "his language, as he left, was deplorable," continued the scientist, "and he declared, among other things, that i would have him to reckon with if i ever went again to eldorado. i have no doubt that through his indian allies he will be advised of the expedition when it reaches peru and make trouble for us." "what did he look like?" inquired mr. donegan. "he was a giant," replied professor ditson, "and must have been over seven feet in height. his eyebrows made a straight line across his forehead, and he had a scar from his right eye to the corner of his jaw." "scar dawson!" shouted will. "you don't mean the one who nearly burned you and joe alive in the cabin?" said the lumber-king, incredulously. "it must be," said will. "no other man would have that scar and height. i'll say 'some danger' is right," he concluded, while joe nodded his head somberly. "that settles it!" said jud. "it's evident this expedition needs a good man to keep these kids out of trouble. i'm on." chapter ii a new world a week later found the whole party aboard of one of the great south american liners bound for belem. the voyage across was uneventful except for the constant bickerings between jud and professor ditson, in which will and joe acted sometimes as peace-makers and sometimes as pace-makers. then, one morning, will woke up to find that the ocean had changed overnight from a warm sap-green to a muddy clay-color. although they were not within sight of land, the vast river had swept enough earth from the southern continent into the ocean to change the color of the water for a hundred miles out at sea. just at sunrise the next day the steamer glided up the amazon on its way to the old city of belem, seventy miles inland. "the air smells like a hot, mouldy cellar!" grumbled jud; and soon the cornwall pilgrims began to glimpse things strange and new to all three of them. groups of slim assai-palms showed their feathery foliage; slender lianas hung like green snakes from the trees; and everywhere were pineapple plants, bread-fruit trees, mangos, blossoming oranges and lemons, rows of enormous silk-cotton trees, and superb banana plants, with glossy, velvety green leaves twelve feet in length curving over the roof of nearly every house. beyond the city the boys had a sight of the jungle, which almost without a break covers the greater part of the amazon basin, the largest river-basin on earth. they landed just before sunset, and, under professor ditson's direction, a retinue of porters carried their luggage to the professor's house, far down the beach, the starting-point for many of his south american expeditions. as the sun set, the sudden dark of the tropics dropped down upon them, with none of the twilight of higher latitudes. jud grumbled at the novelty. "this ain't no way to do," he complained to professor ditson. "the sun no more than goes down, when bang! it's as black as your hat." "we'll have that seen to at once," responded the professor, sarcastically. "in the meantime, be as patient as you can." with the coming of the dark, a deafening din began. frogs and toads croaked, drummed, brayed, and roared. locusts whirred, and a vast variety of crickets and grasshoppers added their shrill note to the uproar, so strange to visitors and so unnoticed by natives in the tropics. "hey, professor!" shouted jud, above the tumult, "what in time is all this noise, anyway?" "what noise?" inquired professor ditson, abstractedly. the old trapper waved both hands in a circle around his head and turned to the boys for sympathy. "sounds like the cornwall drum and fife corps at its worst!" he shrieked. "what do you mean, jud?" said will, winking at joe. "poor jud!" chimed in the latter, shaking his head sadly, "this trip too much for him. he hearing noises inside his head." for a moment, jud looked so horrified that, in spite of their efforts to keep up the joke, the boys broke down and laughed uproariously. "you'll get so used to this," said professor ditson, at last understanding what they were talking about, "that after a few nights you won't notice it at all." at the professor's bungalow they met two other members of the expedition. one of these was hen pine, a negro over six feet tall, but with shoulders of such width that he seemed much shorter. he had an enormous head that seemed to be set directly between his shoulders, so short and thick was his neck. hen had been with professor ditson for many years, and, in spite of his size and strength, was of a happy, good-natured disposition, constantly showing his white teeth in irresistible smiles. pinto, professor ditson's other retainer, was short and dark, an indian of the mundurucu tribe, that warlike people which early made an alliance of peace with the portuguese pioneers of brazil which they had always scrupulously kept. pinto had an oval aquiline face, and his bare breast and arms had the cross-marks of dark-blue tattooing which showed him to have won high rank as a warrior on the lonely river of the tapirs, where his tribe held their own against the fierce mayas, those outlawed cannibals who are the terror of the south american forest. that evening, after dinner, professor ditson took jud and the boys out for a walk along the beach which stretched away in front of them in a long white curve under the light of the full moon. the night was full of strange sounds, and in the sky overhead burned new stars and unknown constellations, undimmed even by the moonlight, which showed like snow against the shadows of the jungle. professor ditson pointed out to the boys agena and bungula, a noble pair of first-magnitude stars never seen in the north, which flamed in the violet-black sky. as they looked, will remembered the night up near wizard pond before the bear came, when joe had told him indian stories of the stars. to-night, almost overhead, shone the most famous of all tropical constellations, the southern cross. professor ditson told them that it had been visible on the horizon of jerusalem about the date of the crucifixion. from that day, the precession of the equinoxes had carried it slowly southward, and it became unknown to europeans until amerigo vespucci on his first voyage saw and exultantly wrote that he had seen the "four stars," of which the tradition had lingered. the professor told them that it was the sky-clock of the tropics and that sailors, shepherds, and other night-wanderers could tell the time within fifteen minutes of watch-time by the position of the two upper stars of this constellation. "it looks more like a kite than a cross," interjected jud. "what's that dark patch in the milky way?" he inquired, pointing to a strange black, blank space showing in the milky glimmer of the galaxy. "that must be the coal-sack," broke in will, before professor ditson could reply. "i remember reading about it at school," he went on. "when magellan sailed around cape horn, his sailors saw it and were afraid that they would sail so far south that the sky wouldn't have any stars. what cheered them up," went on will, "was the sight of old orion, which stays in the sky in both hemispheres," and he pointed out the starry belt to jud and joe, with the sky-king sirius shining above it instead of below as in the northern hemisphere. as jud and the boys stared up at the familiar line of the three stars, with rose-red betelgeuse on one side and fire-white rigel on the other, they too felt something of the same comfort that the old-time navigators had known at the sight of this constellation, steadfast even when the great bear and the pole star itself had faded from the sky. as they continued to gaze upward they caught sight of another star, which shone with a wild, blue gleam which rivaled the green glare of the dog-star, sirius. professor ditson told them that it was canopus, mohammed's star, which he thought led him to victory, even as napoleon believed that the planet venus, seen by daylight, was his guiding star. then the professor traced for them that glittering river of stars, eridanus, and showed them, guarding the southern horizon, gleaming achernar, the end of the river, a star as bright as is arcturus or vega in the northern sky. then he showed them fomalhaut, of the southern fish, which in the north they had seen in the fall just skipping the horizon, one of the faintest of the first-magnitude stars. down in the southern hemisphere it had come into its own and gleamed as brightly near this northern horizon as did achernar by the southern. it was will who discovered the magellanic clouds, like fragments of the milky way which had broken up and floated down toward the south pole. these had been also seen and reported by magellan on that first voyage ever taken around the world four hundred years ago. farther up the beach, jud and the boys came to a full stop. before them towered so high that the stars seemed tangled in its leaves a royal palm, one of the most magnificent trees on earth. its straight, tapered shaft shot up over a hundred and twenty-five feet and was crowned with a mass of glossy leaves, like deep-green plumes. as it touched the violet sky with the full moon rising back of its proud head, it had an air of unearthly majesty. beneath their feet the beach was covered with "angel-wings," pure white shells eight inches long, shaped like the wings of angels in old pictures. with them were beautifully tinted tellinas, crimson olivias with their wonderful zigzag, tentlike color patterns, large dosinias round as dollars, and many other varieties, gold, crimson, and purple. some distance down the beach the professor kept a large canoe, in which the whole party paddled out into the bay. as they flashed over the smooth surface, the clamor of the night-life dwindled. suddenly, from the bushes on a little point, sounded a bird-song which held them all spellbound, a stream of joyous melody, full of rapid, ringing notes, yet with a purity of tone which made the song indescribably beautiful. it seemed to include the ethereal quality of the hermit-thrush, the lilt and richness of the thrasher, and the magic of the veery's song, and yet to be more beautiful than any or all of them together. on and on the magic melody flowed and rippled, throbbed and ebbed in the moonlight. suddenly it stopped. then from the same thicket burst out a medley of different songs. some of them were slow and mellow. others had silvery, bell-like trills. there were flutelike calls, gay hurried twitterings, and leisurely delicious strains--all of them songs of birds which the cornwall visitors had never even heard. then will, the ornithologist of his party, began to hear songs which were familiar to him. there was the musical chuckle of the purple martin, the plaintive call of the upland plover, the curious "kow-kow" of the yellow-billed cuckoo, and the slow, labored music of the scarlet tanager. suddenly all of them ceased and once again the original song burst out. "that thicket must be chuck-full of birds," whispered jud. professor ditson shook his head. "it's only one bird," he said, "but the greatest singer of all the world--the white banded mocking bird." even as he spoke, the songster itself fluttered up into the air, a brown bird with a white throat, and tail and wings broadly banded with the same color. up and up it soared, and its notes chimed like a golden bell as its incomparable song drifted down through the moonlight to those listening below. then on glistening wings the spent singer wavered down like some huge moth and disappeared in the dark of the thicket. in the silence that followed, will drew a deep breath. "i'd have traveled around the world to hear that song," he half whispered. professor ditson nodded his head understandingly. "many and many an ornithologist," he said, "has come to south america to listen to that bird and gone away without hearing what we have heard to-night. between his own two songs," went on the professor, "i counted the notes of seventeen other birds of both north and south america that he mimicked." they paddled gently toward the shore, hoping to hear the bird again, but it sang no more that night. as they neared the beach, the moonlit air was heavy with the scent of jessamine, fragrant only after darkness, and the overpowering perfume of night-blooming cereuses, whose satin-white blossoms were three feet in circumference. suddenly, just before them, the moon-flowers bloomed. great snowy blossoms five inches across began to open slowly. there was a puff of wind, and hundreds of them burst into bloom at once, glorious white salvers of beauty and fragrance. "everything here," said will, "seems beautiful and peaceful and safe." professor ditson smiled sardonically. "south america is beautiful," he said precisely, "but it is never safe. death and danger lurk everywhere and in the most unexpected forms. it is only in south america," he went on, "that you can be eaten alive by fish the size of small trout, or be killed by ants or little brown bats." jud listened with much scorn. "professor," he broke out at last, "i don't take much stock in that kind of talk. your nerves are in a bad way. my advice to you is--" what mr. judson adams's advice was, will never be known, for at that moment a dreadful thing happened. into the beauty of the moonlight, from the glassy water of the bay soared a shape of horror, a black, monstrous creature like a gigantic bat. it had two wings which measured a good twenty feet from tip to tip, and was flat, like an enormous skate. behind it streamed a spiked, flexible tail, while long feelers, like slim horns, projected several feet beyond a vast hooked mouth. like some vampire shape from the pit, it skimmed through the air across the bow of the canoe not ten feet from where jud was sitting. the old trapper was no coward, but this sudden horror was too much even for his seasoned nerves. with a yell, he fell backward off his thwart, and as his legs kicked convulsively in the air, the monster came down with a crash that could have been heard a mile, raising a wave which nearly swamped the canoe. a moment later, the monstrous shape broke water again farther seaward, blotting out for an instant with its black bulk the rising moon. "what kind of a sea-devil is that, anyhow?" queried jud, shakily, as he righted himself, with the second crash of the falling body still in his ears. "that," responded professor ditson, precisely, "is a well-nourished specimen of the manta-ray, a fish allied to the skate family--but you started to speak about nerves." jud, however, said nothing and kept on saying the same all the way back to the house. arriving there in safety, he went down to the spring for some water with pinto, but a moment later came bolting back. "what's the matter now, jud?" inquired will, solicitously. "did you find another water-devil in the spring?" "that's just what i did!" bellowed jud. "when i started to dip out a pail of water, up pops about six feet of snake. now you know, boys," he went on, panting, "i hate snakes, an' i jumped clear across the spring at the sight of this one; but what do you suppose that injun did?" he continued excitedly. "pats the snake's head an' tells me it's tame an' there to keep the spring free from frogs. now what do you think of that?" "he was quite right," observed professor ditson, soothingly. "it is a perfectly harmless, well-behaved serpent, known as the mussarama. this one is a fine specimen which it will be worth your while to examine more carefully." "i've examined it just as carefully as i'm goin' to," shouted jud, stamping into the house as pinto came grunting up the path carrying a brimming bucket of water. as they sat down for supper, a long streak of black and white flashed across the ceiling just over jud, who sat staring at it with a spoonful of soup half-way to his mouth. "professor ditson," he inquired softly, "is that thing on the ceiling another one of your tame snakes?" "no, sir," responded the professor, impatiently; "that is only a harmless house-lizard." "i just wanted to know," remarked jud, rising and taking his plate to a bench outside of the door, where he finished his supper, in spite of all attempts on the part of the boys to bring him back. in front of will stood a pitcher of rich yellow cream. "you have a good cow, professor ditson," he remarked politely as he poured some into a cup of the delicious coffee which is served with every meal in brazil. "yes," agreed the scientist, "i have a grove of them." then he explained to the bewildered will that the cream was the sap of the cow tree. will was not so fortunate with his next investigation. taking a second helping of a good-tasting stew which pinto had brought in from the kitchen, he asked the indian what it was made of. "tinnala," replied the mundurucu. "what is it in north american?" persisted will. the indian shook his head. "i not know any other name," he said. "wait, i show you," he went on, disappearing into the kitchen to return a moment later with a long, hairy arm ending in a clenched fist. will started up and clasped his stomach frantically, remembering all that he had read about cannibalism among the south american indians. even when professor ditson explained that the stew was made from a variety of monkey which was considered a great delicacy, he was not entirely reassured and finished his meal on oranges. jud was much amused. "you always were a fussy eater, bill," he remarked from the porch. "i remember you wouldn't eat mountain-lion meat up in the north when we were after the pearl. you ought to pattern after joe. he don't find fault with his food." "all i want about food," grunted joe, "is enough." that night the whole party slept side by side in hammocks swung in a screened veranda in the second story. during the night, jud, who was always a light sleeper, was awakened by a curious, rustling, crackling sound which seemed to come from the storeroom, which opened into the sleeping-porch. after listening awhile he reached over and aroused professor ditson, who was sleeping soundly next to him. "some one's stealin' your grub," he whispered. the professor stepped lightly out of his hammock, followed by jud and the boys, who had been waked up by the whispering. opening the door noiselessly, the scientist peered in. after a long look, professor ditson turned around to find jud gripping his revolver and ready for the worst. "you can put up your gun," the scientist growled. "bullets don't mean anything to thieves like these, and he flashed a light on a strange sight. on a long table stood native baskets full of cassava, that curious grainlike substance obtained from the root of the poisonous manihot and which takes the place of wheat in south america. the floor was covered with moving columns of ants, large and small, which had streamed up the legs of the table and into the baskets. some of them were over an inch long, while others were smaller than the grains they were carrying. the noise which had aroused jud had been made by their cutting off the dry leaves with which the baskets were lined, to use in lining their underground nest. professor ditson told them that nothing could stop an ant-army. once on the march, they would not turn back for fire or water and would furiously attack anything that tried to check them. "a remarkably efficient insect," concluded the professor, "for it bites with one end and stings with the other." "this is what i call a nice quiet night!" murmured jud, as he went back to his hammock. "sea-devils, snakes, lizards--and now it's ants. i wonder what next?" "next," however, was daylight, blazing with the startling suddenness of the tropics, where there is no dawn-light. with the light, the tumult of the night ceased, and in place of the insect din came a medley of bird-notes. when jud opened his eyes professor ditson's hammock was empty, for the scientist usually got up long before daylight, and through the open door strutted a long-legged, wide-winged bird, nearly three feet tall, with a shimmering blue breast and throat. without hesitating, she walked over to jud's hammock and, spread her wings with a deep murmuring note, made a low bow. "good morning to you," responded jud, much pleased with his visitor. the bird bowed and murmured again and allowed him to pat her beautiful head as she bent forward. then she went to the next hammock and the next and the next, until she had awakened all of the sleepers, whereupon, with deep bows and courtesies and murmurings, she sidled out of the room. "now, that," said jud, as he rolled out of the hammock and began to look for his shoes, "is an alarm-clock worth having!" pinto, the mundurucu, who appeared at this moment with a pail of spring water, told them that the bird was a tame female trumpeter which he had picked up as a queer, frightened little creature, all legs and neck, but which had become one of the best-loved of all of his many pets. each morning the tame, beautiful bird would wander through the house, waking up every sleeper at sunrise. when pinto took trips through the forest the bird always went with him, traveling on his back in a large-meshed fiber bag; and when he made camp it would parade around for a while, bowing and talking, and then fly up into the nearest tree, where it would spend the night. tente, as it was named, was always gentle except when it met a dog. no matter how large or fierce the latter might be, tente would fly at it, making a loud, rumbling noise, which always made the dog turn tail and run for its life. as pinto started to fill the pitchers, will, the bird expert of the party, began to ask him about some of the songs which were sounding all around the house. one bird which squalled and mewed interested him. "that bird chestnut cuckoo," said pinto. "it have the soul of a cat." and as will listened he could well believe it. a little farther off, another bird called constantly, "crispen, crispen, crispen." "one time," narrated the indian, "a girl and her little brother crispen go walking in the woods. he very little boy and he wander away and get lost, and all day and all night and all next day she go through the woods calling, 'crispen! crispen! crispen!' until at last she changed into a little bird. and still she flies through the woods and calls 'crispen!'" at this point, jud finally found his missing shoes and started to put one on, but stopped at a shout from the mundurucu. "shake it out!" warned pinto. "no one ever puts on shoes in this country without shaking out." jud did as he was told. with the first shoe he drew a blank. out of the second one, however, rattled down on the floor a centipede fully six inches long, which pinto skillfully crushed with the heavy water-pitcher. jud gasped and sank back into his hammock. "boys," he said solemnly, "i doubt if i last out this trip!" chapter iii the vampires after breakfast, professor amandus ditson called the party together for a conference in a wide, cool veranda on the ground floor. "i should like to outline to you my plan of our expedition," he announced precisely. jud gave an angry grunt. the old adventurer, who had been a hero among prospectors and trappers in the far north, was accustomed to be consulted in any expedition of which he was a member. "it seems to me, professor ditson," he remarked aggressively, "that you're pretty uppity about this trip. other people here have had experience in treasure-huntin'." "meaning yourself, i presume," returned professor ditson, acidly. "yes, sir!" shouted jud, thoroughly aroused, "that's exactly who i do mean. i know as much about--_ouch!_" the last exclamation came when jud brought down his open hand for emphasis on the side of his chair and incidently on a lurid brown insect nearly three inches in length, with enormous nippers and a rounded body ending in what looked like a long sting. jud jerked his hand away and gazed in horror at his threatening seat-mate. "i believe i'm stung," he murmured faintly, gazing anxiously at his hand. "what is it?" "it would hardly seem to me," observed professor ditson, scathingly, "that a man who is afraid of a harmless arachnid like a whip-scorpion, and who nearly falls out of a canoe at the sight of a manta-ray disporting itself, would be the one to lead an expedition through the unexplored wilds of south america. we are going into a country," he went on more earnestly, "where a hasty step, the careless touching of a tree, or the tasting of a leaf or fruit may mean instant death, to say nothing of the dangers from some of the larger carnivora and wandering cannibals. i have had some experience with this region," he went on, "and if there is no objection, i will outline my plan." there was none. even jud, who had removed himself to another chair with great rapidity, had not a word to say. "i propose that we take a steamer by the end of this week to manaos, a thousand miles up the amazon," continued the professor. "in the meantime, we can do some hunting and collecting in this neighborhood. after we reach manaos we can go by boat down the rio negros until we strike the old slave trail which leads across the amazon basin and up into the highlands of peru." "who made that trail?" inquired will, much interested. "it was cut by the spanish conquerors of peru nearly four hundred years ago," returned the scientist. "they used to send expeditions down into the amazon region after slaves to work their mines. since then," he went on, "it has been kept open by the indians themselves, and, as far as i know, has not been traversed by a white man for centuries. i learned the secret of it many years ago, while i was living with one of the wilder tribes," he finished. the professor's plan was adopted unanimously, jud not voting. then followed nearly a week of wonderful hunting and collecting. even jud, who regarded everything with a severe and jaundiced eye, could not conceal his interest in the multitude of wonderful new sights, sounds, and scents which they experienced every day. as for will, he lived in the delightful excitement which only a bird-student knows who finds himself surrounded by a host of unknown and beautiful birds. some of them, unlike good children, were heard but not seen. once, as they pushed their way in single file along a little path which wound through the jungle, there suddenly sounded, from the dark depths beyond, a shriek of agony and despair. in a moment it was taken up by another voice and another and another, until there were at least twenty screamers performing in chorus. "it's only the ypicaha rail," remarked the professor, indifferently. hen pine, who was in the rear with will, shook his head doubtfully. "dis ol' jungle," he whispered, "is full o' squallers. de professor he call 'em birds, but dey sound more like ha'nts to me." beyond the rail colony they heard at intervals a hollow, mysterious cry. "that," explained pinto, "is the witch of the woods. no one ever sees her unless she is answered. then she comes and drives mad the one who called her." "nice cheery place, this!" broke in jud. "the alleged witch," remarked professor ditson severely, "happens to be the little waterhen." later they heard a strange, clanging noise, which sounded as if some one had struck a tree with an iron bar, and at intervals from the deepest part of the forest there came a single, wild, fierce cry. even professor ditson could not identify these sounds. "dem most suttinly is ha'nts," volunteered hen. "i know 'em. you wouldn't catch dis chile goin' far alone in dese woods." one of the smaller birds which interested will was the many-colored knight, which looked much like one of the northern kinglets. his little body, smaller than that of a house-wren, showed seven colors--black, white, green, blue, orange, yellow, and scarlet, and he had a blue crown and a sky-blue eye. moreover, his nest, fastened to a single rush, was a marvel of skill and beauty, being made entirely of soft bits of dry, yellow sedge, cemented together with gum so smoothly that it looked as if it had been cast in a mold. then there was the bienteveo tyrant, a bird about nine inches long, which caught fish, flies, and game, and fed on fruit and carrion indiscriminately. it was entirely devoted to its mate, and whenever a pair of tyrants were separated, they would constantly call back and forth to each other reassuringly, even when they were hunting. when they finally met again, they would perch close to each other and scream joyously at being reunited. another bird of the same family, the scarlet tyrant, all black and scarlet, was so brilliant that even the rainbow-hued tanagers seemed pale and the jeweled humming-bird sad-colored in the presence of "coal-o'-fire," as the indians have named this bird. jud was more impressed with the wonders of the vegetable kingdom. whenever he strayed off the beaten path or tried to cut his way through a thicket, he tangled himself in the curved spines of the pull-and-haul-back vine, a thorny shrub which lives up to its name, or was stabbed by the devil-plant, a sprawling cactus which tries quite successfully to fill up all the vacant spaces in the jungle where it grows. each stem of this well-named shrub had three or four angles, and each angle was lined with thorns an inch or more in length, so sharp and strong that they pierced jud's heavy hunting-boots like steel needles. if it had not been for hen, who was a master with the machete, jud never would have broken loose from his entanglements. beyond the cactus, the old trapper came to a patch of poor-man's plaster, a shrub with attractive yellow flowers, but whose leaves, which broke off at a touch, were covered on the under side with barbed hairs, which caught and clung to any one touching them. the farther jud went, the more he became plastered with these sticky leaves, until he began to look like some huge chrysalis. the end came when he tripped on a network of invisible wires, the stems of species of smilax and morning-glory, and rolled over and over in a thicket of the plasters. when at last he gained his feet, he looked like nothing human, but seemed only a walking mass of green leaves and clinging stems. "yah, yah, yah!" roared hen. "mars' jud he look des like br'er rabbit did when he spilled br'er bear's bucket o' honey over hisself an' rolled in leafs tryin' to clean hisself. mars' jud sure look like de grand-daddy ob all de ha'nts in dese yere woods." "shut up, you fool darky," said jud, decidedly miffed. "come and help unwrap me. i feel like a cigar." hen laughed so that it was with difficulty that he freed jud, prancing with impatience, from his many layers of leaves. later on, hen showed himself to be an even more present help in trouble. the two were following a path a short distance away from the rest of the party, with jud in the lead. suddenly the trapper heard the slash of the negro's machete just behind him, and turned around to see him cutting the head from a coiled rattlesnake over which jud had stepped. if jud had stopped or touched the snake with either foot, he would most certainly have been bitten, and it spoke well for hen's presence of mind that he kept perfectly quiet until the danger was over. this south american rattlesnake had a smaller head and rougher scales than any of the thirteen north american varieties, and was nearly six feet in length. professor ditson was filled with regret that it had not been caught alive. "never kill a harmless snake," he said severely to hen, "without consulting me. i would have been glad to have added this specimen to the collection of the zoölogical gardens." "harmless!" yelled jud, much incensed. "a rattlesnake harmless! how do you get that way?" "he didn't do you any harm, did he?" retorted the professor, acidly. "it is certainly ungrateful of you to slander a snake just after he has saved your life." "how did he save my life?" asked jud. "by not biting you," returned professor ditson, promptly. a little later poor jud had a hair-raising experience with another snake. he had shot a carancha, that curious south american hawk which wails and whines when it is happy, and, although a fruit-eater with weak claws and only a slightly hooked beak, attacks horses and kills lambs. jud had tucked his specimen into a back pocket of his shooting-jacket and was following a little path which led through an open space in the jungle. he had turned over his shot-gun to joe, and was trying his best to keep clear of any more tangling vines, when suddenly right beside him a great dark snake reared its head until its black glittering eyes looked level into jud's, and its flickering tongue was not a foot from his face. with a yell, jud broke the world's record for the back-standing broad-jump and tore down the trail shouting, "bushmaster! bushmaster!" at the top of his voice. as he ran he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back. "he's got me!" he called back to hen pine, who came hurrying after him. "ouch! there he goes again!" and he plunged headlong into a patch of pull-and-haul-back vine, which anchored him until hen came up. "dat ain't no bushmaster, mars' jud," the latter called soothingly. "dat was only a trail-haunting blacksnake. he like to lie next to a path an' stick up his ol' head to see who's comin', kin' o' friendly like." "friendly nothin'!" groaned jud. "he's just bit me again." as soon as hen laid hold of jud's jacket he found out what was the matter. the hawk had only been stunned by jud's shot and, coming to life again, had promptly sunk his claws into the latter's back, and jud had mistaken the bird's talons for the fangs of the bushmaster. professor ditson, who had hurried up, was much disappointed. "if you ever meet a bushmaster, you'll learn the difference between it and a harmless blacksnake," he observed. "probably, however," he went on thoughtfully, "it will be too late to do you much good." "why do all the snakes in south america pick on me?" complained jud. "there don't seem to be nothin' here but snakes an' thorns." it was pinto who gave the old trapper his first favorable impression of the jungle. they had reached a deserted bungalow in the heart of the woods, which professor ditson had once made his headquarters a number of years before. there they planned to have lunch and spend the night. at the meal jud showed his usual good appetite in spite of his misfortunes, but he complained afterward to hen, who had attached himself specially to the old man, about the absence of dessert. "i got a kind of a sweet tooth," he said. "you ain't got a piece of pie handy, have you?" "no sah, no sah," replied hen, regretfully. "you's about three thousand miles south ob de pie-belt." "wait," broke in pinto, who had been listening. "wait a minute; i get you something sweet," and he led the way to an enormous tree with reddish, ragged bark. some distance up its trunk was a deep hollow, out of which showed a spout of dark wax nearly two feet long. in and out of this buzzed a cloud of bees. "i get you!" shouted jud, much delighted, "a bee-tree! look out, boy," he went on, as the indian, clinging to the ridges of the bark with his fingers and toes, began to climb. "those bees'll sting you to death." "south american bees hab no sting," explained hen, as pinto reached the wax spout, and, breaking it off, thrust his hand fearlessly through the cloud of bees into the store of honey beyond. a moment later, and he was back again, laden with masses of dripping honeycomb, the cells of which, instead of being six-sided, as with our northern bees, resembled each one a little bottle. the honey was clear and sweet, yet had a curious tart flavor. while jud was sampling a bit of honeycomb, pinto borrowed hen's machete and cut a deep gash through the rough red bark of the tree. immediately there flowed out from the cut the same thick, milky juice which they had seen at their first breakfast in south america. the indian cut a separate gash for each one of the party, and they all finished their meal with draughts of the sweet, creamy juice. "it sure is a land flowing with milk an' honey," remarked jud, at last, after he had eaten and drunk all that he could hold. "this vegetable milk is particularly rich in gluten," observed professor ditson, learnedly. "i guess it'd gluten up a fellow's stomach all right if he drank too much of it," remarked jud, smacking his lips over the sweet, sticky taste which the juice of the cow-tree left in his mouth. after lunch, most of the party retired to their hammocks in the cool dark of the house for the siesta which south american travelers find an indispensable part of a tropical day. only the scientist and will stayed awake to catch butterflies through the scented silence of the forest where the air, filled with the steam and perfume of a green blaze of growth, had the wet hotness of a conservatory. when even the insects and the untiring tree-toads were silenced by the sun, professor ditson, wearing a gray linen suit with a low collar and a black tie, was as enthusiastic as ever over the collecting of rare specimens, and was greatly pleased at will's interest in his out-of-door hobbies. together they stepped into the jungle, where scarlet passion-flowers shone like stars through the green. almost immediately they began to see butterflies. the first one was a magnificent grass-green specimen, closely followed by others whose iridescent, mother-of-pearl wings gleamed in the sunlight like bits of rainbow. on a patch of damp sand a group made a cloud of sulphur-yellow, sapphire-blue, and gilded green-and-orange. the professor told will that in other years he had found over seven hundred different kinds within an hour's walk from this forest bungalow, being more than double the number of varieties found in all europe. deep in the jungle, they at last came to a little open stretch where the professor had often collected before and which to-day seemed full of butterflies. never had will imagined such a riot of color and beauty as there dazzled his eyes. some of the butterflies were red and yellow, the colors of spain. others were green, purple, and blue, bordered and spangled with spots of silver and gold. then there were the strange transparent "glass-wings." one of these, the _hetaira esmeralda_, will was convinced must be the most beautiful of all flying creatures. its wings were like clear glass, with a spot of mingled violet and rose in the center of each one. at a distance, only this shimmering spot could be seen rising and falling through the air, like the wind-borne petals of some beautiful flower. indeed, as the procession of color drifted by, it seemed to the boy as if all the loveliest flowers on earth had taken to themselves wings, or that the rainbow-bridge of the sky had been shattered into fragments which were drifting slowly down to earth. the largest of them all were the swallowtails, belonging to the same family as the tiger, and blue and black swallowtail, which will had so often caught in cornwall. one of that family gleamed in the sunlight like a blue meteor as it flapped its great wings, seven inches from tip to tip and of a dazzling blue, high above the tree-tops. another member of the same family, and nearly as large, was satiny white in color. professor ditson told will that both of these varieties were almost unknown in any collection, as they never came within twenty feet of the ground, so that the only specimens secured were those of disabled or imperfect butterflies which had dropped to the lower levels. "why couldn't i climb to the top of one of those trees with a net and catch some?" inquired will, looking wistfully up at the gleaming shapes flitting through the air so far above him. "fire-ants and wasps," returned the professor, concisely. "they are found in virtually every tree. no one can stand the pain of an ant's bite, and one sting of a maribundi wasp has been known to kill a strong man." that night, tired out by their long day of hunting, the whole party went to bed early. will's sleeping-room was an upper screened alcove, just large enough to hold a single hammock. somehow, even after his long hard day, he did not feel sleepy. great trees shadowed his corner, so thick that even the stars could not shine through their leaves, and it seemed to will as if he could stretch out his hands and lift up dripping masses of blackness, smothering, terrifying in its denseness. from a far-away tree-top the witch-owl muttered over and over again that mysterious word of evil, "murucututu, murucututu," in a forgotten indian tongue. he had laughed when pinto told him a few nights before that the owl was trying to lay a spell on those who listened, but to-night in the dark he did not laugh. then close at hand in a neighborhood tree-top sounded a beautiful contralto frog-note slowly repeated. "gul, gul, gul, gul, guggle, gul, guggle," it throbbed. the slow, sweet call gave the boy a sense of companionship, and he fell asleep with the music of it still sounding in his ears. toward midnight he woke with a vague sense of uneasiness. it was as if some hidden subconsciousness of danger had sounded an alarm note within his nerve centers and awakened him. something seemed to be moving and whispering outside of the screened alcove. then a body struck the screen of mosquito-netting, and he heard the rotten fiber rip. another second, and his little room was filled with moving, flitting, invisible shapes. great wings fanned the air just above his face. there was the faint reek of hot, furry bodies passing back and forth and all around him. for a moment will lay thinking that he was in a nightmare, for he had that strange sense of horror which paralyzes one's muscles during a bad dream so that movement is impossible. at last, by a sudden effort, he stretched out his hand and struck a match from a box which stood on a stand beside his hammock. at the quick spurt of flame through the dark, from all parts of the little room came tiny, shrill screeches, and the air around him was black with whirling, darting shapes. suddenly into the little circle of light from the match swept the horrible figure of a giant bat, whose leathern wings had a spread of nearly two and a half feet, and whose horrible face hovered and hung close to his own. never had the boy believed that any created thing could be so grotesquely hideous. the face that peered into his own was flanked on each side by an enormous leathery ear. from the tip of the hairy muzzle grew a spearlike spike, and the grinning mouth was filled with rows of irregular, tiny, gleaming sharp teeth, gritting and clicking against each other. deep-set little green eyes, which glistened and gleamed like glass, glared into will's face. before he could move, a great cloud of flying bats, large and small, settled down upon him. some of them were small gray vampire-bats with white markings, others were the great fruit-eating bats, and there were still others dark-red, tawny-brown, and fox-yellow. whirling and wheeling around the little point of flame, they dashed it out, and crawled all over the boy until he felt stifled and smothered with the heat of their clinging bodies. suddenly he felt a stinging pain in his bare shoulder and in one of his exposed feet. as he threw out his hands desperately, tiny clicking teeth cut the flesh of wrists and arms. the scent of blood seemed to madden the whole company of these deaths-in-the-dark, and, although the actual bites were made by the little vampire-bats, yet at the sight of them feasting, the other night-fliers descended upon the boy like a black cloud and clustered around the little wounds, as will had seen moths gather around syrup spread on trees of a warm june night. the sting of their bites lasted for only a second, and the flapping of their wings made a cool current of air which seemed to drug his senses. dreamily he felt them against him, knew that they were draining his life, yet lacked the will-power to drive them away. suddenly there flashed into his mind all that he had heard and read of the deadly methods of these dark enemies of mankind. with a shriek, he threw out his arms through the furry cloud that hung over him and sprang out of his hammock. at his scream, professor ditson rushed in with a flash-light, followed by pinto, hen, and joe, while jud slept serenely through the whole tumult. they found will dripping with blood from a dozen little punctures made by the sharp teeth of the bats, and almost exhausted from fright and the loss of blood. then came pandemonium. seizing sticks, brooms, machetes, anything that came to hand, while will sank back into his hammock, the others attacked the bats. lighted by the flash of professor ditson's electric light, they drove the squeaking, shrieking cloud of dark figures back and forth through the little room until the last one had escaped through the torn netting or was lying dead on the floor. twenty-seven bats altogether were piled in a heap when the fight was over. chapter iv death river at last their first week in this new world of beauty and mystery came to an end. at belem they boarded a well-appointed steamer and embarked for the thousand-mile voyage to manaos, which is only six degrees from the equator and one of the hottest cities of the world. there followed another week of a life that was strange and new to the travelers from cornwall. there were silent, steaming days when the earth seemed to swoon beneath the glare of the lurid sun, and only at night would a breath of air cross the water, which gleamed like a silver burning-glass. for their very lives' sake, white men and indians alike had learned to keep as quiet and cool as possible during those fiery hours. only hen, coming from a race that since the birth of time had lived close to the equator, moved about with a cheerfulness which no amount of heat or humidity could lessen. at night, when the fatal sun had reluctantly disappeared in a mass of pink and violet clouds, the life-bringing breeze would blow in fresh and salt from the far-away sea, and all living creatures would revive. the boys soon learned that, in the mid-heat of a tropical summer, the night was the appointed time for play and work, and they slept during the day as much as possible in shaded, airy hammocks. one evening, after an unusually trying day, the night wind sprang up even before the sun had set. here and there, across the surface of the river, flashed snow-white swallows with dark wings. as the fire-gold of the sun touched the horizon, the silver circle of the full moon showed in the east, and for a moment the two great lights faced each other. then the sun slipped behind the rim of the world, and the moon rose higher and higher, while the indian crew struck up a wailing chant full of endless verses, with a strange minor cadence like the folk-songs of the southern negro. hen pine translated the words of some of them, and crooned the wailing melody: "the moon is rising, mother, mother, the seven stars are weeping, mother, mother, to find themselves forsaken, mother, mother." down the echoing channels, through the endless gloomy forests, the cadence of the song rose and fell. suddenly, in the still moonlight from the river-bank came a single low note of ethereal beauty and unutterable sorrow. slowly it rose and swelled, keeping its heartbreaking quality and exquisite beauty. at the sound the men stopped singing, and it seemed as if an angel were sobbing in the stillness. on and on the song went, running through eight lonely, lovely notes which rose and swelled until there seemed to be nothing in the world except that beautiful voice, finally ending in a sob which brought the tears to will's eyes. then out into the moonlight flitted the singer, a quiet-colored little brown-and-gray bird, the celebrated solitaire, the sweetest, saddest singer of the brazilian forest. after all this music, supper was served. it began with a thick, violet-colored drink in long glasses filled with cracked ice. the boys learned from professor ditson that this was made from the fruit of the assai-palm. it was strangely compounded of sweet and sour and had besides a fragrance and a tingle which made it indescribably refreshing. this was followed by an iced preparation made from the root of the manioc, whose juice is poisonous, but whose pulp is wholesome and delicious. before being served it had been boiled with the fruit of the miriti-palm, which added a tart sweetness to its taste which the northerners found most delightful. the next course was a golden-yellow compound of a rich, nutty flavor, the fruit of the mucuju-palm, which has a yellow, fibrous pulp so full of fat that vultures, dogs, and cats eat it greedily. for dessert, there was a great basket of sweet lemons, mangos, oranges, custard-apples, and other fruits. after supper they all grouped themselves in the bow and there, in comfortable steamer-chairs, watched the steamer plow its way through a river of ink and silver. that day, jud, while in his hammock, had seen, to his horror, what seemed to be a slender vine, dangling from one of the trees, change into a pale-green snake some eight feet long, whose strange head was prolonged into a slender, pointed beak. even as the old man stared, it flashed across the deck not two feet away from him and disappeared in another tree. so perfectly did its color blend with the leaves that the instant it reached them it seemed to vanish from sight. "it was the palm-snake," said professor ditson, after jud told them of his experience. "it lives on lizards, and, although venomous, has never been known to bite a human being. if you had only been brave enough," he went on severely, "to catch it with your naked hand, we might even now have an invaluable record of the effects of its venom." "what is the most venomous snake in the world?" broke in will, as jud tried to think of words strong enough to express what he thought of the scientist's suggestion. "the hamadryad or king cobra," returned the professor. "i once secured one over fourteen feet long." "how did you catch it?" queried will. "well," said the professor, "i came across it by a fortunate accident. i was collecting butterflies in india at a time of the year when it is especially pugnacious, and this particular snake dashed out of a thicket at me. it came so unexpectedly that i had to run for my life. it seems ridiculous that i should have done so," he went on apologetically, "but the bite of the hamadryad is absolutely fatal. this one gained on me so rapidly that i was at last compelled to plunge into a near-by pond, since this variety of snake never willingly enters water." "what happened then?" inquired will, as the scientist came to a full stop. "when i reached the opposite shore, a quarter of a mile away, and was about to land," returned the professor, "out of the rushes this same snake reared up some six feet. with the rare intelligence which makes the hamadryad such a favorite among collectors, it had circled the lake and was waiting for me." "snappy work!" said jud, shivering. "i can't think of any pleasanter finish to a good swim than to find a nice fourteen-foot snake waitin' for me. what did you do then?" "i floated around in deep water until my assistant came and secured the snake with a forked stick. it is now in the new york zoölogical gardens at the bronx," concluded the professor. jud drew a deep breath. "that reminds me," he said at last, "of a time i once had with a pizen snake when i was a young man. i was hoein' corn up on a side hill in cornwall when i was about sixteen year old," he continued. "all on a sudden i heard a rattlin' an' down the hill in one of the furrows came rollin' a monstrous hoop-snake. you know," he explained, "a hoop-snake has an ivory stinger in its tail an' rolls along the ground like a hoop, an' when it strikes it straightens out an' shoots through the air just like a spear." "i know nothing of the kind," broke in professor ditson. "well," said jud, unmoved by the interruption, "when i saw this snake a-rollin' an' a-rattlin' down the hill towards me, i dived under the fence an' put for home, leavin' my hoe stickin' up straight in the furrow. as i slid under the fence," he went on, "i heard a thud, an' looked back just in time to see the old hoop-snake shoot through the air an' stick its stinger deep into the hoe-handle. it sure was a pizen snake, all right," he went on, wagging his head solemnly. "when i came back, an hour or so later, the snake was gone, but that hoe-handle had swelled up pretty nigh as big as my leg." there was a roar of laughter from will and joe, while jud gazed mournfully out over the water. professor ditson was vastly indignant. "i feel compelled to state," he said emphatically, "that there is no such thing as a hoop-snake and that no snake-venom would have any effect on a hoe-handle." "have it your way," said jud. "it ain't very polite of you to doubt my snake story after i swallowed yours without a word." at manaos they left the steamer, and professor ditson bought for the party a _montaria_, a big native boat without a rudder, made of plank and propelled by narrow, pointed paddles. although hen and pinto and the professor were used to this kind of craft, it did not appeal at all favorably to the northerners, who were accustomed to the light bark-canoes and broad-bladed paddles of the northern indians. joe was especially scornful. "this boat worse than a dug out," he objected. "it heavy and clumsy and paddles no good either." "you'll find it goes all right on these rivers," professor ditson reassured him. "we only have a few hundred miles more, anyway before we strike the trail." under the skilful handling of hen and pinto, the montaria, although it seemed unwieldly, turned out to be a much better craft than it looked; and when the northerners became used to the narrow paddles, the expedition made great headway, the boys finding the wide boat far more comfortable for a long trip than the smaller, swifter canoe. after a day, a night, and another day of paddling, they circled a wide bend, and there, showing like ink in the moonlight, was the mouth of another river. "white men call it rio negros, black river," the indian explained to the boys; "but my people call it the river of death." as the professor, who was steering with a paddle, swung the prow of the boat into the dark water, the indian protested earnestly. "it very bad luck, master to enter death river by night," he said. "murucututu, murucututu," muttered the witch-owl, from an overhanging branch. hen joined in pinto's protest. "that owl be layin' a spell on us, boss," he said. "better wait till mornin'." the professor was inflexible. "i have no patience with any such superstitions," he said. "we can cover fully twenty-five miles before morning." the mundurucu shook his head and said nothing more, but hen continued his protests, even while paddling. "never knew any good luck to come when that ol' owl's around," he remarked mournfully. "it was him that sicked them vampires on to will here, an' we're all in for a black time on this black ribber." "henry," remarked professor ditson, acridly, "kindly close your mouth tightly and breathe through your nose for the next two hours. your conversation is inconsequential." "yassah, yassah," responded hen, meekly, and the montaria sped along through inky shadows and the silver reaches of the new river in silence. about midnight the forest became so dense that it was impossible to follow the channel safely, and the professor ordered the boat to be anchored for the night. usually it was possible to make a landing and camp on shore, but to-night in the thick blackness of the shadowed bank, it was impossible to see anything. accordingly, the party, swathed in mosquito-netting, slept as best they could in the montaria itself. it was at the gray hour before dawn, when men sleep soundest, that jud was awakened by hearing a heavy thud against the side of the boat close to his head. it was repeated, and in the half-light the old man sat up. once again came the heavy thud, and then, seemingly suspended in the air above the side of the boat close to his head, hung a head of horror. slowly it thrust itself higher and higher, until, towering over the side of the boat, showed the fixed gleaming eyes and the darting forked tongue of a monstrous serpent. paralyzed for a moment by his horror for all snake-kind, the old man could not move, and held his breath until the blood drummed in his ears. only when the hideous head curved downward toward joe did jud recover control of himself. his prisoned voice came out then with a yell like a steam-siren, and he fumbled under his left armpit for the automatic revolver which he wore in the wilderness, night and day, strapped there in a water-proof case. "sucuruju! sucuruju! sucuruju!" shouted pinto, aroused by jud's yell. "the spirit of the river is upon us!" and he grasped his machete just as jud loosened his revolver. quick as they were, the huge anaconda, whose family includes the largest water-snakes of the world, was even quicker. with a quick dart of its head, it fixed its long curved teeth in the shoulder of the sleeping boy, and in an instant, some twenty feet of glistening coils glided over the side of the boat. the scales of the monster shone like burnished steel, and it was of enormous girth in the middle, tapering off at either end. jud dared not shoot at the creature's head for fear of wounding joe, but sent bullets as fast as he could pull the trigger into the great girth, which tipped the heavy boat over until the water nearly touched the gunwale. pinto slashed with all his might with his machete at the back of the great snake, but it was like attempting to cut through steel-studded leather. in spite of the attack, the coils of the great serpent moved toward the boy, who, without a sound, struggled to release his shoulder from the terrible grip of the curved teeth. the anaconda, the sucuruju of the natives, rarely ever attacks a man; but when it does, it is with difficulty driven away. this one, in spite of steel and bullets, persisted in its attempt to engulf the body of the struggling boy in its coils, solid masses of muscle powerful enough to break every bone in joe's body. it was hen pine who finally saved the boy's life. awakened by the sound of the shots and the shouts of jud and pinto, he reached joe just as one of the fatal coils was half around him. with his bare hands he caught hold of both of the fierce jaws and with one tremendous wrench of his vast arms literally tore them apart. released from their death grip, joe rolled to one side, out of danger. the great snake hissed fiercely, and its deadly, lidless eyes glared into those of the man. slowly, with straining, knotted muscles, hen wrenched the grim jaws farther and farther apart. then bracing his vast forearms, he bowed his back in one tremendous effort that, in spite of the steel-wire muscles of the great serpent, bent its deadly jaws backward and tore them down the sides, ripping the tough, shimmering skin like so much paper. slowly, with a wrench and a shudder, the great water-boa acknowledged defeat, and its vast body pierced, slashed, and torn, reluctantly slid over the side of the boat. as hen released his grip of the torn jaws, the form of the giant serpent showed mirrored for an instant against the moonlit water and then disappeared in the inky depths below. joe's thick flannel shirt had saved his arm from any serious injury, but professor ditson washed out the gashes made by the sharp curved teeth with permanganate of potash, for the teeth of the boas and pythons, although not venomous, may bring on blood-poisoning, like the teeth of any wild animal. jud was far more shaken by the adventure than joe, who was as impassive as ever. "snakes, snakes, snakes!" he complained. "they live in the springs and pop up beside the paths and drop on you out of trees. now they're beginnin' to creep out of the water to kill us off in our sleep. what a country!" "it's the abundance of reptile life which makes south america so interesting and attractive," returned professor ditson, severely. it was pinto who prevented the inevitable and heated discussion between the elders of the party. "down where i come from," he said, "lives a big water-snake many times larger than this one, called the guardian of the river. he at least seventy-five feet long. we feed him goats every week. my grandfather and his grandfather's grandfather knew him. once," went on pinto, "i found him coiled up beside the river in such a big heap that i couldn't see over the top of the coils." "i don't know which is the worse," murmured jud to will, "seein' the snakes which _are_ or hearin' about the snakes which _ain't_. between the two, i'm gettin' all wore out." then pinto went back again to his predictions about the river they were on. "this river," he said, "is not called the river of death for nothing. the old men of my tribe say that always dangers come here by threes. one is passed, but two more are yet to come. never, master, should we have entered this river by night." "yes," chimed in hen, "when i heered that ol' witch-owl i says to myself, 'hen pine, there'll be somethin' bad a-doin' soon.'" "you talk like a couple of superstitious old women," returned professor ditson, irritably. "you wait," replied the indian, stubbornly; "two more evils yet to come." pinto's prophecy was partly fulfilled with startling suddenness. the party had finished breakfast, and the montaria was anchored in a smooth, muddy lagoon which led from the river back some distance into the forest. while will and hen fished from the bow of the boat the rest of the party curled themselves up under the shade of the overhanging trees to make up their lost sleep. at first, the fish bit well and the two caught a number which looked much like the black bass of northern waters. a minute later, a school of fresh-water flying-fish broke water near them and flashed through the air for a full twenty yards, like a flight of gleaming birds. as the sun burned up the morning mist, it changed from a sullen red to a dazzling gold and at last to a molten white, and the two fishermen nodded over their poles as little waves of heat ran across the still water and seemed to weigh down their eyelids like swathings of soft wool. the prow of the boat swung lazily back and forth in the slow current which set in from the main river. suddenly the dark water around the boat was muddied and discolored, as if something had stirred up the bottom ten feet below. then up through the clouded water drifted a vast, spectral, grayish-white shape. nearer and nearer to the surface it came, while hen and will dozed over their poles. will sat directly in the bow, and his body, sagging with sleep, leaned slightly over the gunwale. suddenly the surface of the water was broken by a tremendous splash, and out from its depth shot half the body of a fish nearly ten feet in length. its color was the gray-white of the ooze at the bottom of the stream in which it had lain hidden until attracted to the surface by the shadow of the montaria drifting above him. will awakened at the hoarse shout from hen just in time to see yawning in front of him a mouth more enormous than he believed any created thing possessed outside of the whale family. it was a full five feet between the yawning jaws, which were circled by a set of small sharp teeth. even as he sprang back, the monster lunged forward right across the edge of the boat and the jaws snapped shut. will rolled to one side in an effort to escape the menancing depths, and although he managed to save his head and body from the maw of the great fish, yet the jaws closed firmly on both his extended arms, engulfing them clear to the shoulder. the little teeth, tiny in comparison with the size of the jaws in which they were set, hardly more than penetrated the sleeves of his flannel shirt and pricked the skin below, but as the monster lurched backward toward the water its great weight drew the boy irresistibly toward the edge of the boat, although he dug his feet into the thwarts and twined them around the seat on which he had been sitting. once in the river, the fatal jaws would open again, and he felt that he would be swallowed as easily as a pike would take in a minnow. even as he was dragged forward to what seemed certain death, will did not fail to recognize a familiar outline in the vast fish-face against which he was held. the small, deep-set eyes, the skin like oiled leather, long filaments extending from the side of the jaw, and the enormous round head were nothing more than that of the catfish or bullhead which he used to catch at night behind the mill-dam in cornwall, enlarged a thousand times. although the monster, in spite of its unwieldy size, had sprung forth, gripped its intended prey, and started back for the water in a flash, yet hen pine was even quicker. in spite of his size, there was no one in the party quicker in an emergency than the giant negro. even as he sprang to his feet he disengaged the huge steel machete which always dangled from his belt. hen's blade, which he used as a bush-hook and a weapon, was half again as heavy as the ordinary machete, and he always kept it ground to a razor edge. he reached the bow just as the great, gray, glistening body slipped back over the gunwale, dragging will irresistibly with it. swinging the broad heavy blade over his head, with every ounce of effort in his brawny body, hen, brought the keen edge down slantwise across the gray back of the river-monster, which tapered absurdly small in comparison with the vast spread of the gaping jaws. it was such a blow as richard the lion-hearted might have struck; and just as his historic battle-sword would shear through triple steel plate and flesh and bone, so that day the machete of hen pine, unsung in song or story, cut through the smooth gray skin, the solid flesh beneath, and whizzed straight on through the cartilaginous joints of the great fish's spine, nor ever stopped until it had sunk deep into the wood of the high gunwale of the boat itself. with a gasping sigh, the monster's head rolled off the edge of the boat and slowly sank through the dark water, leaving the long, severed trunk floating on the surface. reaching out, the negro caught the latter by one of the back fins and secured it with a quick twist of a near-by rope. "that's the biggest piraiba i ever see," he announced. "they're fine to eat, an' turn about is fair play. ol' piraiba try to eat you; now you eat him." and while will sat back on the seat, sick and faint from his narrow escape, hen proceeded to haul the black trunk aboard and carve steaks of the white, firm-set flesh from it. "every year along the madeira river this fish tip over canoes and swallow indians. they's more afraid of it," hen said, "than they is of alligators or anacondas." when hen woke up the rest of the party and told them of the near-tragedy pinto croaked like a raven. "sucuruju one, piraiba two; but three is yet to come," he finished despondingly. the next two days, however, seemed to indicate that the river had exhausted its malice against the travelers. the party paddled through a panorama of sights and sounds new to the northerners, and at night camped safely on high, dry places on the banks. on the morning of the third day the whole party started down the river before daylight and watched the dawn of a tropical day, a miracle even more beautiful than the sunrises of the north. one moment there was perfect blackness; then a faint light showed in the east; and suddenly, without the slow changes of northern skies, the whole east turned a lovely azure blue, against which showed a film and fretwork of white clouds, like wisps of snowy lace. just as the sun came up they passed a tall and towering conical rock which shot up three hundred feet among the trees and terminated in what looked like a hollowed summit. pinto told them that this was treasure rock, and that nearly half a thousand years ago the spaniards, in the days when they were the cruel conquerors of the new world, had explored this river. from the ancestors of pinto's nation and from many another lesser indian tribe they had carried off a great treasure of gold and emeralds and diamonds. not satisfied with these, they had tried to enslave the indians and make them hunt for more. finally, in desperation the tribes united, stormed their persecutors' camp, killed some, and forced the rest to flee down the river in canoes. when the spaniards reached the rock, they landed, and, driving iron spikes at intervals up its steep side, managed to clamber up to the very crest and haul their treasure and stores of water and provisions after them by ropes made of lianas. there, safe from the arrows of their pursuers in the hollow top, they stood siege until the winter rains began. then, despairing of taking the fortress, the indians returned to their villages; whereupon the spaniards clambered down, the last man breaking off the iron spikes as he came, and escaped to the spanish settlements. behind them, in the inaccessible bowl on the tip-top of the rock, they left their treasure-chest, expecting to return with the reinforcements and rescue it. the years went by and the spaniards came not again to black river, but generation after generation of indians handed down the legend of treasure rock, with the iron-bound chest on its top, awaiting him who can scale its height. jud, a treasure-hunter by nature, was much impressed by pinto's story. "what do you think of takin' a week off and lookin' into this treasure business?" he suggested. "i'll undertake to get a rope over the top of this rock by a kite, or somethin' of that sort, an' then i know a young chap by the name of adams who would climb up there an' bring down a trunk full of gold an' gems. what do you say?" "pooh!" is what professor amandus ditson said, and the expedition proceeded in spite of jud's protests. chapter v shipwreck about the middle of the morning there sounded through the still air a distant boom, which grew louder until finally it became a crashing roar. beyond a bend in the river stretched before them a long gorge. there the stream had narrowed, and, rushing across a ledge shaped like a horseshoe, foamed and roared and beat its way among the great boulders. the paddlers brought their craft into smooth water under an overhanging bank while they held a council of war. professor ditson had never been on the rio negros before, nor had pinto followed it farther than treasure rock. for a long time the whole party carefully studied the distant rapids. "what do you think?" whispered will to joe. the indian boy, who had paddled long journeys on the rivers and seas of the far northwest, shook his head doubtfully. "can do in a bark canoe," he said at last; "but in this thing--i don't know." pinto and hen both feared the worst in regard to anything which had to do with black river. it was professor ditson who finally made the decision. "it would take us weeks," he said, "to cut a trail through the forests and portage this boat around. one must take some chances in life. there seems to be a channel through the very center of the horseshoe. let's go!" for the first time during the whole trip old jud looked at his rival admiringly. "the old bird has some pep left, after all," he whispered to will. "i want to tell you, boy," he went on, "that i've never seen worse rapids, an' if we bring this canal-boat through, it'll be more good luck than good management." under professor ditson's instructions, pinto took the bow paddle, while hen paddled stern, with will and joe on one side and jud and the professor on the other. then all the belongings of the party were shifted so as to ballast the unwieldy craft as well as possible, and in another moment they shot out into the swift current. faster and faster the trees and banks flashed by, like the screen of a motion picture. not even a fleck of foam broke the glassy surface of the swirling current. with smooth, increasing speed, the river raced toward the rapids which roared and foamed ahead, while swaying wreaths of white mist, shot through with rainbow colors, floated above the welter of raging waters and the roar of the river rose to shout. beyond, a black horseshoe of rock stretched from one bank to the other in a half-circle, and in front of it sharp ridges and snags showed like black fangs slavered with the foam of the river's madness. in another second the boat shot into the very grip of these jaws of death. standing with his lithe, copper-colored body etched against the foam of the rapids, the mundurucu held the lives of every one of the party in his slim, powerful hands. accustomed from boyhood to the handling of the river-boats of his tribe through the most dangerous of waters, he stood that day like the leader of an orchestra, directing every movement of those behind him, with his paddle for a baton. only a crew of the most skilled paddlers had a chance in that wild water; and such a crew was obedient to the indian. in the stern, the vast strength of the giant negro swung the montaria into the course which the bow paddler indicated by his motions, while the other four, watching his every movement, were quick to paddle or to back on their respective sides. at times, as an unexpected rock jutted up before him in the foam, the indian would plunge his paddle slantwise against the current and would hold the boat there for a second, until the paddlers could swing it, as on a fulcrum, out of danger. once the craft was swept with tremendous force directly at an immense boulder, against which the water surged and broke. to jud and the boys it seemed as if pinto had suddenly lost his control of the montaria, for, instead of trying to swing out of the grip of the currents that rushed upon the rock, he steered directly at its face. the mundurucu, however, knew his business. even as jud tensed his muscles for the crash, the rebound and undertow of the waters, hurled back from the face of the rock, caught the boat and whirled it safely to one side of the boulder. in and out among the reefs and fangs of rock the mundurucu threaded the boat so deftly, and so well did his crew behind him respond, that in all that tumult of dashing waves the heavy craft shipped no water outside of the flying spray. in another minute they were clear of the outlying reefs and ledges and speeding toward the single opening in the black jaw of rock that lay ahead of them. here it was that, through no fault of their steersman, the great mishap of the day overtook them. just beyond the gap in the rock was a little fall, not five feet high, hidden by the spray. as pinto passed through the narrow opening he swung the bow of the boat diagonally so as to catch the smoother current toward the right-hand bank of the river, which at this point jutted far out into the rapids. as he swerved, the long montaria shot through the air over the fall. the indian tried to straighten his course, but it was too late. in an instant the boat had struck at an angle the rushing water beyond, with a force that nearly drove it below the surface. before it could right itself, the rush of the current from behind struck it broadside, and in another second the montaria, half-filled with the water which it had shipped, capsized, and its crew were struggling in the current. it was hen pine who reached the river first. when he saw that the boat was certain to upset he realized that his only chance for life was to reach smooth water. even while the montaria was still in mid-air he sprang far out toward the bank, where a stretch of unbroken current set in toward a tiny cape, beyond which it doubled back into a chaos of tossing, foaming water where not even the strongest swimmer would have a chance for life. hen swam with every atom of his tremendous strength, in order to reach that point before he was swept into the rapids beyond. his bare black arms and vast shoulders, knotted and ridged with muscle, thrashed through the water with the thrust of a propeller-blade as he swam the river-crawl which he had learned from indian swimmers. for an instant it seemed as if he would lose, for when nearly abreast of the little cape several feet of racing current still lay between him and safety. sinking his head far under the water, he put every ounce of strength into three strokes, the last of which shot him just near enough to the bank to grip a tough liana which dangled like a rope from an overhanging tree-top. pinto, who was next, although no mean swimmer, would never have made the full distance, yet managed to grasp one of hen's brawny legs, which stretched far out into the current. "you hold on," he muttered to the great negro; "we make a monkey-bridge and save them all." hen only nodded his head and took a double turn of the lianas around each arm. professor ditson was the next one to win safety, for the two boys were staying by jud, who was a most indifferent swimmer. as the professor's long, thin legs dangled out into the current like a pair of tongs, with a desperate stroke will caught one of his ankles, and was gripped in turn by joe, and jud locked both of his arms around the latter's knees, while the swift river tossed his gray hair and beard along its surface. as the full force of the current caught this human chain it stretched and sagged ominously. then each link tightened up and prepared to hold as long as flesh and blood could stand the strain. "go ahead, jud!" gasped will over his shoulder; "pull yourself along until you get to shore; then joe will follow, and then i. only hurry--the professor won't be able to hold on much longer, nor hen to stand the strain." "don't hurry on my account," sounded the precise voice of professor ditson above the roar of the waters. "i can hold on as long as any one." and as he spoke will felt his gaunt body stiffen until it seemed all steel and whipcord. "same here!" bellowed hen, his magnificent body stretched out through the water as if on a rack. "take your time and come along careful." in another minute the old trapper had pulled his way hand over hand along the living bridge until he too had a grip on one of the dangling lianas. he was followed by link after link of the human chain until they were all safe at the edge of the bank. hen was the first to scramble up and give the others a helping hand, and a moment later all six of the treasure-seekers stood safe on the high ridge of the little promontory and sadly watched the boat which had borne them so well smash into a mass of floating, battered planks among the rocks and disappear down the current. along with it went their guns, their ammunition, and their supplies. jud alone retained the automatic revolver which he always wore, with a couple of clips holding sixteen cartridges, besides the eight in the cylinder. hen also could not be termed weaponless, for he still wore his machete; while will had a belt-ax, joe a light hatchet, and professor ditson a sheath-knife. besides these, the indian had his bamboo tinder-box and flint and steel, which he always wore in his belt. these and the jack-knives and a few miscellaneous articles which they happened to have in their pockets or fastened to their belts comprised the whole equipment of the party. before them stretched a hundred miles of uncharted jungle, infested by dangerous beasts and wandering cannibal tribes, through which they must pass to reach the old slave trail. half that distance behind them was the amazon. if once they could find their way back to that great river and camp on its banks, sooner or later a boat would go by which would take them back to manaos. this, however, might mean weeks of delay and perhaps the abandonment of the whole trip. as they stood upon a white sand-bank far enough back from the river so that the roar of the rapids no longer deafened them, it was pinto who spoke first. "master," he said to professor ditson, "it is no time for council. let us have fire and food first. a man thinks more wisely with his head when his stomach is warm and full." "i'll say the man is right," said jud, shivering a little in his wet clothes as the coolness of the approaching night began to be felt through the forest; "but where is that same fire and food goin' to come from?" pinto's answer was to scrape shavings from the midrib of a dry palm-leaf. when he had a little pile on the white sand in front of him, he opened the same kind of tinder-box that our ancestors used to carry less than a century and a half ago. taking out from this an old file and a bit of black flint, with a quick glancing blow he sent half a dozen sparks against a dry strip of feltlike substance found only in the nests of certain kinds of ants. in a minute a deep glow showed from the end of this tinder, and, placing it under the pile of shavings, pinto blew until the whole heap was in a light blaze. hastily piling dry wood on top of this, he left to the others the task of keeping the fire going and, followed by will, hurried through the jungle toward the towering fronds of a peach-palm, which showed above the other trees. twisting together two or three lianas, the indian made from them a light, strong belt. this he slipped around himself and the tree, and, gripping it in both hands, began to walk up the rough trunk, leaning against this girdle and pushing it up with each step, until, sixty feet from the ground, he came to where the fruit of the tree was clustered at its top. it grew in a group of six, each one looking like a gigantic, rosy peach a foot in diameter. in a moment they all came whizzing to the ground, and the two staggered back to the fire with the party's supper on their backs. stripping off the thick husk, pinto exposed a soft kernel which, when roasted on the coals, tasted like a delicious mixture of cheese and chestnuts. when at last all the members of the party were full-fed and dry, the wisdom of pinto's counsel was evident. every one was an optimist; and, after all, the best advice in life comes from optimists. even pinto and hen felt that, now that they had lived through the third misfortune, they need expect no further ill luck from the river. "forward or back--which!" was the way professor ditson put the question. "forward!" voted will. "forward!" grunted joe. jud seemed less positive. "i sure would hate to go back," he said, "after old jim donegan had grub-staked us, an' tell the old man that, while we're good pearlers, we're a total loss when it comes to emeralds. yet," he went on judicially, "there's a hundred miles of unexplored forests between us and the perfesser's trail, if there is any such thing. we've lost our guns; we've no provisions; we're likely to run across bands of roving cannibals; lastly, it may take us months to cut our way through this jungle. therefore i vote--forward!" "that's the stuff, jud!" exclaimed will, much relieved. "oh, i don't believe in takin' any chances," returned the old man, who had never done anything else all his life. "my idea is to always look at the dangers--an' then go ahead." "what about me?" objected hen. "i ain't a-goin' to cut no hundred miles of trail through this here jungle for nobody." the answer came, sudden and unexpected, from the forests. "john cut wood! john cut wood! john cut wood!" called some one, clearly. it was only a spotted goatsucker, a bird belonging to the same family as our northern whip-poor-will, but hen was much amused. "you hear what the bird say, you john pinto. get busy and cut wood," he laughed, slapping his friend mightily on the back. "all right," said the indian, smiling, "john _will_ cut wood. master," he said to professor ditson, "if all will help, i can make a montaria in less than a week, better than the one we lost. then we not have to cut our way through jungle." "pinto," said professor ditson, solemnly, for once dropping into slang, "the sense of this meeting is--that you go to it." that night they followed the bank until they found a place where it curved upward into a high, dry bluff. there, on soft white sand above the mosquito-belt, they slept the sleep of exhaustion. it was after midnight when will, who was sleeping between professor ditson and jud, suddenly awoke with a start. something had sniffed at his face. without moving, he opened his eyes and looked directly into a pair that flamed green through the darkness. in the half-light of the setting moon he saw, standing almost over him, a heavily built animal as big as a small lion. yet the short, upcurved tail and the rosettes of black against the gold of his skin showed the visitor to be none other than that terror of the jungle, the great jaguar, which in pioneer days used to come as far north as arkansas and is infinitely more to be feared than the panthers which our forefathers dreaded so. this one had none of the lithe grace of the cougars which will had met during the quest of the blue pearl, but gave him the same impression of stern tremendous strength and girth that a lion possesses. all of these details came to will the next day. at that moment, as he saw the great round head of this king of the south american forest within a foot of his own, he was probably the worst scared boy on the south american continent. will knew that a jaguar was able to drag a full-grown ox over a mile, and that this one could seize him by the throat, flirt his body over one shoulder, and disappear in the jungle almost before he could cry out. the great beast seemed, however, to be only mildly interested in him. probably he had fed earlier in the evening. even as will stared aghast into the gleaming eyes of the great cat, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, jud's right hand stealing toward his left shoulder. the old trapper, as usual, was wide awake when any danger threatened. before, however, he had time to reach his automatic, professor ditson, equally watchful from his side, suddenly clapped his hands together sharply, close to the jaguar's pricked-up ears. the effect was instantaneous. with a growl of alarm, the great beast sprang backward and disappeared like a shadow into the forest. the professor sat up. "that's the way to handle jaguars," he remarked. "he'll not come back. if you had shot him," he continued severely to jud, who held his cocked revolver in one hand, "he would have killed the boy and both of us before he died himself." and the professor lay down again to resume his interrupted slumbers. it was this occurrence which started a discussion the next morning in regard to weapons, offensive and defensive. "i 'low," said hen pine, making his heavy machete swing through the air as he whirled it around his head, "that i can stop anything i meet with this 'ere toothpick of mine." "hen," remarked jud, impressively, "do you see that round thing hangin' against the sky in the big tree about fifty yards away?" "yassah, yassah," responded hen, "that's a monkey-pot full of brazil-nuts." "well, boy," returned the old trapper, "just keep your eye on it." as he spoke he raised his automatic to the level of his hip, shooting without sighting, with that strange sixth sense of position which some of the great revolver-shots of a past generation used to acquire. there was a flash, a sharp spat, and the case of nuts about twice the size of a man's fist came whizzing to the ground. hen stared at the old trapper with his mouth open. "you is sure the hittenest shooter ever i see," he said at last. joe said nothing, but, drawing from his belt the keen little hatchet which he always carried, poised himself with his left foot forward, and, whirling the little weapon over his head, sent it hurtling through the air toward the same brazil-nut tree. the little ax buzzed like a bee and, describing a high curve, buried itself clear to the head in the soft bark. picking up a couple of heavy round stones, will put himself into a pitching position and sent one whizzing in a low straight peg which hardly rose at all and which struck the tree close to joe's hatchet with a smack which would have meant a broken bone for any man or beast that it struck; for, as joe had found out when the two were pursued by scar dawson's gang, will was a natural-born stone-thrower, with deadly speed and accuracy. it was professor ditson, however, who gave what was perhaps the most spectacular exhibition of all. standing before them, lean and gaunt, he suddenly reached to his belt and drew out a keen, bone-handled, double-edged sheath-knife. poising this flat on the palm of his hand, he threw it, with a quick jerk, with much the same motion of a cricket-bowler. the keen weapon hissed through the air like an arrow, and was found sunk nearly to the hilt in the bark between the mark of will's stone and the head of joe's hatchet. "when i was a very young man," the professor explained, embarrassed, "i attained a certain amount of proficiency with the bowie-knife." "i'll say you did!" exclaimed jud, as he worked the knife out of the tough bark. "any cannibal that comes within fifty yards of this party is liable to be chopped an' stabbed an' broken an' shot--to say nothin' of hen's machete at close quarters." pinto had watched these various performances in silence. "this evening," he said at last, "i show you a gun that kills without any noise." borrowing joe's hatchet, he disappeared into the woods, to come back half an hour later with a nine-foot stick of some hard, hollow, light wood about an inch in diameter, straight as an arrow, and with a center of soft pith. laying this down on a hard stump, pinto, with the utmost care, split the whole length into halves. then, fumbling in his belt he pulled from it one of the sharp teeth of the paca, that curious reddish rodent which is half-way in size and appearance between a hog and a hare and which is equally at home on land and in water, and whose two-inch cutting-teeth are among the favorite ready-made tools of all south american indians. with one of these pinto carefully hollowed out each section of the stick, smoothing and polishing the concave surface until it was like glass. then, fitting the two halves together, he wound them spirally with a long strip of tape which he made from the tough, supple wood of a climbing palm, waxed with the black wax of the stingless bees. when it was finished he had a light, hollow tube about nine feet long. at one end, which he tapered slightly, he fixed, upright, the tiny tooth of a mouse, which he pressed down until only a fleck of shining ivory showed as a sight above the black surface of the tube. at the other end he fitted in a cup-shaped mouthpiece, chiseled out of a bit of light, seasoned wood. by noon it was finished, and jud and the boys saw for the first time the deadly blow-gun of the mundurucu indians. for arrows, pinto cut tiny strips from the flinty leaf-stalks of palm-leaves. these he scraped until the end of each was as sharp as a needle. then he feathered them with little oval masses of silk from the seed-vessels of silk-cotton trees, whose silk is much fluffier and only about half the weight of ordinary cotton. in a short time he had made a couple of dozen of these arrows, each one of which fitted exactly to the bore of the blow-gun, and also fashioned for himself a quiver of plaited grasses, which he wore suspended from his shoulder with a strip of the palm tape. late in the afternoon he made another trip into the forest, returning with a mass of bark scraped from a tree called by the indians _mavacure_, but which the white settlers in south america have named the poison tree. this bark he wet in the river, and then pounded it between two stones into a mass of yellowish fibers, which he placed in a funnel made of a plantain-leaf. under this he set one of the aluminum cups which each of the party carried fastened to his belt. this done, he poured in cold water and let the mass drip until the cup was full of a yellow liquid, which he heated over a slow fire. when it thickened he poured in some of the milky juice of another near-by tree, which turned the mixture black. when it had boiled down to a thick gummy mass, pinto wrapped it up carefully in a palm-leaf, after first dipping every one of his arrows into the black compound. so ended the making of the famous urari arrow-poison, which few white men indeed have ever seen brewed. when it was safely put away, pinto carefully fitted one of the tiny arrows into the mouthpiece and raised the blow-gun to his mouth, holding it with both hands touching each other just beyond the mouthpiece, instead of extending his left arm, as a white man would hold a gun. even as he raised the long tube, there came a crashing through the near-by trees, and the party looked up to see a strange sight. rushing along the branches came a pale greenish-gray lizard, marked on the sides with black bars and fully six feet in length. along its back ran a crest of erect spines. even as its long compressed tail whisked through the foilage, a reddish animal, which resembled a lanky raccoon, sprang after it like a squirrel, following hard on its trail. "it's an' ol' coati chasin' a big iguana," muttered hen, as the pair went by. "they're both mighty fine eatin'." at first, the pursued and the pursuer seemed equally matched in speed. little by little, the rapid bounds of the mammal overtook the swift glides of the reptile, and in a tree-top some fifty yards away the iguana turned at bay. in spite of its size and the threatening, horrible appearance of its uplifted spines, the coati made short work of it, worrying it like a dog, and finally breaking its spine. even as its long bulk hung lifeless from the powerful jaws of the animal, pinto drew a deep breath and, sighting his long tube steadily toward the distant animal, drove his breath through the mouthpiece with all his force. there followed a startling pop, and a white speck flashed through the air toward the coati. a second later, the latter, still holding the dead iguana, gave a spring as if struck by something, and started off again through the tree-tops, the great body of the dead lizard trailing behind. suddenly the coati began to go slower and slower and then stopped short. its head drooped. first one paw and then another relaxed, until, with a thud, the coati and iguana struck the ground together both stone-dead. the boys rushed over and found pinto's tiny, deadly arrow embedded deep in the coati's side. less than a minute had passed since it had been struck, but the deadly urari had done its work. fortunately, this poison does not impair the food value of game, and later on, over a bed of coals, hen made good his words about their eating qualities. the coati tasted like roast 'possum, while the flesh of the giant lizard was as white and tender as chicken. "i feel as if i was eatin' a dragon," grumbled jud, coming back for a third helping. followed a week of hard work for all. under pinto's directions, taking turns with jud's ax, they cut down a yellow stonewood tree, which was almost as hard and heavy as its name. out of the trunk they shaped a log some nineteen feet in length and three feet through, which, with infinite pains and with lianas for ropes, they dragged on rollers to the water's edge. then, with enormous labor, working by shifts with joe's hatchet, jud's ax, and hen's machete, they managed to hollow out the great log. at the end of the fourth day, jud struck. "i'll work as hard as any man," he said, "but i got to have meat. if i work much longer on palm-nuts i'm liable to go plumb nutty myself." as the rest of the party felt the same craving, pinto and jud were told off to hunt for the rest of that day. it was jud who first came across game, a scant half-mile from camp, meeting there an animal which is one of the strangest still left on earth and which, along with the duck-bill of australia and the great armadillo, really belongs to a past age, before man came to earth, but by some strange accident has survived to this day. in front of him, digging in a dry bank with enormous curved claws, was an animal over six feet in length and about two feet in height. it had great hairy legs, and a tremendous bushy tail, like a vast plume, curled over its back. its head ended in a long, tapering, toothless snout, from which was thrust constantly a wormlike, flickering tongue, while a broad oblique stripe, half gray and half black, showed on either side. "there ain't no such animal," murmured jud to himself, examining the stranger with awe. pinto's face shone with pleasure when he came up. "it giant ant-eater and very good to eat," he remarked cheerfully. upon seeing them, the great beast shuffled away, but was soon brought to bay, when it stood with its back against the bank, swinging its long snout back and forth and making a little whining noise. jud was about to step in and kill it with a blow from his ax, but pinto held him back. "no get in close to ant-bear," he warned, pointing to the giant's claws. "he rip you to pieces. you watch." stepping back, the indian raised his blow-gun to his mouth. again came the fatal pop, and the next second one of the tiny arrows was embedded like a thorn in the side of the monster's snout. for a moment the great ant-eater tried to dislodge the tiny pointed shaft with his enormous claws. then he stopped, stood motionless for a while, swayed from side to side, and sank dead without a sound or struggle. with the help of jud's ax and his own knife, the indian soon quartered and dressed the great beast and an hour later the two staggered back to camp loaded down with a supply of meat which, when roasted, tasted much like tender pork. "now," said jud, smacking his lips after a full meal, "bring on your work!" chapter vi the black tiger under pinto's direction the hollow trunk was lifted up so that each end rested on a stump. then a slow fire was kindled under its whole length. pinto tended this most carefully, so that the heat would spread evenly. gradually, under the blaze, the green wood spread out. this was the most critical point in this forest boat-building, for if there were too much heat at any one point, a crack might start through the log and all the work of the week go for nothing. as the great log opened out, the indian moved constantly up and down its length, checking the blaze here and there with wet moss where the sides were spreading out too fast. at several different points he fitted in straddlers, with wedges made from stonewood branches. by skilfully changing the pressure of these and varying the heat at different points the hollowed log at last took on a graceful curve, with tapered turned-up ends. green strips of stonewood were fitted in for gunwales, and seats and semicircular end-boards put in place. then the long dugout was allowed to cool off gradually all through one night. as it contracted, it locked in place gunwales, seats and thwarts. another day was given to fashioning light paddles out of palm-wood; and then at last, one week after their shipwreck, these latter-day argonauts were once more afloat upon black river. there followed long days, in each of which three seasons were perfectly reproduced. the mornings had all the chill of early spring; by noon came the blinding heat of midsummer; and the nights, of the same length as the days, had the frosty tang of autumn. during the morning of each day they paddled, lying by at noon-time in cool, shaded lagoons where they slept or fished. at other times they would collect nuts and fruits on the shore, under the direction of professor ditson, or take turns in going with pinto on short hunting-trips, during which all kinds of strange game would fall before his deadly blow-gun. it was jud who went with him on the first of these hunts. as they came to the bank of one of the many streams that ran into the black river, the old trapper caught sight of a strange animal on the bank which looked like a great guinea-pig about the size of a sheep. its wet hide was all shining black in the sunlight, and even as jud turned to ask the indian what it was, there sounded just behind him the fatal pop of the blow-gun, a venomous little arrow buzzed through the air, and a second later was sticking deep in the beast's blunt muzzle. like an enormous muskrat, the stranger scrambled to the edge of the stream, plunged in, and disappeared in the dark water. "that was a capybara," pinto informed jud. "well, you've lost him all right, whatever he was," returned the latter. "wait," was all that pinto would say. a few minutes later, the limp, dead body of the capybara, the largest of all aquatic rodents floated to the surface. jud was about to wade into the shallow water and secure it when he was stopped by the mundurucu. "never put your hand or foot into strange water," he said. "you may lose 'em." without explaining himself, he cut a long pole and carefully towed the dead animal to shore. that night the whole party camped on a high, dry, sandy bluff where pinto and hen dressed the capybara and roasted parts of it on long green spits of ironwood. will sampled the dank, dark meat cautiously. "tastes like a woodchuck i once tried to eat," he remarked, after one mouthful. "you can have my share." and he went back to palm-nuts. from another trip, pinto brought back a coaita, one of the spider-monkeys which had so affected will's appetite on the occasion of their first meal at professor ditson's house. this one had a long, lank body covered with coarse black hair, while its spectral little face was set in a mass of white whiskers. will ate the rich, sweet meat shudderingly. "it looks just like a little old man," he protested. "but it tastes better," observed the hardened jud, passing his bark plate for another helping. it was jud and will who accompanied pinto on the third and most eventful trip of all. the boat had been beached at the slope of a high bank; and, while the others dozed or slept, pinto and his two companions started through the woods on their hunt for any game which might add some kind of meat to their menu. a hundred yards from the bank the jungle deepened and darkened. everywhere the strangler-fig was killing straight, slim palms and towering silk-cotton and paradise-nut trees. at first, this assassin among the tree-folk runs up its victim's trunk like a vine. as the years go by, it sends out shoots and stems around and around the tree it has chosen. these join and grow together, forming a vast hollow trunk, in the grip of which the other tree dies. pools of black water showed here and there at the foot of the strangled trees, and something sinister seemed to hang over this stretch of jungle. "feels kind of creepy here," jud confided to will. "looks just the kind of a place for some of hen's haunts," he went on. even as he spoke, there sounded among the distant trees ominous grunting groans, and here and there among the shadows dark shapes could be seen moving about. the fierce moaning grew louder, mingled with a clicking noise like castanets. "peccaries!" muttered jud. "i've hunted the little ones down in mexico. they were liable to bite a piece out of you as big as a tea-cup. i'm in favor of lettin' these big fellows strictly alone." "quiet, quiet!" muttered the indian, slipping behind a tree and motioning his companions to do likewise. "they go by in a minute, and i take off the last one with my blow-gun." instead of doing this, however, the great herd spread out through the woods, grunting and groaning and clattering their sharp tusks. as they came closer and closer, each of the peccaries seemed nearly as large as the wild boar of european forests, while their lips and lower jaws were pure white. the mundurucu showed signs of alarm. "something has stirred them up," he muttered. "if they see us, they charge. better each one choose a tree." even as he spoke, the leading peccary, whose gleaming tusks thrust out like keen knives from each side of his white jowl, glimpsed the little party in the shadows. with a deep groan, he lowered his head and charged at full speed, his tusks clattering as he came, while the white foam showed like snow against the raised bristles of his back. the whole herd followed--a nightmare of fierce heads, gleaming red eyes, and clicking, dagger-like tusks. against such a rush jud's automatic was as useless as pinto's blow-gun or will's throwing-stones. there was only one thing to do, and, with the utmost promptness all three of the party did it. jud went up the vinelike trunk of a small strangler-fig hand over hand, nor ever stopped until he was safe astride the branch of a stonewood tree, twenty feet from the ground. pinto, gripping the rough red bark of a cow tree, walked up it indian fashion until he was safely seated in a crotch far above the ground. will was not so fortunate. near him was the smooth bark of an assai-palm. twice he tried to climb it, and twice slipped back. then, with every muscle tense, he dodged behind it and sprinted, as he had never run before, across a little opening to where a vast strangler-fig had swallowed a brazil-nut tree in its octopus grip. the rush of the charging herd was hard on his heels as he reached the tree, and he had just time to swerve around its trunk and grip one of the vinelike tentacles which had not yet become a part of the solid shell of the strangler. even as he swung himself from the ground, the bristling head of one of the herd struck against his feet, and he kicked them aloft just in time to avoid the quick double slash of the sharp tusks that followed. up and up he went, while the whole shell-like structure of the fig swayed and bent under his weight and dry dust from the dead nut tree powdered down upon him in showers. finally he reached a safe stopping-place, where he could stand with both feet resting in a loop which the snakelike fig had made in one of its twisting turns around its victim. for a few minutes the trio in the tree-tops sat and stared in silence at one another and the weaving, champing herd of furious beasts below. it was jud who spoke first. "it's your move, captain pinto," he remarked. "what do we do next?" "sit still until they go away," returned the indian despondently. "how many arrows have you left?" inquired will from his tree. "ten." "i've got sixteen shots in my locker," observed jud, from his perch; "but there must be nearly a hundred pigs in this herd; an' if these big fellows are like the chaps i knew in mexico, the more you kill, the more those that are left will try to kill you." "the only thing to do is to sit still," repeated the mundurucu. "perhaps they go 'way before night." "perhaps they don't, too," grumbled jud. "a pig's an obstinate critter at his best, an' a peccary's a pig at his worst!" as time went on, conversation among the besieged flagged and each one settled down to endure the wait as best he might. will amused himself by watching the birds which passed him among the tree-tops and listening to some of their strange and beautiful songs. at any time of the year and in any part of the world, a bird-student can always find pleasure in his hobby where unseeing, unhearing people find nothing of interest. to-day the first bird that caught his eye looked something like a crow, save that it had a crest of curved, hairy feathers, which at times, on its perch in a neighboring tree, it would raise and spread out over its head like a fringed parasol. from its breast swung a pad of feather-covered flesh, and, as it perched, it would every now and then give a deep low flute-note, raising its parasol each time in a most comical manner. "what's that bird, pinto?" will inquired, after he had watched it delightedly for a long time. "he umbrella-bird," returned the other, indifferently; "no good to eat." for the mundurucu had a very simple system of ornithology--he divided all birds into two groups, those that were good to eat and those that were not. the next bird which passed by aroused the interest even of jud, who cared even less for birds than did the indian. through the dim light of the sinister forest, above the raging, swinish herd, flitted a bird of almost unearthly beauty, a parrot over three feet in length, of a soft, hyacinthine blue except around the eyes, where the bare skin showed white. as will watched it delightedly, he recognized the bird as the hyacinthine macaw, the largest, most beautiful, and one of the rarest of all the parrot family. even as he looked, the great bird alighted on a neighboring brazil-nut tree and immediately showed itself to be as efficient as it was beautiful. seizing in its great black beak one of the tough, thick nut-cases, called "monkey-pots" by the indians, it proceeded to twist off its top and open up a side, although a man finds difficulty in doing this even with a hammer and chisel. drawing out one brazil-nut after another, it crushed them, in spite of their hard, thick shells, into a pulp, which it swallowed. then it flew away, leaving will staring regretfully after it. as noon approached, the vines and the tree-trunks seemed to hold and radiate the heat like boiler-tubes. gradually it rose and concentrated until the forest seemed to throb and pulsate like a furnace. then a cicada began to sound. it began with a low, jarring note, something like the creaking of our ordinary katydid. this increased slowly in loudness and volume until at last it ended with an almost unendurable siren-whistle note which seemed to shake the very leaves of the trees. again and again and again this performance was repeated, until will, deafened and stunned by the noise, dizzy with the heat, and cramped and tired of standing on his narrow perch, thought with an almost unutterable longing of the dark, cool river and the shaded boat where the rest of the party were even now taking their noontide nap. suddenly, when it seemed to will as if his tortured brain absolutely could not stand one more repetition of this song, the talented cicada, with one farewell screech that surpassed all previous efforts, lay off for the day. for a few minutes there was almost complete silence in the darkened forest. many of the guardian herd had laid down, wallowing in the soft mold and fallen leaves, while others, although they stared redly up into the tree-tops, no longer moved around and around in a circle of which the trapped hunters were the center. suddenly, from the depths of a near-by tree, a pure, sweet, contralto voice sounded, as if some boy were singing to himself. for a moment it rose and fell, and then followed a few plaintive notes almost like those of a tiny flute. then a slow melody began, full of mellow notes, only to be broken off abruptly. after a pause, there came a few clicking notes like those made by a music-box as it runs down, and the performance was over. although the song came from the dark, glossy leaves of the very next tree, stare as he would, will could gain no sight of the singer. twice more the same thing happened. each time he listened with a feeling that this time the tune would be finished and would be such as no mortal ears had heard before; but each time the song would die away in futile clicking notes. when at last the silence was again unbroken, will turned toward the indian. "what was it, pinto?" he asked softly. "that organ-bird." "what does it look like?" "don't know. no one ever see it." "how do you know it's a bird?" "professor ditson say so," returned pinto, conclusively. "that settles it," broke in jud, jealously, from his tree. "he never saw it; nobody ever saw it; but the professor calls it an organ-bird. if he said it was an angel, i suppose it _would_ be an angel." "yes," returned the indian placidly. the argument was suddenly ended for will in a terrible manner. a sharp, burning pain shot through his left shoulder, as if a red-hot coal had been pressed there. as he turned, he saw, trickling down the tree-trunk, long crimson streams, one of which had already reached him, and he recognized, to his horror, a troop of the dreaded fire-ants. even as he looked, the bites of several others pierced his skin, and the pain ran like a liquid poison through his veins as each blood-red ant rushed forward and buried its envenomed jaws deep into his flesh. brushing off with frantic haste those torturers that had succeeded in reaching him, the boy began to slip down the vine toward the ground, for it was no more possible to resist this red torrent of poison and agony than it would be to stand against a creeping fire or a stream of molten lava. old jud heard the involuntary cry, which the sudden pain had wrung from will, and looked over, only to see the red columns of ants streaming slowly, inevitably down the tree, driving will before them to what seemed certain death. the peccary herd, aroused by his movements, had gathered around the tree in close-packed ranks, and frothing, clattering, and moaning, waited for him, making a circle of gleaming tusks. "go back!" called out jud. "go back! you can't possibly get through 'em." "i can't!" called back will. "i'd rather die fighting than be tortured to death up here." as he spoke he slid another yard toward the ground. jud drew in his breath in a gasp that was almost a groan, and, unslinging his ready automatic, began to scramble down to the ground." "what you do?" called out the indian, aghast, from his tree. "i'm a-goin' to stand by that kid," said the old trapper, grimly. "i'll never go back to the boat alive without him." "stay where you are, jud," shouted will, desperately, as he gripped the keen hatchet which he had borrowed from joe when he started on this ill-omened hunt. "come on, boy!" shouted the trapper, unheedingly, as he neared the ground. "i'll meet you, an' you fight through them to my tree. the old man's a-goin' to be right with you." his words were punctuated by the deadly pop of pinto's blow-gun. although the indian could not attain to jud's height of self-sacrifice, yet he had made up his mind to do all that he could do to save the boy with the weapon he had. again and again and again, as fast as he could level, load, and discharge his long blow-pipe, the fatal little arrows sped through the gloom and buried themselves in the thick hides of the peccaries. already some of the inner ring were wavering and staggering under the effects of the deadly urari poison. the sight of their stricken comrades, however, only seemed to drive the herd into deeper depths of dumb, unreasoning madness. they pressed closer and closer to the tree, trampling their dead and dying comrades unheedingly underfoot, and the chorus of moaning grunts and clicking tusks sounded loud and louder. the blood-red stream of fire-ants was half-way down the tree by this time, and will was within a scant ten feet of the ground. the ants were very close as he lowered himself another yard, then a foot lower, and a foot beyond that, until the tusks of the plunging, leaping peccaries beneath him nearly touched his shoes. bracing his feet against the rough trunk, he drew the little ax from his belt, and prepared to spring as far out toward jud's tree as possible, although his heart sank and the flesh of his legs and thighs seemed to curl and chill as he looked out upon the gleaming ring of sharp, slashing tusks among which he must leap. once downed by the herd, and he would be ripped to pieces before he could regain his feet. jud by this time was on the ground, and was just about to shoot, in an attempt to open a passage through the packed herd, when unexpected help came from above. out of the dark depths of a near-by silk-cotton tree sprang with silent swiftness a great black figure which gleamed in the half-light like watered silk. "look out! look out! the black tiger!" shouted pinto, despairingly, from his tree, having shot his last arrow into the frothing circle. even as he spoke, the "tiger," as the indians call the jaguar, landed full on the back and shoulders of the hindmost of the desperate, raging circle. as he landed, the great cat struck one blow with that terrible full stroke of a jaguar, which has been known to break the neck of an ox, and the peccary, with a shrill squeal of terror, went down before the death which haunts every peccary herd. at the squeal, the wild swine swung away from the tree with an instantaneous rush. a jaguar is to a peccary herd what the gray wolf is to the musk-ox of the north and the very life of each member of the herd depends upon facing their foe. upon the instant, every peccary left the trees and hurried toward their dying comrade. unfortunately for the jaguar, the force of his spring, added to the impetus of his stroke, carried him too far, and for a moment he whirled over in a half-somersault and was entangled among the vines. those lost seconds were fatal, in spite of all his strength and swiftness. even as he recovered his feet in a lithe whirl and flirted over one shoulder the body of the dead peccary as a man might toss a rabbit, the death-ring formed around him. two deep, the maddened swine circled him. with a deep, coughing roar, the tiger dropped his prey and struck with his armed paws lightning-like blows that ripped the life out wherever they landed. by this time, however, the peccaries were beyond all fear of death, and a score of them dashed in upon him. jud had involuntarily leveled his automatic at the great brute as it struck the ground, but lowered it with a grim laugh. "he's fightin' for our lives as well as his own," he called quietly to will, as the latter reached the ground and slipped unnoticed past the heaving, tossing, fighting circle of peccaries. in another minute the boy had gained the safety of jud's tree and gripped the old man's hand between his own. "let's stay here," said the old trapper, "an' see it out. we can climb this tree if they come back, an' you'll never see a fight like this again." even as he spoke, the circle bent in upon the great cat. with desperate leaps, he tried to spring over its circumference; but each time it widened out so that always in front and at his back and on both flanks was a fence of sharp, slashing tusks. all around him lay dead peccaries which had fallen before his incredibly rapid strokes; but now his dark, gleaming skin was furrowed and slit with long bloody slashes where the tusks of dead and dying boars had gone home. his strength ebbed with his blood. once more, with a deep, despairing roar, he struck with both paws, killing a peccary at each blow. then he staggered forward, and in a minute was down! time and again his great jaws opened and closed, sinking fierce white fangs deep through the skull or spine of some peccary, but at last only a black heaving of the furious wild pigs could be seen. at times the dark, desperate head of the dying tiger thrust its way out, only to fall back, smothered and slashed. amid a scene of brute rage and fury which even jud, old hunter as he was, had never imagined before, the little party slipped shudderingly away and hastened back over the trail along which they had come, nor ever stopped until they had reached the refuge of the montaria. there they found the rest of the party peacefully sleeping through the midday hours under a cool canopy of broad green palm-leaves which hen had thrown together. professor ditson was more interested in their description of the black tiger than in any of the other details of their adventure. "it was the melanic type of the jaguar and very rare," he said regretfully. "it was certainly unfortunate that you couldn't have collected this one, for there is no specimen, living or dead, in any of the zoölogical gardens or natural-history museums of the world." "you see, professor," explained jud, "we were kind o' busy in keepin' some seventy-five peccaries from collectin' us. what does 'melanic' mean in american?" "any animal may develop either a black or a white type," explained the professor. "when black, it is called 'melanic'; when white, 'albino.' you probably have seen black squirrels, muskrats, or skunks. they are simply color-variations of the ordinary species. so this 'black tiger' was only a jaguar which for some unknown reason happened to have a black skin. these black examples," he continued, "are neither fiercer nor larger than the ordinary kind, although generally considered so by unscientific observers." "what about some of those peccaries?" remarked joe, practically. "can't we bring in one or two that pinto killed for fresh meat?" "no, sir," returned jud, emphatically, "i wouldn't go back into that black bit of woods for all the fresh peccary pork in south america." it was hen pine who noted that will had taken no part in the discussion, and that he was flushed and feverish and suffering intensely from the intolerable pain of the fire-ant bites. "honey, you come along with ol' hen," he said soothingly, "an' he'll fix you up so that you won't feel that fire-poison hurtin' any more." followed by will, he led the way along the river-bank until they came to a small, round-topped tree with intensely green leaves. with his machete, hen cut off several of the smaller branches. from the severed ends a thick, brilliant red sap oozed. "it's the dragon's-blood tree," he explained "an' its juice makes the best balm in the world for burns or stings." as he spoke he rubbed the thick, gummy liquid gently on the swollen and inflamed welts which the venomous bites of the fire-ants had raised on will's shoulders and back. almost instantly the throbbing, rankling pain stopped, and there came such a feeling of grateful coolness that will told hen it was almost worth the pain of the bite to feel the relief of the cure. on the way back, hen discovered another tree which brought the rest of the party nearly as much pleasure as the dragon's-blood had given to will. it had long, glossy leaves, and a straight smooth trunk as large around as a man's body, though it was only about twenty feet high. it was loaded down with what looked like huge plums nearly the size of muskmelons. hen told will that it was the wild papaw tree. the fruit was delicious. when they brought back samples to the rest of the party, there was a stampede to the place and the boat was soon loaded with the luscious fruit. as they explored the bank farther, jud noticed that hen was constantly chewing the dark green leaves of the wild cinnamon, which grew abundantly and had a spicy, pleasant smell like the well-known bark of that name. without saying anything to hen, the old man picked several and sampled them. unfortunately for him, it takes prolonged practice to be able to chew wild cinnamon with any degree of comfort. as the fragrant fiery juice touched jud's tongue and gums he gasped, the tears ran from his eyes as if he had swallowed red pepper, and he spat out the burning leaves emphatically. "you must have a leather-lined mouth," he remarked to the grinning negro. a little later, hen added insult to the injury of the old trapper. they had come to a small tree loaded down with little round, rosy, fruit. "that what you need, mars' jud," hen assured him. thinking that it was perhaps a smaller edition of the papaw tree, jud trustingly sank his teeth into one of the little spheres, only to find it bitter as gall. "what do you mean by tellin' me i need anything that tastes like that," he howled. "i didn't say for you to _eat_ it," laughed the black giant. "i say you needed it. that tree the soap-tree," and hen pointed to jud's grimy hands suggestively. "i guess we all need it," interrupted will, tactfully, before jud could express his indignation further. picking handfuls of the little fruit, each one of the party dipped his hands into a pool near the river bank. the waxy surface of the rosy balls dissolved in a froth of lather which left their hands as clean and white as the best of soap could have done. as the day waned and the coolness of the late afternoon stole through the heat, the montaria was again loosed from the bank. all that night, under the light of another glorious full moon, they traveled fast and far. at last, just as the sun rose, there sounded a distant boom. it became louder and louder until the air quivered and the dark surface of the river showed here and there flecks and blobs of foam. then, as they swept around a bend in the black stream, there appeared before them a sight of unearthly beauty not seen of white men for twice two hundred years. chapter vii the yellow snake over a vast horseshoe of towering crags, with a drumming roar, the dark, resistless river rushed in a mass of snowy foam and broken rainbows down into the whirling caldron below. "the falls of utiarity," whispered pinto, as he guided the boat into a little bend by the bank just above where the terrible downward glide of the river began. making fast to a tree on shore, the whole party stared across at the most beautiful waterfall on earth, as if they could never see enough of its beauty. something seemed to give way in will's brain, and for a long minute he felt as if he were entering a new and strange world. dim, unearthly images seemed to float before him. he thought of the great white throne in revelation--the mystic emerald circled by a rainbow and the pavement of a single sapphire-stone. before him was the beautiful water, sinking into the abyss, yet flowing on forever, while a great rainbow trembled, faded, then came again through the mist and spray like a beautiful spirit walking the waters. with the terror, the rush, and the roar of the crashing waters, was a beauty not of earth that took away all fear, until he seemed to be gazing into the seventh heaven and seeing that which was unlawful for mortal man to look upon. only a moment, and once more he was back in the body and found himself looking confusedly into the faces of his companions, all of whom had felt something of the same uplift. without a word, the indian edged the canoe along the shore and into the mouth of a deep lagoon, half-hidden by overhanging trees. beyond these it widened out and ended in a high, bare bank. back from this stretched a narrow path, showing like a long line through the dark green of the jungle. its surface was trodden ominously hard and smooth, as if crossed and recrossed by many bare feet. "the trail," said pinto, softly. "the trail," echoed professor ditson, as they all stared along the thin line which pierced the forest and led away and across the vast basin of the amazon and on and past the guarded heights of peru until it reached the mines from which spain had dug the gold which enabled her to conquer and hold half the world. only the cruel, fierce, dogged fighters of spain as she was four hundred years ago could have cut this path. even then, when men thought little of life or of accomplishing the impossible, the trail stood forth as a great achievement, every mile of which had cost the lives of men. for a time, the adventurers stared in silence at the brown line athwart the green, the sign and seal of an empire long passed away. then pinto grounded the montaria at the edge of the bank, and, after all of the party had disembarked with their scanty equipment, pulled the boat, with hen's help, back of a screen of tangled vines, marked by a slender assai-palm, until it was completely hidden from sight. "if we are successful," remarked professor ditson, "we'll never see that boat again. if we are driven back along this trail, it may save our lives." there was a silence. for the first time the boys and jud realized that their leader definitely expected perils other than those ever present from the wild creatures that guarded the beautiful, treacherous, mysterious forests of this southern continent. "are the injuns down here dangerous?" inquired jud, at last. "the personal habits of some of them do not commend themselves even to the most broad-minded investigators," returned the professor, precisely. "such as--" questioned jud, again. "well," replied the scientist, slowly, "for one thing, the wild tribes of this part of the amazon basin invariably eat any captives they make. then--" "that's enough," broke in jud. "after i've been eaten i don't care what they do next. what might be the names of these gentlemen?" "the mayas, i think, are the tribe we shall be most likely to meet," said professor ditson, reflectively. "they have no fixed homes, but wander through the forest, guiding themselves by the sun, and sleep in the tree-tops like monkeys wherever they happen to be when night comes. they hunt men, red, white, or black," he went on; "yet, if indian traditions can be depended upon, we do not need to be afraid of them so long as we keep to the trail." "how's that?" inquired will, intensely interested. "every tribe which refers to the trail," the scientist informed them, "speaks of a custom called the 'truce of the trail,' under which travelers along that road are safe from attack." "does that there truce," interposed jud, "take in white men, or is it only for redskins?" "that," returned the professor, "is not certain. some say yes, some say no." "the question is," murmured jud, "what do the mayas say?" "if we pass the trail in safety," went on professor ditson, "we still may expect trouble from dawson after we get into the peruvian highlands. he has great influence with a band of indian outlaws who call themselves the miranhas, or killers, and may persuade them to ambush us in order to secure the map." "i sure am lookin' forward to this pleasure-trip of ours," confided jud to will. during the first day along the trail, will, who was next to pinto, tried to pass away the time by learning a few words of mundurucu. his first lessons in that language, however, were somewhat discouraging, since the dialects of the south american indians contain perhaps more syllables to a word than any other language on earth. "pinto," he began, "i'll point to things, and you tell me what they are in indian, and keep on saying it over and over until i learn it." "all right," agreed the mundurucu. "professor pinto," went on will solemnly, pointing to his hand, "what's that?" "in-tee-ti-pix-tee-e-toke-kee-kee-tay-gaw," clattered pinto, in a breath. "hey, hold up there," said will. "try it in low." half an hour later found him still working on that single word. "whew!" he remarked when he finally had it memorized, "i've heard it takes eight years to learn eskimo. it's liable to take me eighty before i can talk mundurucu. what about this one?" he went on, undiscouraged, pointing to a curious tree with a mahogany-red bark--which, if he had but known it, was a stranger whose seeds had in some way drifted down from much farther north. "e-lit-ta-pix-tee-e-fa-cho-to-kee-not-e," said pinto, slowly and distinctly. for fifteen minutes will wrestled with this new word. "do you know what he said?" at last interrupted professor ditson, who had been listening to the lesson. "he gave me the name for that tree, didn't he?" returned will, a little peevishly. "not at all," said the scientist. "he simply said, 'i don't know.'" "not so blame simply, either," murmured jud, who had also been following the lesson. "our own language is full of similar mistakes imported from native dialects," lectured professor ditson. "'kangaroo' simply means 'i don't know' in bushman; so do 'mosquito' and 'quinine' and 'cockatoo' in different indian languages." "well," said will, "i'm going to pass up mundurucu. here i've spent the better part of an hour in learning two words--and one of them isn't right." "it's a gift, my boy," said jud, patronizingly. "as for myself, i once learned three indian languages, apache, comanche, an' sioux, in less than a month." "indeed!" broke in professor ditson, cuttingly. "you surprise me. won't you favor me with a few sentences in apache?" "surely," returned jud, generously. "ask me anything you like in apache, an' i'll be glad to answer it in the same language." the appearance of a small pond ahead put a stop to further adventure in linguistics, since pinto had promised to catch some fish from the next water they met. as they came to the shore, suddenly, before jud's astonished eyes, a fish about a foot long thrust its head out of the dark water, opened its mouth, and breathed like any mammal. a moment later it meowed like a cat, growled like a dog, and then went under. "i'll never dare tell 'em about this in cornwall," exclaimed jud, earnestly, as the talented fish disappeared. "they'd think i was exaggeratin', an' that's one thing i never do. this trip," he went on reflectively, "is liable to make me believe blame near anything." it was professor ditson who told them that the strange fish was a lung-fish and was a link between the fishes and the reptiles. a little later, pinto, with a length of flexible palm-fiber, noosed a garpike, that strange representative of the oldest family of fishes left on earth, and another link with the reptiles. its vertebræ had ball-and-socket joints like the spine of a snake, and, unlike any other fish, it could move its head independently of its body. armored scales arranged in diagonal rows ran down its back, being fastened to each other by a system of hooks, instead of lapping over each other like the scales of other fishes. this armor was of such flinty hardness that pinto struck a spark from it with his steel, and actually lighted from its own scales the fire on which the fish was cooked. by this pond grew a great orchid with thirty-one flower-stems, on one of which will counted over a thousand beautiful pearl-and-gold blossoms. near the water, too, were many varieties of tropical birds flaming through the trees. among them were flocks of paraquets colored green and blue and red; little honey-creepers with black, purple, and turquoise plumage and brilliant scarlet feet; and exquisite tiny tanagers like clusters of jewels with their lilac throats, turquoise breasts, topaz crowns, and purple-black backs shading into ruby red. these were all searching for insects, while among the blossoms whirred dainty little humming-birds of the variety known as "wood-stars." then there were blood-red macaws with blue-and-gold wings, and lustrous green-black toucans with white throats, red-and-yellow tail-coverts, and huge black-and-yellow bills. for the next few days the treasure-hunters followed the narrow, hard-beaten path through stretches of dark jungle and thorny thickets, or found themselves skirting lonely lakes hidden in the very heart of the virgin forest. everywhere the trail was omniously clear and hard-trodden. sometimes they all had that strange knowledge that they were being watched, which human beings who live in the open acquire as well as the wild folk. at last there came a day when the supplies had run so low that it became necessary for pinto to do some hunting. will went with him, and together they silently and cautiously followed one of the many little paths that at irregular intervals branched off from the main trail. this one was so hidden by vines and creepers that it seemed improbable that any one had used it for a long period of time. it led the hunters into one of the patches of open country sometimes found in the forests of the amazon. this particular one was fringed with great trees and crossed by another path nearly parallel to the one they were following. near the center of the clearing, pinto managed to shoot two curassows, huge, plump birds which looked and tasted much like turkeys. leaving these with his companion, the indian pushed on ahead for more. suddenly he reappeared among the trees, and will noticed as he hurried toward him, that his copper-colored face showed gray and drawn, while beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. as he joined the boy, pinto placed his finger on his lips with a look of ghastly terror and led will into the deepest part of a near-by thicket. from there, though hidden from sight, they had a view through the close-set bushes of the other path. suddenly, from far down that trail, sounded a faint, but regular, clicking noise. as it became louder and louder, rising and falling in a regular cadence, pinto slipped like a snake deeper into the long jungle-grass. "lie still for your life," he whispered in will's ear, so faintly that the boy could scarcely make out the words. then, in an instant, from out of the jungle not twenty feet away there strode along the dim path a figure of nightmare horror--that of a tall naked man, with gaunt and fleshless arms and legs, great knobs of bone marking his knee and elbow-joints. his sunken body was painted black, with every bone outlined in a chalky white, so that he seemed a living, walking skeleton. around the black and wasted neck, wrinkled like that of a mummy, hung a long string of small bones which, with a thrill of horror, the boy recognized by their nails as those of human fingers. it was these, striking together, which made the clicking noise that will had heard. the face of the horror was painted black, except the lips and chin, which showed blood-red, while out of the holes at the corners of the lower lip protruded curved, gleaming peccary-tusks. these ornaments gave an indescribably brutish appearance to the countenance that they ornamented, while above them two snaky black eyes with an expression of implacable cruelty glittered like crumbs of glass from under overhanging brows. like a specter, the shape disappeared among the shadows; but it was followed by another and another and another, until a long procession of terrible figures had passed. as the ill-omened clicking died away in the distance will sprang to his feet. "no!" hissed the indian. "our only chance of life is to lie quiet. that is a maya war-party on a man-hunt!" "they'll meet the others on the trail," whispered will. "six men can't do any more against fifty than two," returned pinto, practically. "we'll only throw away our lives and not save theirs." "stay if you want," returned the boy; "i'll live or die with them!" and he sped back at full speed along the path over which they had come. just before he reached the trail he looked back--and there was pinto at his shoulder. "very foolish," the latter muttered, "but--i come too." down the trail the two hurried, and, rounding a bend, burst in suddenly upon the rest of the party lying in the shade of the overhanging trees awaiting their return. "mayas! mayas!" gasped pinto. as he spoke, far down the trail from around a curve sounded the faint, ominous clicking which the two hunters had heard before. it was then that the old scientist showed that he deserved the right to lead which he claimed. "stand still!" he said sternly to pinto, as the latter seemed inclined to bolt down the trail away from the fatal sound. "put up your gun!" he ordered jud; "the truce is our only chance." then, with quick, decisive commands, he lined the party up so that no part of the body of any one of them extended beyond the surface of the trail, and yet a space was left wide enough to allow any others using the path to pass. at the head of the line he placed the two indians, joe and pinto, so that the mayas might note the presence in the party of members of their own race. "show the peace sign," he snapped sharply to joe, who led the line. "brace up!" he went on, slapping pinto sharply on his bare back; "don't look so scared. no matter what they do," he said, turning to the rest of the company, "don't leave the trail for a second or make any kind of attack on them. they will probably try to make us break the truce of the trail. if any of us do, we are all lost." "my peace sign," muttered jud, grimly, "will be an automatic in one hand an' this little toothpick in the other," and he opened the five-inch blade of the jack-knife with which he had killed old three toes, the grizzly, as already chronicled in "the blue pearl." "if i'm goin' to be eaten," he went on, "there'll be eighteen mayas that ain't goin' to have any appetite for the meal"; and he shifted the single clip of cartridges remaining, so that he could feed them into the automatic if it came to a last stand. all further conversation was ended by the appearance of the same horrible apparition which had so terrified pinto a short time before. as the gaunt painted skeleton of the first maya showed against the green background, surmounted by the black and blood-red face with the grinning tusks and implacable eyes, an involuntary gasp went up from the whole waiting party. jud slipped the safety-catch from his revolver; pinto's face looked as if suddenly powdered with ashes; will's hands stole to the hatchet at his belt; while, down at the end of the line, hen pine gripped his heavy machete until his great muscles stood out like iron bands. two of the party alone showed no sign of any emotion: joe, the descendant of a long line of proud chippewa chiefs, disdainfully stretched out both empty hands palms up in the peace-sign; while professor ditson's calm face seemed to show only the mild interest of a scientist. as the leading maya caught sight of the waiting line, he slowed his swift stride and the war-party crept up close and closer. then came the tense moment which would decide whether the truce was to hold. as the grim hunters moved up, there was no sign on the face of any of them of any acceptance of the peace which joe had offered. with short, gliding steps, they made a complete circle around the little party, closing up until their menacing, fearful faces were less than a foot away and the reek of their naked bodies was like the hot taint of jaguars of the jungle in the nostrils of the waiting six. in their left hands they carried bows and quivers of fiercely fanged arrows gummed with fatal venom, while from their belts swung curved, saw-toothed knives and short, heavy clubs, the heads of which were studded with alligators' teeth. as the mayas came closer, the waiting line wavered involuntarily before the terrible menace of their hating, hateful faces. the mundurucu especially, although no coward, had been taught from earliest childhood to dread these man-eaters, the mayas. it was professor ditson who noticed that, in spite of their menacing approach, not a single warrior had as yet gripped a weapon. "steady, pinto, steady all," he said calmly, "they're trying to stampede us. if one of you leaves the trail, we're all dead men." he spoke just in time, for already pinto was looking longingly toward the refuge of the forest, forgetting that the woodcraft of those hunters of men was superior even to his own. perhaps even professor ditson's voice would not have stopped him if it had not been for a sudden happening. as the leader of the mayas half-circled around joe, the latter turned to face him, still holding out his arms. the motion flung open his flannel shirt, unbuttoned to the waist, and showed, tattooed red on his brown skin, the curling, twisted totem-mark of intertwined serpents by which joe had claimed the right of his blood in the lodge of the great chief during the quest of the blue pearl. as the maya caught sight of this sign he stopped in his tracks. little by little the menace died out of his fierce eyes, and, as if drawn by a magnet, he crept in closer and closer with outstretched neck, staring at the tattoo marks which wound down and around joe's waist. then, with a sudden gesture, he swept aside the ghastly necklace that he wore. there, outlined against his fleshless chest just over his heart, showed a similar emblem--crimson inter-twining serpents facing in opposite directions, with gaping mouths like those of which the totem-pole was made which towered before the lodge of the great chief in far-away akotan. the maya chief stood motionless for a moment. then he stretched both hands out toward joe, palms up, and stood as if waiting. "put your hands in his, boy," hissed jud, from down the line; "he's waitin' for the brotherhood sign." without a word, joe clasped hands with the maya chief, and for an instant the two looked into each other's eyes, the spectral cannibal and the lithe son of a french trapper and a chippewa princess. then, disengaging his right hand, the maya fumbled at his belt and suddenly stretched out toward joe the supple, beautiful tanned skin of a snake, such as but one of the party had ever seen before. it was long and narrow and of a flashing golden-yellow, thickly flecked with tiny red-brown spots. this he wound around the boy's neck, so that it swung gleaming against his gray flannel shirt. once again with outstretched hands the strange figure stood as if waiting, encircled the while by fierce, impassive faces with tusks gleaming horribly against blood-red jaws, and white painted bodies showing like ghosts against the green of the forest. "give him your tie," dictated jud. "don't you know blood-brothers have to exchange presents?" joe hesitated. he had a weakness, perhaps inherited from both sides of his family, for neckties of the most barbaric colors. the one that he was wearing was one of cornwall's best and brightest, a brilliant green-and-purple creation which had cost him a whole dollar at white wilcox's store. to give it up would leave him tieless in a great wilderness. "hurry!" muttered professor ditson, as the maya chief began to lower his outstretched hands. thus urged, the boy reluctantly pulled a foot of glimmering silk from his neck, and the next instant the most brilliant tie that ever graced mr. wilcox's emporium was gleaming against the gray-white of a necklace of human bones. the maya received the enforced present with a grunt of undisguised pleasure, and, raising both hands above his head with palms outstretched, faced his waiting band and began a crooning song filled with strange minor cadences. one by one his men took up the strain, and, led by him, filed away from the trail like ghosts going back to their graves. as the clicking of their necklaces and the notes of their chant sounded faint and fainter and at last died away in the green tangle of the jungle, a long sigh of relief came unconsciously from every member of the expedition. it was jud who first broke the silence. "i've always heard," he said, "that injuns north, south, east, an' west belonged to the four main totems, the bear, the wolf, the snake, an' the eagle, but i never believed it before to-day. that old tattoo-mark, boy," he went on, turning to joe, "certainly came in right handy." "he gone off with my good tie," returned joe, sorrowfully. "and a good job, too, i call it," remarked will, who had never approved his friend's taste in neckwear. it was the maya's present which most interested pinto and professor ditson. the mundurucu indian sidled up close to joe and stared at the glittering skin with all his eyes, but without attempting to touch it. "it's the sacred snake that in the old days only kings and gods could wear," he murmured. "he's right," said professor ditson, raising the gleaming, golden skin reverently from joe's neck. "it's the skin of the yellow snake which the aztecs used to wind around the forehead of atapetl, their terrible goddess of war. only her priests knew where to find these snakes, and it was death for any one else even to look at the skin except at the annual sacrifices of the goddess. this one," he went on, "will be a safe-conduct for the whole party all the way to peru--and ought to be a lesson to you," he continued severely, turning to jud, "never to speak against snakes again." chapter viii the man-eaters five days later they came to a great lake which seemed to stretch away through the depths of the forest interminably, with the trail following its winding shores. at the first sight of the water shining in the sunlight, pinto showed signs of great uneasiness. "this must be the lake of the man-eaters," he said to professor ditson. "i have heard the wise men of the tribe speak of it many times. all the animals around it are eaters of men. see, perhaps there be some of their tracks now!" and he pointed to where there showed in the soft sand what looked like the paw-prints of a huge cat. "pinto," said the professor, severely, "i'm ashamed of you! the sight of those mayas has made your mind run on man-eaters. don't you know a puma's track when you see them, and don't you know that a puma never attacks a man?" "the perfesser's right for once," chimed in jud. "that's the track of what we call a mountain-lion or panther up north, an' they don't never hurt nobody." pinto was still unconvinced. "perhaps they do here," he insisted. "you come along with me," returned professor ditson. "we'll explore this lake a bit before dark." and, followed by all of the party except will and jud, whose turn it was to make camp, he disappeared around a bend in the shore. the two who were left behind soon found a high, sandy bank where they cleared a space and started a small fire. just in front of them was a tiny bay, connected with the lake by a narrow channel edged by lines of waving ferns, while a little beach of white sand curved away to the water in front of the camp-site. "here is where judson adams, esquire, takes a bath," suddenly announced the old trapper, producing a couple of cakes of tree-soap, which he had picked along the trail, and slipping out of his clothes like an eel. "pinto said never to go into strange water," warned will. "pooh," said jud. "he was talkin' about rivers where them murderin' catfish an' anacondas hide. this pool ain't ten feet across an' there's nothin' in it except a few stray minnies"; and he pointed out to will a little school of short, deep-bodied fish which looked something like the sunfish which the boys used to catch along the edges of cream hill pond. otherwise no living creature showed in the clear water, nor could be concealed along the bright, pebbly bottom. "better not," warned will again. "this ain't your country, jud. pinto seemed to know what he was talking about. let's wait until the professor gets back." "pinto will never win any carnegie medals, an' i guess i can take a bath without gettin' permission from the perfesser," returned jud, obstinately. "however," he went on, "just to show you that the old man never takes any chances, i'll poke a stick around in this pool to drive out the devil-fish that may be hidin' here." nothing happened as the old man prodded the water with a long branch cut from a near-by tree, except that the motion of the stick seemed to attract more and more of the chubby fish which he had first seen from the outer channel into the pool. "gee," remarked jud, "but those fish are tame! i'll bet if i had a hook an' line i could flick out a dozen. better come in with me, bill," he went on. "i promised your family that i'd see that you boys took plenty of baths an' kept your hair brushed all through this trip." "i'll wait till the boss comes back," said will, laughingly. that was enough for jud. "i'm my own boss!" he remarked indignantly, and waded in with a cake of tree-grown soap clenched tightly in one hand. his first step took him well above his knees. there was a swirl and a flash from the center of the pool, and in an instant the whole surface was alive with a furious rush of the short, deep-bodied fish toward jud. as they approached, the old man noticed uneasily their staring, malignant eyes, and that they had projecting, gaping lower jaws, thickly set with razor-edged, triangular teeth. suddenly the whole school were upon him, crowding into the shallow water where he stood and snapping at his bare legs like mad dogs. before he could stir, two of them had bitten pieces of flesh out of the calves of both of his legs. as the blood from their bites touched the surface of the pool, the fish seemed to go entirely mad, snapping their fierce jaws frantically and even springing clear of the water, like trout leaping at a fly. if they had not been so numerous that they jostled each other, or if jud had not been quicker than most men twenty years younger, he would have been terribly mutilated. as it was, when he finally reached the safety of the bank, the water which he had just left boiled and bubbled like a caldron, and two of the fish followed him so closely that they landed, flapping, snapping, and squealing, far up on the white sand. when will approached them, the stranded fish tried to spring at him, clicking their jaws with impotent, savage fury. a moment later, as he tried to hold one of them down with a stick, it drove its keen wedge-shaped teeth clear through the hard wood. when the rest of the party came back, they found jud and will staring as if fascinated at the desperate, raging dwellers of the pool. "i told you strange water not safe," said pinto, as professor ditson skilfully bandaged jud's legs with a dressing of sphagnum moss and the thick red sap of the dragon's-blood tree. "look," and he showed will that a joint of one of his fingers was missing. "cannibal-fish more dangerous than anaconda or piraiba. they kill tiger and eat up alligator if it get wounded. once," he went on, "white man ride a mule across river where these fish live. they bit mule and he threw man off into the river. when i got there an hour later only skeleton left of mule. man's clothes lie at bottom of river, but only bones inside. you wait a little. i pay them well." and he disappeared into the woods. professor ditson corroborated the indian. "they are undoubtedly the fiercest and most dangerous fish that swim," he said. "if the water is disturbed, it arouses them, and the taste or smell of blood seems to drive them mad." by the time jud was patched up, pinto came back trailing behind him a long length of liana, from either end of which oozed a white liquid. this vine he pounded between two stones and threw into the pool. a minute later the water was milky from the flowing juice, and before long was filled with floating, motionless piranhas stupefied by the poisonous sap. pinto fished out several with a long stick, and breaking their necks, wrapped them in balls of blue clay which he found along the shore, and, first making air-holes, set them to bake in the hot coals of the fire. when at last a smell of roast fish went up from the midst of the fire, pinto pulled each ball out and broke the hard surface with light taps of a stick. the skin and scales came off with the clay. opening the fish carefully, he cleaned it, leaving nothing but the savory white baked meat, which tasted and looked almost exactly like black bass. jud avenged himself by eating seven. toward the end of the afternoon, professor amandus ditson left the rest of the party reclining in that state of comfort and satisfaction which comes after a good meal. each day the professor devoted all of his spare time toward realizing the greatest ambition of his life, to wit, the acquirement of one full-grown, able-bodied bushmaster. to-day armed with nothing more dangerous than a long crotched stick, he strolled along the trail, leaving it occasionally to search every mound or hillock which showed above the flat level of the jungle, since in such places this king of the pit-vipers is most apt to be found. two hundred yards away from the camp, the trail took a turn, following the curved shore of the great lake, and in a few minutes the scientist was entirely out of sight or sound of the rest of the party. at last, finding nothing inland he turned his steps toward the lake itself. on some bare spaces showing between the trail and the edge of the water, he saw more of the puma-tracks like those which pinto had pointed out earlier in the day. remembering the indian's fear the scientist smiled as he examined the fresh prints of big pads and long claws. "harmless as tomcats," he muttered to himself. a moment later something happened which upset both the professor and his theories. as he straightened up, a hundred pounds of puma landed upon him. the legend of the lake, as far as pumas were concerned, was evidently correct. harmless to man in other places, here, it seemed, the great cat stalked men as if they were deer. this one intended to sink the curved claws of her forepaws in the professor's shoulders, and, with her teeth at his throat, to rake his body with the terrible downward, slashing strokes of the catamount clan. fortunately for himself, he had half-turned at the sound which her sudden spring made among the bushes. instead of catching his throat, the panther's fanged jaws closed on the upper part of his left arm, while her forepaws gripped his shoulders, which were protected by a khaki coat and flannel shirt. professor ditson promptly caught the animal's throat with his sinewy right hand and held the great beast off at arm's length, thus keeping his body beyond the range of the deadly sickle-like hind claws. for a moment the puma's luminous gooseberry green eyes stared into his, and he could see the soft white of her under parts and the long, tawny tail which is the hall-mark of her family. as he sank his steel-strong fingers deeper into the great brute's throat, professor ditson abandoned all hope of life, for no unarmed man can hope to cope successfully with any of the great carnivora. "a dozen zoölogists have lied in print!" he murmured to himself, indignantly. even as he spoke, he tried to wrench his left arm free. he immediately found, however, that it was impossible to pull it straight out from between the keen teeth. sinking his fingers deeper into the puma's throat, he squeezed it suddenly with all of his strength. involuntarily, as the wind was shut off from her lungs, the gripping jaws relaxed enough to allow the scientist to pull his arm through them for a few inches sidewise. again the puma caught the moving arm, a few inches lower down. again, as the man gripped her throat afresh, she relaxed her hold, and he gained an inch or so before the sharp teeth clamped tight again. inch by inch, the professor worked the full length of his arm through the fierce jaws which, in spite of the khaki sleeve and thick shirt beneath, pierced and crushed terribly the tense muscles of his arm. throughout the struggle the tawny beast kept up a continual grunting, choking snarl, while the man fought in utter silence. at last the whole length of the professor's left arm had been dragged through, until only his hand itself was in the mouth of the puma. shoving it down her hot gullet, he gripped the base of her tongue so chokingly that the struggling panther was unable to close her jaws, and, for the first time during the fight, the professor was free from the pain of her piercing teeth. in a desperate struggle to release the grip which was shutting off her breath, the puma lurched over and fell full length on her back in the loose sand, dragging the man down with her, and the professor found himself with his left hand deep in her gullet, his right hand still clutching the beast's throat desperately, while his knees, with the weight of his body back of them, pressed full against her ribs on each side. as they struck the ground he sank his elbows into the armpits of the puma beneath him, spreading her front legs and pinning them down, so that her frantic claws could reach inward only enough to rip his coat, without wounding the flesh beneath. once on the ground, the panther struggled fiercely, pitching and bucking in an effort to release herself from the man's weight so that she could be in a position to make use of the curved scimitars with which all four of her paws were armed. the loose sand shifted and gave her no purchase. as they fought, professor ditson felt his strength leaving him with the blood that flowed from his gashed and mangled arm. raising himself a little, he surged down with both knees and felt a rib snap under his weight and the struggling body relax a trifle. for the first time he dared hope to do what no man had done since the cavemen contended with their foes among the beast-folk, and to his surprise noted that he was beginning to take a certain grim pleasure in the combat. the fury of the fight had pierced through the veneer of education and culture, and professor amandus ditson, the holder of degrees from half a dozen learned universities, battled for his life that day with a beast of the forest with all the desperation and fierce joy which any of his prehistoric forebears might have felt a hundred thousand years ago. it had become a question as to which would give up first--the man or the beast. fighting off the waves of blackness which seemed to surge up and up until they threatened to close over his head, he fought desperately with clutching hands and driving knees, under which the thin ribs of the puma snapped like dry branches, until at last, with a long, convulsive shudder, the great cat stopped breathing. even as he felt the tense body relax and become motionless under his grip, the blackness closed over his head. there the rest of the party, alarmed by his long absence, found him an hour later. his gaunt body was stretched out on the dead panther and his right hand was sunk in the long fur, while his left hand and arm were buried to the elbow in the fierce gaping mouth and his bowed knees still pinned the great cat down. around the dead beast and the unconscious man sat four black vultures. thrusting forward from time to time their naked, red, hooded heads, they seemed about to begin their feast when the rescuing party arrived. with his face hidden in the panther's tawny fur, professor ditson seemed as dead as the beast that lay beneath him. it was not until hen had pried his fingers away from the puma's throat and carefully drawn his gashed hand from the beast's gullet that his eyes flickered open and his gaunt chest strained with a long, labored breath. "i was wrong," were his first words. "the _felis concolor_ does occasionally attack man. i'll make a note of it," he went on weakly, "in the next edition of my zoölogy." "i was wrong, too," burst out jud, pressing close up to the exhausted scientist and clasping his uninjured hand in both of his. "i thought you were nothin' but a perfesser, but i want to say right here an' now that you're a _man_." the danger, however, was not yet over. the scratches and bites of a panther or a jaguar, like those of a lion or tiger, almost invariably cause death from blood-poisoning if not immediately treated. under professor ditson's half-whispered directions, they stripped off his clothes, washed away the blood and dirt with clear water, and then, using the little surgical kit which he always wore at his belt, injected a solution of iodine into every scratch and tooth-mark. "it is necessary," said the scientist, gritting his teeth as the stinging liquid smarted and burned like fire, "but i do not believe that life itself is worth so much suffering." the rest of the party, however, did not agree with this perhaps hasty opinion, and persisted in their treatment until every puncture was properly sterilized. then, bandaged with great handfuls of cool sphagnum moss and attended by the faithful hen pine, the professor slept the clock around. while he was asleep, will and pinto slipped away together to see if they could not bring back a plump curassow from which to make broth for him when he finally woke up; while jud and joe, with similar good intentions, scoured the jungle for the best-flavored fruits they might find. will and his companion found the birds scarce although they slipped through the jungle like shadows. as they penetrated deeper among the trees they were careful to walk so that their shadows fell directly behind them, which meant that they were walking in a straight line, along which they could return by observing the same precaution. as they reached a tiny grove of wild oranges, will's quick eye caught sight of something which gleamed white against the dark trunks, and the two went over to investigate. there they saw a grisly sight. coiled in a perfect circle were the bones of an anaconda some fifteen feet in length. every vertebra and rib, and even the small bones of the head and the formidable, recurved teeth, were perfect, while in all the great skeleton there was not a fragment of flesh nor a scale of the skin remaining. strangest of all, inclosed by the ribs of the snake was the crushed skeleton of a large monkey, which likewise had been cleaned and polished beyond the skill of any human anatomist or taxidermist. some terrible foe had attacked the great snake while lying helpless and torpid after its heavy meal and had literally devoured it alive. the face of the indian was very grave as he looked at the gleaming bones before him, and he stared carefully through the adjoining thickets before speaking. "puma bad man-eater," he said at last; "cannibal-fish worse; but anicton most dangerous of all. he eat same as fire eats. he kill jaguar, sucurucu, bushmaster, alligator, indian, white man. he afraid of nothing." "what is the anicton?" inquired will, frightened in spite of himself. even as he spoke, from far beyond in the jungle came a strange, rustling whisper which seemed to creep along the ground and pass on and on through the woods like the hiss of spreading flames. "come," said the indian, briefly, "i show you." and he led will farther out into the jungle through which the menacing whisper seemed to hurry to meet them. soon small flocks of plain-colored birds could be seen flying low, with excited twitterings, evidently following the course of some unseen objects on the ground. then there came a rustling through the underbrush, and, in headlong flight, an army of little animals, reptiles, and insects dashed through the jungle. long brown wood-rats scuttled past, tiny jumping-mice leaped through the air, guiding themselves with their long tails, while here and there centipedes, small snakes, and a multitude of other living creatures sped through the brush as if fleeing before a forest fire. suddenly, through a corner of the jungle thrust the van of a vast army of black ants. through the woods they moved in lines and regiments and divisions, while little companies deployed here and there on each side of the main guard. like a stream of dark lava, the army flowed swiftly over the ground. as with human armies, this one was made up of different kinds of soldiers, all of whom had different duties to perform. most numerous of all were the eyeless workers, about half an inch in length, armed with short, but keen, cutting mandibles. these acted as carriers and laborers and reserves, and, although blind, were formidable by reason of their numbers. larger than the workers, measuring a full inch in length, were the soldiers, with enormous square heads and mandibles pointed and curved like pairs of ice-tongs. these soldiers would drive in each mandible alternately until they met in the body of their victim, and when they met they held. even if the body of the ants was torn away, the curved clinging jaws still clinched and bit. with the soldiers came companies of butchers, whose jaws had serrated teeth which sheared and cut through flesh and muscle like steel saws. besides these, there were laborers and reserve soldiers by the million. pinto told will that a large ant-army would take twenty-four hours to pass a given point even when traveling at full speed. as they watched this army, will saw an exhibition of what it could do. a large agouti in fleeing before them had in some way caught its leg in a tangle of vines and, squealing in terror, tried in vain to escape. before it could release itself, the rush of the army was upon it, and it disappeared under a black wave of biting, stinging ants, which methodically cut up and carried off every fragment of the animal's flesh, and passed on, leaving behind only a picked skeleton. as will watched this hurrying, resistless multitude, although well beyond the path of its advance, he felt a kind of terror, and was relieved when the mundurucu started back for camp. "nothing that lives," said pinto, as they turned toward the trail, "can stand against the black army." the next day jud and joe joined in the hunt, leaving hen to nurse the professor. following a deer trail back from the shore, they came to a patch of swampy woods a mile from the lake. there will discovered a mound some five feet high made of rushes, rotting moss, leaves, and mold. "is that a nest of ants?" he called to the indian, pointing out to him the symmetrical hillock. pinto's face lighted up. "no," he said, "that a nest of eggs. we dig it out, have good supper to-night." "it must be some bird," exclaimed jud, hurrying up, "to make a nest like that. probably one of them south american ostriches--hey, pinto?" "you'll see," was all that the indian would say as he began to dig into the soft, spongy mass. the rest of the party followed his example. by the time they had reached the center of the mound, digging with sticks and bare hands, the matted, rotting vegetation felt warm to the touch, and this heat increased as they approached the base of the nest. down at the very bottom of the mound, arranged in a circle on a bed of moss, they found no fewer than twenty-four white eggs as large as those of a duck, but round and covered with a tough, parchment-like shell. pinto hurriedly pouched them all in a netted game-bag which he had made for himself out of palm-fiber. "want to see bird that laid those eggs?" he asked jud. "i sure would," returned the old trapper. "any fowl that builds a five-foot incubator like that must be worth seein'." "rub two eggs together and she come," directed pinto, holding out his bag to jud. following the indian's suggestion, jud unsuspectingly rubbed two of the eggs against each other. they made a curious, penetrating, grating noise, like the squeal of chalk on a blackboard. hardly had the sound died away, when from out of a near-by wet thicket there came a roaring bellow that shook the very ground they stood on, and suddenly the air was filled with the sweet sickly scent of musk. jud turned as if stung by a fire-ant, to see a pair of green eyes glaring at him above the jaws of a great alligator which had been lurking in the darkness of the jungle. as it lay there like an enormous lizard, the dark gray of its armored hide hardly showed against the shadows. on each side of the fore part of the upper jaw, two cone-shaped tusks showed white as polished ivory, fitting into sockets in the lower jaw. even as jud looked, the upper jaw of the vast saurian was raised straight up, showing the blood-red lining of the mouth gaping open fully three feet. then, with a roar like distant thunder, the great reptile raised its body, as big as that of a horse, upon its short, squat legs, and rushed through the brush at jud with a squattering gait, which, however, carried it over the ground at a tremendous rate of speed for a creature eighteen feet long. it was jud's first experience with an alligator, and with a yell he ran down the slope like a race-horse. unfortunately for him, on a straight line downhill an alligator can run faster than a man, and this one began to overtake him rapidly. as he glanced back, the grinning jaws seemed right at his shoulder. "dodge him! dodge him!" yelled pinto. at first, jud paid no attention, but ran straight as a deer will sometimes run between the rails to its death before a locomotive when one bound to the side would save it. at last, as will and joe also began to shout the same words over and over again, the idea penetrated jud's bewildered brain and he sprang to one side and doubled on his trail. his pursuer, however, specialized in doubling itself. unable to turn rapidly on account of its great length, and seeing its prey escaping, the alligator curved its body and the long serrated tail swung over the ground like a scythe. the extreme end of it caught jud just above the ankles and swept him off his feet, standing him on his head in a thorn-bush from which he was rescued by pinto and will, who had followed close behind. the alligator made no further attempt at pursuit, but quickly disappeared in the depths of a marshy thicket. "whew!" said jud, exhausted, sitting down on a fallen log and mopping his steaming face. "that was certainly a funny joke, mr. pinto. about one more of those an' you won't go any further on this trip. you'll stay right here--underground." the mundurucu was very apologetic, explaining that he had not intended to do anything worse than startle the old man, while will and joe interceded for him. "he only wanted to see you run," said the latter, slyly. "nobody can run like jud when he's scared." "no, boy," objected the old trapper, "i wasn't exactly scared. startled is the right word. it would startle anybody to have a monstrophalus alligator rush out of nowhere an' try to swallow him." "certainly it would," agreed will, gravely. "anybody could see that you weren't scared, you looked so noble when you ran." peace thus being restored, the whole party returned to camp, where that night professor ditson, who was feeling better, gave a long discourse on the difference between crocodiles, alligators, and caymans. "if that had been a crocodile," he explained "you wouldn't be here now. there's one species found in south america, and it's far faster than any alligator. look out for it." "i most certainly will," murmured jud. that night at supper, pinto proceeded to roast in the hot coals the whole clutch of alligator eggs except the two which jud had dropped in his excitement. for the first time in a long life, the old trapper refused the food set before him. "i've et monkeys an' dragons an' cannibal-fish without a murmur," he said, "but i draw the line at alligator's eggs. they may taste all right, but when i think of their dear old mother an' how she took to me, i'm just sentimental enough to pass 'em up." chapter ix the pit for several days the treasure-hunters made their camp near the shores of the great lake, waiting for the slow healing of professor ditson's wounds. here and there, through open spaces in the forest, they could see the summits of mountain-ranges towering away in the distance, and realized that the long journey through the jungle was nearly over. beyond the lake the trail stretched away along the slopes of the foot-hills, with plateaus and high pampas on one side and the steaming depths of the jungle on the other. one morning professor ditson felt so much better that hen pine, who had been acting as his special nurse, decided to start on an expedition after fresh vegetables. shouldering his ax and beckoning to joe, for whom the giant black had a great liking, the two struck off from the trail beyond the lake into the heart of the jungle. before long they saw in the distance the beautiful plume-like foliage of a cabbage-palm outlined against the sky. a full seventy feet from the ground, the umbrella-like mass of leaves hung from the slim, steel-like column of the tapering trunk, buttressed by clumps of straight, tough roots, which formed a solid support to the stem of the tree extending up ten feet from the ground. it took a solid hour of chopping before the palm fell. when at last it struck the earth, hen cut out from the heart of the tree's crown a back-load of tender green leaves folded in buds, which made a delicious salad when eaten raw and tasted like asparagus when boiled. as they turned back, joe saw something move in a near-by tree. looking more closely, he noticed a crevice in the trunk, across which was stretched a dense white web. behind this crouched a huge spider. covered with coarse gray and reddish hairs, its ten legs had an expanse of fully seven inches. the lower part of the web was broken, and in it were entangled two small birds about the size of a field-sparrow. one of them was dead, but the other still moved feebly under the body of the monster. picking up a long stick, joe started to rescue the fluttering little captive. "look out!" shouted hen, who was some distance away. "that's a crab-spider and mighty dangerous." paying no attention to the other's warning, joe with one sweep of his stick smashed the web and, just missing the spider, freed the dying bird, so that it fell to the ground. as he whirled his stick back for another blow, the terrible arachnid sprang like a tiger through the air, landing on the upper part of joe's bare left arm, and, with its red eyes gleaming, was about to sink its curved envenomed mandibles deep in the boy's flesh. only the instinctive quickness of joe's muscles, tensed and trained by many a danger, saved him. with a snap of his stick he dashed the spider into the underbrush. "did he get you?" shouted hen, anxiously. "i think not," said joe. "you'd most certainly know it if he did," returned the great negro, examining the boy's arm closely. although it was covered with loose reddish hairs from the monster, there was no sign of any wound. "that was a close call, boy," said hen, carefully blowing the hairs off joe's skin. "you am goin' to be mighty discomfortable from dese ere hairs; but if he'd done bit you, you might have died." hen was a true prophet. some of the short, hard hairs became fixed in the fine creases of joe's skin and caused an almost maddening itching which lasted for several days. the next day, for the first time since his meeting with the puma, professor amandus ditson tried walking again. his left arm was still badly swollen and inflamed and his stiffened and bruised muscles gave him intense pain when he moved, but, in spite of hen's protests, he insisted upon limping a mile or so down the trail and back. "if a man gives in to his body," he remarked impatiently, when hen remonstrated with him, "he will never get anything done." the second day he walked still farther, and the third day, accompanied by the faithful hen, who followed him like a shadow, he covered several miles, exploring a path that ran through the jungle parallel with the trail. "some one's been along here lately, boss," said hen, pointing out freshly broken twigs and marks in the earth. "probably the same hunting-party that we met before," returned the professor, indifferently. "they won't--" he broke off his sentence at the sound of a little sick, wailing cry, which seemed to come from the thick jungle close at hand. "what's that?" said hen, sharply, raising his heavy machete. without answering, the scientist turned off the trail and, raising the bushes, exposed the emaciated body of a little indian girl about four years old. a tiny slit in the side of each nostril showed her to be a member of the araras, a friendly tribe of forest indians akin to the mundurucus, to whom pinto belonged. as she looked up at professor ditson, her sunken face broke into a smile. "white man!" she whispered, in the arara dialect which both professor ditson and pinto understood. then, pointing to herself with fingers so wasted that they looked like birds' claws, she whispered her own name, "ala," the indian name for those gentle, beautiful little birds which europeans have christened "wood-stars." the stern face of the scientist softened to an expression that even hen had never seen there before. in spite of his injured arm, it was professor ditson who lifted up the little girl and carried her back to the camp. there the rest of the party found them when they returned with one of the plump curassows which pinto generally managed to bring back from every hunt. from this, hen pine hurriedly made hot, nourishing broth, with which the professor slowly fed the starved child until she dropped off to sleep, holding tightly to one of his long gaunt fingers. several hours later the little girl woke up, seeming at first much stronger, and at once began to talk in a little voice faint as the chirp of a distant cricket. from her half-whispered sentences the professor learned that her father and mother had both been killed in a foray of the muras. not many months after their death, ala herself had fallen sick of one of the forest fevers so fatal to indian children, and had been abandoned by the tribe. in spite of her starved condition, ala was an attractive child. instead of the usual shallow, shiny black eyes of indian children, hers were big and brown and fringed with long lashes, and when she smiled it was as if an inner light shone through her wan, pinched little face. at once she became the pet of the whole party, and although she, in turn, liked them all, it was professor ditson who always held first place in her heart. if he were long away from her, she would call plaintively, "_cariwa! cariwa!_" the arara word for white man. sometimes she would sing, in her tiny voice, folk-songs which she had learned from her mother, all about the wonderful deeds and doings of armadillos, agoutis, and other south american animals. before long, however, in spite of careful nursing, she began to sink rapidly. then came days when she sang no more, but lay too weak even to taste the fruits which the boys were always bringing in to her from the forest. at last one night professor ditson, who always slept close beside her, heard a little far-away voice whisper in his ear, "white man, dear, dear white man!" and felt the touch of her hand against his cheek. a moment later, under the light of the setting moon, he saw that ala had gone where there is no more sickness nor pain and where little children are safe forever. later on, when the rest of the party roused themselves before sunrise for another day, they found the scientist sitting grim and impassive in the star-shine, still holding the tiny cold hand of the little indian girl in his. when old jud found that clenched tightly in ala's other hand was the shell of a tree-snail, all white and pink and gold, which he had given her days before, the old man broke down and sobbed as he looked at the peaceful little figure. under the light of achenar, canopus, and the other eternal stars which flared through the blackness of the tropical night, they buried her deep at the foot of a vast paradise tree which had towered above the forest hundreds of years before the first white man ever came to south america and whose mighty girth will be standing when the last indian of that continent has passed to his forgotten fathers. as professor ditson repeated over the little grave what part he could remember of the service for the dead, from the heart of the jungle sounded the deep, coughing roar of a jaguar as it wandered restless through the night. the next day camp was broken and once more the party followed the trail through the forest. at first the gloom and grief of the little indian girl's death hung over them all. then, little by little, the healing of the forest began to be felt. the vast waiting trees, the bird-songs, the still beauty of the flowers all seemed to bring to them the joy and hope and faith which is the portion of wanderers among the solitudes and silences of earth. the trail still ran, a dividing line between the steaming jungle on one side and the plateaus and foot-hills on the other. behind the latter towered range after range of mighty mountains, among whose chill heights were hidden forgotten inca cities and the lost treasure-lake of eldorado. on the mountain side of the trail the trees were set farther apart and belonged to families from the temperate zone, while here and there were small parks covered with short grass, with bare, treeless slopes beyond. it was in such a country, after several days to travel, that pinto, jud, and the two boys started on a hunt, while the others made camp. they had been out less than an hour when the sharp eyes of the old trapper spied two strange animals feeding in an open space hedged in by thickets. they had long, banded tails, which clanked and rattled as they moved. moreover, they wore armored hides, set with square plates of bone and ringed around the middle with nine horny bands, while big pricked-up ears, like those of the rabbit, and long sheep eyes made them appear to the old trapper as among the strangest animals he had ever met. "armadillos," whispered pinto, delightedly, as he too caught sight of them. "spread out and we'll catch 'em both. better 'n roast pig to eat." in a minute the four hunters had made a wide circle around the unwary animals. it was not until they were close to them that the pair took alarm. stopping their feeding, they suddenly squatted with their fore legs off the ground, much as a woodchuck might do. instead of curling up like porcupines and trusting to their armor for protection, as jud had expected them to do, they suddenly dropped on all fours and rushed and rattled down the slope toward the old trapper, like two small armored tanks, almost as fast as a rabbit would run. jud was as much surprised as if he had seen a tortoise start to sprint. going like race-horses, they bore down upon the old man. "hi! hi! stop! shoo!" bellowed jud, waving both his arms over his head. "what'll i do to stop 'em?" "trip 'em up," volunteered will, from where he stood. "catch 'em by the tail!" yelled joe. "don't let 'em scare you." in another minute they were upon him. dodging his outstreched hands, their wedge-shaped heads plunged between his legs. jud's feet flew up, and he sat down with a startling bump, while, rushing and clanking through the bushes, both of the armadillos disappeared in the depths of the thicket. the old man rose slowly and felt himself all over. "i'd just as soon try to stop a racing automobile with my two hands as to head off a scared armadillo," he observed indignantly. "they got no right to run that way. their business is to curl up an' be caught." "never mind, jud," said will, comfortingly; "you had the right idea, but you tackled 'em a mite too high." that day, as they rested after lunch, will wandered up toward the mountains, as usual studying his beloved birds. along the pampas-like stretches of the plateaus and up among the hills, he found the bird life very different from what it was in the jungle. it was pinto who taught him the bassoon notes of the crested screamer, changing at times to the long roll of a drum, and pointed out to him "john o' the mud-puddles," the south american oven-bird, which, unlike the northern bird of the same name, builds a mud nest a foot or more in diameter, strengthened with hair and weighing several pounds. the birds mate for life, and have a quaint habit of singing duets while standing facing each other. then there was another bird which pinto called the "fire-wood gatherer," which built great nests of sticks in trees, dropping a wheelbarrow load of twigs under each nest. of all the new birds, the boy liked the one called the "little cock" the best. these were ground-birds some nine inches long, with little tails that stuck straight upward, and bristling crests on their heads. looking like small bantam roosters, they scurried around through the brush, following the travelers inquisitively and giving every now and then a loud, deep chirp. whenever will would chase one, it would scurry off, chirping with alarm, but always returned and followed him through the grass and brush. as the days went by, professor ditson became more and more uneasy, and, when camp was pitched, overtaxed his unrestored strength by hunting through dark nooks in the jungle and peering and prying among tangles of fallen trees or the rare ledges of rock which showed now and then among the waves of green. at last he told the rest of the party the cause of his anxiety. "in a few days more," he said, "we shall begin to climb the foot-hills of peru. under my contract with mr. donegan, we were to collect a bushmaster before we began the search for emeralds. so i would suggest that we make our camp here and scatter out through the jungle until one of us is fortunate enough to discover a specimen of this rare and beautiful serpent. let me beg of you, however," he continued earnestly, "to use the utmost care in catching a bushmaster. they are easily injured." jud's face was a study. "i will," he promised. "i'll bet there isn't any one on the continent of south america who will use more care than me." the next day the first hunt began. armed with long, forked sticks, the six adventurers poked their way painstakingly through the thickest parts of the jungle, but without any success so far as bushmasters were concerned, although pinto aroused a fine specimen of a boa-constrictor, one of the smaller boas of south america, which flowed through the forest like a dark shimmering stream, while jud scared up another hideous iguana, it being a disputed question as to which ran away the faster. toward the end of the afternoon will found himself some distance from the others, following what seemed a little game trail, which zigzagged back and forth through the jungle. at one point it led between two great trees, and there will caught sight of a blaze on either side of the path. as he stepped forward to examine the marks more carefully, a dreadful thing happened. the ground under his feet suddenly sank away without a sound, and the next moment he found himself at the bottom of a jug-shaped pit some fifteen feet deep, whose sides curved in so sharply that not even a monkey, much less a man, could climb out. the opening had been covered over with the stretched skins of animals, stitched together and cunningly hidden under turf and leaves. although shaken and half-stunned by his sudden fall, the soft earth floor of the trap saved him from any serious injury. far above he could see the light streaming in through the irregular hole which his weight had made in the covering which masked the pit. all too late will realized that the blazes on the sides of the game path had been warnings for human beings to avoid the pitfall which they marked. the neck of the great earthen bottle was some five feet in width, but at the base it widened into a space fully double that distance across. as the boy's eyes became accustomed to the half-light below, he found that he could see the sides and the bottom of the pit more and more clearly, and, scrambling to his feet, he started to explore its full circumference. at the first step came a sound which no man born of woman has to hear more than once in order to stand stone-still--a fierce, thick hiss. stopping dead in his tracks, will moved slowly back until he was pressing hard against the earthen wall behind him. even as he stopped, from the half-darkness before him, with a dry clashing of scales, glided into the center of the pit, with sure, deadly swiftness, the pinkish-yellow and black-banded coils of a twelve-foot serpent. from its eyes, with their strange oval pupils, a dark streak stretched to the angles of the mouth from which a long, forked tongue played like a black flame. as the fierce head crested the triple row of many-colored coils, will saw the curious hole between eye and nostril, the hall-mark of a deadly clan, and knew that before him was the king of all the pit-vipers--the dreaded bushmaster. he stared into the lidless, fatal eyes of the snake, as they shone evilly through the dusk until it seemed as if his heart would stop beating and icy drops stood on his forehead, for he knew from talks had with professor ditson that bushmasters possess a most uncertain temper, and he feared that this one might instantly attack him. once he tried to move to a point farther along the circumference of the earthen circle. at the first stir of his cramped muscles, the great snake hissed again and quivered as if about to strike. will settled despairingly back, resolved to move no more; yet ever his thoughts kept running forward to the long, dark hours which were to come, when he would be alone through the night with this terrible companion. then if, overcome by sleep or cramp, he should move, he feared horribly to be stricken down in the dark by the coiled death that watched him. suddenly, as he set himself against making the least stir of a muscle, he heard from the jungle through the broken covering of the trap, the same far-reaching whisper of death which had sounded when he was hunting with pinto. a moment later, with staring eyes, he saw a black stream move sibilantly down the opposite wall of the pit, and realized that the blind black ants of the jungle were upon him--and that there was no escape. slowly the head of the moving column approached the bottom of the pit, and will remembered in sick horror how the ants had torn away shred after shred of living flesh from the tortured body of the agouti. as the insatiable, inexorable mass rolled toward him, the bushmaster seemed either to hear or scent its approach. instantly its tense coils relaxed, and it hurried around and around three sides of the pit, lashing upward against the perpendicular walls in a vain attempt to escape. in its paroxysm of terror, it came so close to the motionless boy that its rough, sharp scales rippled against his legs. only when the van of the ant-army actually reached the floor of the pit and began to encircle its whole circumference did the great serpent seem to remember will's presence. then, as if entreating the help of a human being, it forced itself back of him, and, as the ants came nearer, even wound its way around will's waist in an attempt to escape. for a moment the fearful head towered level with the boy's face. instinctively, will's hand flashed out and caught the bushmaster by the neck. it made no attempt to strike, nor even struggled under the boy's choking grip; only the coiled body vibrated as if trembling at the approach of the deadly horde. for a moment the advance of the ant-army seemed to stop, but it was only because, in accordance with its tactics, the head of the column began to spread out until the base of the pit was a solid mass of moving ants and the black tide lapped at will's very feet. half-turning, and placing his ankles instead of his heels against the sides of the wall, the boy gained a few inches on the rising pool of death that stretched out before him, while the straining body of the bushmaster vibrated like a tuning-fork. by this time, the opposite wall of the pit was covered and the whole circle of the base of the cone-shaped pit black and moving, except the little arc where will stood. the ants were so close that he could see the monster heads of the leaders, and the pit was full of the whisper of their moving bodies flowing forward. will shut his eyes and every muscle of his tense body quivered as if already feeling their ripping, shearing mandibles in his flesh. just as the front line of the fatal legion touched his shoes, something struck him on the head, and he opened his eyes to see a liana dangling in front of him, while the light at the entrance of the pit was blurred by old jud's head and shoulders. with his free hand, will reached forward and seized the long vine, to find it ending in a bowline-knot whose noose never gives. "slip it under your arms," called down the old trapper, hoarsely, "an' hang on! we'll pull you up." it was the work of only a second to carry out the old man's instructions. thrusting the loop over his head and under his arms, the boy gripped the tough vine with his left hand and tightened his clutch around the unresisting body of the great bushmaster. "i won't leave you behind for those black devils," he murmured, as if the snake understood, and tugged at the liana rope as a signal that he was ready to start. in an instant he was hauled aloft, just as the ants swarmed over the space where he had stood. fending himself off from the slanting walls with his feet, will went up with a rush and through the opening at the top almost as fast as he had entered it. close to the rope stood old jud, with face chalky-white as he watched the army of ants pouring down into the pit, while hen, joe, and pinto, and even professor ditson, hauled with all their might on the vine. jud had become uneasy at will's long absence and had tracked him to the entrance of the trap just as the army-ants reached it. his shouts had brought the rest, and it was hen pine who, with his machete, had cut the supple liana and knotted the noose which had reached will just in time. directed by jud, his rescuers hauled on the vine so vigorously that the boy shot out of the pit and was dragged several yards along the ground before they knew that he was safe. jud hurried to help him up, but promptly did a most creditable performance in the standing-back broad-jump. "bring your machete here, quick!" he shouted to hen; "a bushmaster's got the kid!" "no," corrected will, scrambling to his feet with some difficulty and waving off hen with his unoccupied hand, "the kid's got a bushmaster." professor amandus ditson was delighted to his heart's core. "that is the finest specimen of the _lachesis mutus_," he remarked, as he unwound the rough coils from will's waist, "that has ever been reported. whatever happens now," he went on, relieving will of his burden, "the trip is an unqualified success." "the man's easily satisfied," murmured jud, watching from a safe distance the professor grip the snake by the back of its neck and push it foot by foot into a long snake-bag which he always carried for possible specimens. when at last the bag, filled with snake, was tied tightly, it looked much like a long, knobby christmas-stocking. the professor swung it carelessly over his shoulder like a blanket-roll. "no snake ever bites through cloth," he remarked reassuringly. "now for the inca emerald!" chapter x sky bridge at the end of their next day's journey the trail began to swing away from the jungle, and thereafter led ever upward, skirting the foot-hills of the mountain-ranges beyond which lay the lost cities of the incas. three days after will's escape from the pit he found himself once more in terrible danger. during the siesta period at noon he had walked away from the rest of the party to see what new birds he might find. not far from the camping-spot he came to a place where a colony of crested black-and-gold orioles had built long, hanging nests of moss and fiber among the branches of a low tree. curious to see whether their eggs looked like the scrawled and spotted ones of the northern orioles, will started to climb the tree. before he was half-way to the nests, a cloud of clamoring birds were flying around his head, and as he looked up he noticed for the first time, directly above him, a great gray wasps' nest. even as he looked, one of the circling birds brushed against it, and a cloud of enormous red wasps poured out. they paid no attention whatever to the birds, but flew down toward will, who was already scrambling out of the tree at full speed. even as he reached the ground, two of the wasps settled on his bare arm, and instantly he felt as if he had been stabbed by red-hot daggers. never in his life had the boy known such agony. trembling with pain, he brushed the fierce insects off and rushed at top speed toward the camp. in spite of the heat, a racking chill seized him as he ran. his teeth chattered together and waves of nausea seemed to run over his whole body, dimming his eyes and making his head swim he just managed to reach the rest of the party when he staggered and fell. "i've been stung by some big red hornets," he murmured, and dropped back unconscious. "it's the maribundi wasp," said professor ditson, looking very grave as he helped hen undress the boy and sponge his tortured body with cold water. "three of their stings have been known to kill a man." by evening will was delirious. all night long hen and the scientist worked over him, and by the next day he was out of danger, although still in great pain and very weak. it was several days before he could walk, and then only with the greatest difficulty. at first every step was an agony; but professor ditson assured him that regular exercise was the best way to free his system from the effect of the maribundi venom. once again death which had dogged the adventurers' trail for so long peered out at them. they had finished the first stage of their day's walk, and will was lying white and sick under a tree, trying to gain strength enough to go on. ahead of them stretched a wide river, with a ford showing, down to which the trail led. suddenly from the depths of the near-by jungle came a horrid scream, followed by a chorus of baying notes something between the barking of a dog and the howl of a wolf. as the travelers sprang to their feet, a shower of blood-red arrows, with saw-edged points and barbs fashioned from flinty strips of palm-wood, dropped all around them. again the wailing, terrible cry broke the silence. "it's the jaguar-scream--the war-cry of the miranhas," said professor ditson quietly. "they are on our trail with one of their packs of wild dogs." even as he spoke, from the forest far below them a band of indians broke into the open. ahead of them raced a pack of tawny brown dogs nearly as large as the timber-wolves of the north. hen unsheathed his great machete, while jud fumbled with the holster of his automatic. "no! no!" said professor ditson sharply. "we can stand them off better across the river. hurry!" without a word, hen picked up will's limp body and raced ahead of the others around a bend in the trail which hid them all for a moment from the sight of their pursuers. at the river the scientist suddenly halted, after a long look at the rapids which ran deep and swift on each side of the ford. "don't splash as you go through," he said quietly. "i'll come last." one by one, the little party, headed by hen with will in his arms, waded carefully through the shallow water. as they went jud thought that he caught glimpses in the river of the squat, fierce forms of the dreaded piranhas, but if they were there they paid no attention to the men, who crossed with the utmost care. just as professor ditson, the last of the party to leave the bank, stepped into the stream, there sounded with startling distinctness the same wild chorus which had come from the jungle. once or twice in a life-time a hunter in south american forests hears the fearsome screech which a jaguar gives when it is fighting for its life or its mate. it was this never-to-be-forgotten sound which the miranhas had adopted for their war-cry. down the slope not three hundred yards away came the hunting pack. right behind them, running nearly as fast as they, raced a band of some fifty miranhas warriors. as the fugitives looked back it was not the nearness of the wild-beast pack nor the fierce band of indian warriors rushing down upon them which struck the color from the faces of will and joe. it was the towering figure of a man with a black bar of joined eyebrows across his forehead and a scar on his cheek which twisted his face into a fixed, malignant grin. "scar dawson!" muttered will. "scar dawson!" echoed joe, despairingly. as they spoke the outlaw seemed to recognize them too, for he waved aloft a miranha bow which he carried, and shouted hoarsely. by the time they reached the other bank, will lay half-fainting in hen's arms. "fellows," he whispered, "i'm all in. hide me in the bushes here, and you go on. there's no sense in all of you sacrificing yourselves for me." "we stay," murmured joe, while hen nodded his head and pinto fitted one of his fatal little arrows into his blow-gun. "sure, we'll stay," chimed in jud, unslinging his automatic, "an' there's seven injuns who'll stay too unless i've forgotten how to shoot. but what in the world's the perfesser doin'?" he went on, peering out over the river. unheeding the tumult of howls and screeches behind him, or the rush of the fierce hounds and fiercer men toward him, the eminent scientist was picking his way carefully through the ford. at the middle of the river, where the water ran deepest, he rolled up his left sleeve, and with his hunting-knife unconcernedly made a shallow gash through the skin of his lean, muscular forearm. as the blood followed the blade he let it drip into the running water, moving forward at the same time with long, swift strides. almost in a moment the river below the ford began to bubble and boil with the same rush of the fatal hordes which had so horrified jud and will at the lake of the man-eaters. as professor ditson sprang from the water to the edge of the farther bank, the water clear across the river seemed alive with piranhas. unmoved, he turned to the rest of the party. "that ford is locked," he said precisely. "for three hours it can not be crossed by man or beast." even as he spoke, the wild-dog pack splashed into the river. as they reached the deeper water and began to swim, the flash of hundreds of yellow-and-white fish showed ahead of them. in an instant the water bubbled like a caldron gleaming with myriads of razor-edged teeth. there was a chorus of dreadful howls as, one by one, the fierce dogs of the jungle sank below the surface, stripped skeletons almost before their bodies reached the bottom of the river. from the farther bank came a chorus of wailing cries as the war-party watched the fate of their man-hunting pack. then, as if at some signal, the whole band threw themselves on their backs on the ground. only the towering figure of the giant outlaw remained erect. "what's happened to those chaps?" queried jud, much perplexed. "i've been with injuns nigh on to forty year, but i never see a war-party act that way." as he spoke, professor ditson reached the summit of the slope where the rest of the party were standing, and saw the prostrate band on the other side of the river. "hurry out of here!" he said sharply, racing around a bend in the trail, followed by the others. their retreat was none too soon. even as they started, each of the men of their far-away pursuers braced both his feet expertly against the inside horn of his bow, and fitting a five-foot arrow on the string, pulled with all the leverage of arms and legs combined, until each arrow was drawn nearly to its barbed point. there was a deep, vibrating twang that could be heard clearly across the river, and into the sky shot a flight of roving shafts. up and up they went until they disappeared from sight, only to come whizzing down again from a seemingly empty sky, with such force and accuracy that they buried themselves deep into the ground just where the fugitives had been a minute before. jud, who had lingered behind the others, had a narrow escape from being struck by one of the long shafts. "we'd have all looked like porcupines if we'd stayed there thirty seconds longer," he remarked to joe, as he joined the rest of the party. "them miranhas are sure the dandy shots with a bow." "huh!" returned joe jealously, "that nothing. my uncle out in akotan, where i come from, he kill a man with an arrow half a mile away, and no use his feet either." "that uncle of yours was some performer with a bow," returned jud cautiously. "half a mile is good shootin' even with a rifle." "some performer is right," chimed in will weakly. "i learned long ago, when joe and i were up by wizard pond, that that uncle of his held a world record in everything." "set me down, hen," he went on. "i think i can do a mile or so on my own legs." "from here on pinto and i have been over this route," announced professor ditson. "ten miles farther on is 'sky bridge.' if we can cross that and cut it behind us, we're safe." two by two, the members of the party took turns in helping will along the trail, which soon widened into a stone-paved road. "this is one of the inca highways," explained the scientist. "it leads from their first city clear to the edge of the jungle. once," he went on, "the incas ruled an empire of over a million square miles, equal to the whole united states east of the mississippi river; but they never were able to conquer the jungle." the road sloped up more and more steeply, and the going became increasingly difficult, but professor ditson hurried them on remorselessly. "the miranhas never give up a chase," he said, "and if they have succeeded in crossing the river above or below the ford, they may even now be hard on our heels." before long they were in a wilderness of bare, stern peaks whose snow-covered summits towered high against the horizon. at times the road zigzagged along narrow shelves cut in the faces of precipices and guarded here and there by low retaining-walls built of cut stones laid without mortar, but so perfectly that the blade of a knife could not be thrust between them. the air became colder, and the scientist told them that often the temperature in these mountain-valleys would vary as much as one hundred degrees within twenty-four hours. as they approached the crest of a great ridge which towered above them, jud began to find great difficulty in breathing and complained of nausea and a feeling of suffocation. "it's the _soroche_, the mountain-sickness," explained professor ditson. "it will pass soon." "i'm the one that's goin' to pass--pass out," panted jud. soon he became so exhausted that, like will, he had to be half-carried along the trail. "you an' me are a fine pair to fight injuns," he whispered to the boy, who smiled wanly in reply. beyond the ridge the road ran downward toward a vast gorge. from its dark depths rose and fell at intervals the hoarse, roaring bellow of a river rushing among the rocks a thousand feet below. "it is apurinac, the great speaker," said pinto. as the trail led downward again, jud began to feel better, and before long he was able to walk without any help. at length, far below them, looking like a white thread against the threatening blackness of the cañon, they saw swinging in the wind a rude suspension bridge of the kind which travelers had used in these mountains ever since the days of the incas. when pinto, who knew the bridge well, learned that professor ditson intended to cross it at once, he was much disturbed. "no one, master," he protested, "ever crosses it except at dawn before the wind comes up; nor should more than one at a time pass over it." "to-day," returned the scientist grimly, "you are going to see six men cross this bridge in the middle of the afternoon, wind or no wind; and what's more, they are all going to cross together." and he waved his hand toward the road along which they had come. against the white side of the mountain which the trail skirted showed a series of moving black dots, while down the wind, faint and far away, came the tiger-scream of the miranhas. they had found a way across the river, and once more were hard on the heels of the treasure-hunters. along the inca road the little party hurried at breakneck speed. at one place it ran between a vertical wall of rock and a dizzy precipice. farther on it led down by rude stairs partly cut in the rock and partly built out of stones. at one point it made a sudden turn with a low parapet built around it in a semicircle to keep descending travelers from slipping off into the depths below from their own momentum. once beyond this last danger-point, the fugitives found themselves before sky bridge itself. so deep was the cañon that from the river a thousand feet below the bridge seemed on a level with the clouds and to deserve well its name. it was made of two thick cables, woven out of braided withes, which stretched nearly a hundred yards from bank to bank of the gorge. between and below these ran several smaller cables, fastened to the upper two, which served as guard-rails. sections of cane and bamboo laid transversely across the three lower cables, and tied on by strips of rawhide, formed the flooring, which swung four or five feet below the upper cables. from far below came the stern roar of the speaker, and at the bottom of the sunless gulf gleamed the white foam of the river as it raged against masses of rent and splintered stone. over the abyss the bridge waved back and forth in the gusts which all day long swept through the gorge. at times, when the frail structure caught the full force of the wind, it swung fully ten feet out beyond its center, hung a second, and then dropped back with a jar that threatened to snap the cables or hurl into the abyss any human being who was crossing the bridge. not for all the treasure of the incas would any one of the party have risked the crossing. the fear of death, however, is a great incentive to brave deeds. "i'll go first," said professor ditson suddenly, "and see if it is possible to get over. unless we cross this bridge within the next fifteen minutes, we're all dead men." [illustration: it showed itself as the great condor of the andes, the second largest bird that flies] without further speaking, the scientist stepped out upon the swaying bridge and gripped the twisted cables firmly fixed in buttresses of stone. at first he shuffled along with short, cautious steps. in front of him the footway of bamboo strips sloped away sharply clear down to the swaying center of the bridge. from far below, up through the mists which half hid the river, soared a bird the size of a pigeon. as it circled up through a thousand feet of space, it seemed to grow and grow until, by the time it reached the level of the bridge, rocking on mighty motionless wings, it showed itself as the great condor of the andes, the second largest bird that flies. from its grim, naked head its cold eyes gazed evilly upon the man clinging to the swaying bridge, and then turned toward the little group huddled against the side of the precipice, as if counting them as additions to its larder of death. as the great vulture swept by, blotting out a stretch of sky as it passed, the wind hissed and sang through the quills of its enormous wings, taut and stiff as steel. rocking, swaying, perfectly balanced in the rush of air that howled down the cañon, the bird circled over the bridge, and then, without a flap of its vast wings, dipped down into the depths below until, dwindling as it went, it disappeared in the spray of the prisoned river. to the travelers, no other sight could so have plumbed the depths that lay beneath the bridge. for a moment the scientist, sick and giddy, clung to the swaying cables which seemed to stretch tenuous as cobwebs across the sheer blackness of the abyss. "come back, master," called pinto. "no man can cross that bridge!" "no man here will live who doesn't cross this bridge," returned the professor, as the wind brought again to their ears the war-cry of the miranhas. bending double and clinging desperately to the ropes woven from tough maguey fiber, he edged his way down the swaying slope, while the others watched him as if fascinated. at times the full force of the wind as it was sucked through the long cañon swung the bridge out so far that he had to lie flat and cling for his very life's sake. when, at last, he reached the lowest part of the curve, instead of climbing up to the safety of the opposite shore, the scientist deliberately turned around and, taking advantage of every lull and pause in the sudden gusts which bore down upon him, began the long steep, slippery climb back to the point from which he had started. "he's riskin' his life twice to show us the way," said old jud, suddenly. "come on! i'm more ashamed to stay than i'm scared to cross." foot by foot, clinging desperately to the sagging, straining cables, professor ditson fought his way back. when at last he regained the safety of the cliff-side, his face was white and drawn, and he was dripping with sweat, while his hands were bleeding from the chafing of the ropes; but there was a compelling gleam in his eyes, and his voice, when he spoke, was as precise and level as ever. "i have proved that it is perfectly possible to go over this bridge in safety, and i believe that the cables are strong enough to hold the weight of us all," he said. "i will go first; hen will go last. don't look down. hang on. watch the man ahead, keep on going, and we'll get over--just in time." he stretched his gaunt arm toward the trail, where now the miranha band was in plain sight not half a mile away! again he turned and started out over the bridge, which swayed and swung above the death that roared far below. without a word, but with teeth clinched grimly, jud tottered after him, his long gray beard blowing in the wind. next came pinto, shaking with fright, but with a habit of obedience to his master stronger than his own conviction that he was going to his doom. joe followed; and between him and hen, who brought up the rear, was will. as the full force of the wind struck the swinging structure, now loaded with their united weight, the taut cables and ropes creaked and groaned ominously, while now and again some weakened fiber would snap with a sudden report like a pistol-shot. down and down the first terrible incline crept the little train of desperate men. there were times when the bridge would swing so far out that only by clinging and clawing desperately at the guard-rope could the travelers keep from being tipped into the depths below. when that happened, each would grip the one next to him and, with linked arms and legs, they would make a human chain which gave and swung and held like the bridge itself. at last they reached the low-swung center of the bridge, and caught the full force of the wind, which howled down the gorge like a wolf. for a long minute they lay flat on their faces as the bridge swung forth and back like a pendulum. as the gust passed, they heard close at hand the tiger-screech of the miranhas rushing at headlong speed down the trail as they saw their prey once again escaping. up the farther slope, crouching low and gripping desperately with twining hands and feet, the fugitives pressed on foot by foot. at the worst places will felt hen's mighty arms holding him tight to the swinging ropes, while from ahead joe risked his life time and again to stretch out a helping hand to his friend. by inches, by feet, by yards, they wormed their way up, until professor ditson was able to get a firm foothold on the side of the cliff, where a narrow path had been cut in the living rock. even as he struggled to his feet, the war-party dashed around the sharp curve that led to the entrance of the bridge. with all their courage and relentless vindictiveness, the miranha band yet hesitated to cross where the white men had gone. as jud and pinto joined professor ditson on the little platform of rock which towered above the cañon, they saw their pursuers actually turn their heads away from the deep that opened at their feet, after one glance along the narrow swaying bridge by which alone it could be crossed. then, with a fierce yell, they dropped their bows and, whipping out long, narrow-bladed knives from their belts, fell like furies upon the tough woven cables anchored among the rocks. it was jud who first realized that they were trying to cut the bridge. "hurry for your life!" he called down to joe, who, holding on to will with one hand, was slowly hauling himself up the last few feet of the steep ascent. even as he spoke, the taut cables began to quiver and sing like violin-strings transmitting with fatal clearness every cut and slash and chop of the destroyers at the other end. will was half-fainting with the strain of the crossing, which his weakened body was not fitted to endure long. jud's shout seemed to pierce the mist of unconsciousness which was slowly closing over his head, and he struggled upward with all his might. in another minute joe was near enough to be reached by the party on the landing, and three pairs of sinewy arms gripped him and pulled him upward, clinging to will as he rose. below him, hen, bracing both feet, heaved the boy upward with the full force of his mighty arms. just as will reached the refuge of the cliff, with an ominous snapping noise the bridge began to sag and drop. hen gave a desperate spring and wound one arm around a little pinnacle of rock which stood as a hawser-post for one of the cables, while pinto and joe gripped his other arm in mid-air, and pulled him to safety just as the far end of the bridge swished through the air under the knife-strokes of the indians! as, doubled by its drop, the full weight of the structure fell upon the strained cables, they snapped like threads and cables, ropes and footway rushed down into the abyss with a hissing roar which died away in the dim depths a thousand feet below. chapter xi the lost city hardly had the rumble of the falling bridge passed when jud slipped his arm about will's shoulders and half-led half-dragged the fainting boy around the corner of a great rock. "those yellin' devils shoot too straight for us to take any chances," he remarked briefly. the same idea had come to the rest of the party, and they followed hard on the old trapper's heels. here professor ditson again took the lead. "it'll take them some time to get across that river, now the bridge is down, if they follow us," he observed with much satisfaction. "we ought to reach machu pichu to-day and yuca valley in two days more. there we'll be safe." "what's machu pichu, chief?" questioned jud, using this title of respect for the first time; for the professor's behavior at the bridge had made an abiding impression on the old man's mind. "it was the first city that the people of the incas built," explained professor ditson. "when the inca clan first led their followers into these mountain valleys, they were attacked by the forest-dwellers and driven back into the mountains. there they built an impregnable city called machu pichu. from there they spread out until they ruled half the continent. only the forests and the wild tribes that infested them they never conquered. at the height of the inca empire," went on the scientist, "machu pichu became a sacred city inhabited mostly by the priests. after the spanish conquest it was lost for centuries to white men until i discovered it a few years ago." "where do we go from yuca?" questioned jud again. "follow the map to eldorado," returned the professor, striding along the path like an ostrich. beyond the rock, and out of sight of the cañon, gaped the mouth of a tunnel fully three hundred yards in length. narrow slits had been chiseled through the face of the precipice for light and air, and although cut out of the living rock with only tools of hardened bronze by the subjects or captives of forgotten incas, it ran as straight and true as the tunnels of to-day drilled by modern machinery under the supervision of skilled engineers. through the slits the adventurers caught glimpses of the towering peak down which they had come, but there was no sign of their pursuers. in a moment they had vanished from the naked rock-face against which they had swarmed. joe stared long through one of the window-slits, while below sounded the hoarse, sullen voice of the hidden river. "i not like their going so soon," he confided at last to jud. "perhaps that dawson have another secret way down the mountain, as he did at wizard pond." "it's not likely," returned professor ditson, who had overheard him. "at any rate, the only thing to do is to press on as fast as possible." "why didn't my snake-skin make us safe from those people?" inquired joe, as they hurried along. "because," explained the scientist, "the miranhas are an outlaw tribe who have no religion and keep no faith. nothing is sacred to them." beyond the tunnel a wide pavemented road led around the rear of the mountain and then up and up and in and out among a wilderness of peaks, plateaus, cliffs, and precipices. in spite of the well-paved path along which in the old days the incas had sent many an expedition down into the amazon valley, the progress of the party was slow. will became rapidly weaker and for long stretches had to be helped, and even carried along the more difficult parts of the path. hour after hour went by. once they stopped to eat and rest, but their tireless leader hurried them on. "we're not safe on this side of machu pichu," he said. will pulled himself to his feet. "i'm the one who's keeping you all back," he said weakly. "from now on i walk on my own legs!" and, in spite of the others' protests, he did so, forcing his numbed nerve-centers to act by sheer strength of will. toward the middle of the afternoon the path turned an elbow of rock, and in front of them towered a chaos of grim and lonely peaks, spiring above cañons and gorges which seemed to stretch down to the very bowels of the earth. in the background were range after range of snow-capped mountains, white as the clouds banked above them, while in front showed a nicked knife-edge of dark rock. the professor's face lightened as he looked. "on that ridge," he said, stretching out his arm, "lies the lost city!" the path led downward until, although it was early afternoon, it became dim twilight in the depths of dark cañons, and then, twisting like a snake, came back to the heights, skirting the edges of appalling precipices in a series of spirals. as the way reached the summit of the ridge it became narrower and narrower, and at intervals above it stood stone watch-towers on whose ramparts were arranged rows of great boulders with which the sentinels of the incas could have swept an invading army down to destruction in a moment. the path ended at last in a flight of steps cut out of the solid rock, with a wall on each side, and so narrow that not more than two could walk up them abreast. it was past sunset when the little party reached the last step and stood on the summit of the windswept ridge. in the east the full moon was rising above the mountains and flooded the heights with light white as melting snow. before them stretched the city of machu pichu, its shadows showing in the moonlight like pools of spilled ink. lost, lonely, deserted by men for half a thousand years, the great city had been the birth-place of the incas, who ruled mightily an empire larger than that which babylon or nineveh or egypt held in their prime. in its day it had been one of the most impregnable cities of the world. flanked by sheer precipices, it was reached only by two narrow paths enfiladed by watch-towers, eyries, and batteries of boulders. to-night the terraces were solitary and the strange houses of stone and vast rock-built temples empty and forsaken. in the moonlight this gray birth-place of an empire lay before the travelers from another age, silent as sleep, and, as they passed through its deserted streets, the professor told them in a half-whisper thousand-year-old legends which he had heard from indian guides. at the far side stood the great watch-tower sacsahuaman, guarding the other path, which spiraled its way up the slope of a sheer precipice half a mile high. "the inca who built that," said the professor, "gave the tower its name. it means 'friend of the falcon,' for the inca boasted that the hawks would feed full on the shattered bodies of any foe who tried to climb its guarded heights." on the summit of a sacred hill he showed them a square post carved out of the top of a huge rock whose upper surface had been smoothed and squared so that the stone pillar made a sun-dial which gave the time to the whole city. near by lay sayacusca, the "tired stone," a vast monolith weighing a thousand tons, which was being dragged to the summit by twenty thousand men when it stuck. as the carriers struggled to move its vast bulk, it suddenly turned over and crushed three hundred of them. convinced that they had offended some of the gods, the stone was left where it fell, and the skeletons of its victims are beneath it to this day. high above the rest of the city was the sacred sun rock. from it the sun itself was believed to rise, nor might it be touched by the foot of bird, beast, or man. at the height of the inca empire it was plated all over with gold, which the peruvians believed fell to the earth as the tears of the sun, and with emeralds and, except during the festival of the sun, covered with a golden-yellow veil. to-day its glory had departed, and the tired travelers saw before them only a frayed and weather-worn mass of red sandstone. seated on its summit, the scientist showed them the street where, during the festival of the sun, the inca would ride along a pavement made of ingots of silver on a horse whose mane was strung with pearls and whose shoes were of gold. beyond the sun rock was the snake temple, which had three windows and whose solid stone walls were pierced with narrow holes through which the sacred snakes entered to be fed by the priests. "we might camp there," suggested professor ditson. "it would make a large, comfortable house." "no, no," objected jud shudderingly. "no snake temple for me." they finally compromised on sacsahuaman, whose thick walls were slit here and there by narrow peep-holes and whose only entrance was by a narrow staircase of rock cut out of the cliff and guarded, like most of the entrance staircases, by rows of heavy boulders arranged along the ledge. inside were long benches of solid stone, and, best of all, at the base of a white rock in the center of the tower trickled an ice-cold spring whose water ran through a little trough in the rock as it had run for a thousand years. professor ditson told them that in the old days it had always been kept guarded and munitioned as a fortress where the incas could make a last stand if by any chance the rest of the city should ever fall into the hands of their enemies. that night they kindled a fire within the tower, and ate their supper high above the sacred city on the battlements where the guards of the incas had feasted a thousand years before columbus discovered the new world. afterward they slept, taking turns in guarding the two entrances to the city from the same watch-towers where other sentries had watched in the days of the beginning of the inca empire. the next morning will could not move. the stress and strain and exertion of the day before had left him too weak to throw off the numbing effect of the virus. professor ditson shook his head as he looked him over carefully. "there is only one thing to do," he said at last. "we must send on ahead and get a horse or a burro for him. he has walked too much as it is. any more such strain might leave him paralyzed for life. hen," he went on, "you know the trail to yuca. take joe and start at once. you ought to run across a band of vaqueros herding cattle long before you get to the valley. bring the whole troop back with you. i'll pay them, well, and they can convoy us in case the miranhas are still after us." a few minutes later hen and joe were on their way. leaning over the parapet of sacsahuaman, the rest of the party watched them wind their way slowly down the precipice until they disappeared along the trail that stretched away through the depths of the cañon. all the rest of that day jud and pinto and the professor took turns in standing guard over the two entrances to the city, and in rubbing will's legs and giving him alternate baths of hot and cold water, the recognized treatment for stings of the maribundi wasp. that night it was jud's turn to guard the staircase up which the party had come. once, just before daybreak, he thought he heard far below him the rattle and clink of rolling stones. he strained his eyes through the dark, but could see nothing, nor did he hear any further sounds. in order, however, to discourage any night prowlers, the old trapper dropped one of the round boulders that had been placed in the watch-tower for just such a purpose, and it went rolling and crashing down the path. daylight showed the trail stretching away below him apparently empty and untrodden since they had used it when entering the city. tired of waiting for professor ditson, jud hurried up the steep slope to the fortress, meeting the scientist on the way to relieve him. the old trapper was just congratulating will on being well enough to stand on his feet when a shout for help brought all three with a rush to the entrance of the tower. up the steep slope they saw professor ditson running like a race-horse, while behind him showed the giant figure of dawson, followed closely by half a hundred miranhas. in another minute professor ditson was among them. "they must have hidden during the night around a bend in the path and rushed up when we changed guards," he panted. "they were swarming into the tower just as i got there." all further talk was stopped by the same dreadful tumult of war-cries that the travelers had learned to know so well. "steady, boys," said jud, instantly taking command, as a veteran of many indian fights. "four against fifty is big odds, but we've got a strong position. will, you sit by the staircase an' if any one starts to come up, roll one of them fifty-pound boulders down on him, with my compliments. i'll stay back here where i can watch the whole wall an' pick off any one that tries to climb up. professor, you an' pinto keep back of me, with your ax an' knife handy in case any of them get past me. now," he went on, as the three took their stations, "how about some breakfast?" after the first fierce chorus of yells there was a sudden silence. led by dawson, the indians were far too crafty to attempt a direct charge up through the narrow gateway. the roofless walls, no longer raftered by heavy timbers, as in the inca's day, were the weak spot in the defense of the besieged. if enough of the miranhas succeeded in scaling them in spite of jud's markmanship, the defenders of the fort could be overpowered by sheer weight of numbers. while the little party of the besieged were eating breakfast at their several stations, they could hear the sound of heavy objects being dragged across the paved street without, and the clink and jar of stone against the wall. always, however, the besiegers kept themselves carefully out of the range of vision from the tower's narrow loop-holes. at noon jud insisted that pinto cook and serve dinner as usual. "eat hearty, boys," the old indian-fighter said. "you may never have another chance. i dope it out they're pilin' rocks against the walls an' when they've got 'em high enough they'll rush us." it was the middle of the afternoon before jud's prophecy was fulfilled. for some time there had been no sign nor sound from the besiegers. then suddenly, from six different and widely separated points in the semicircle of stone, hideous heads suddenly showed over the edge of the wall, and, with the tiger-scream of their tribe, five picked miranha warriors started to scramble over and leap down upon the little party below, while at the end of the curved line showed the scarred, twisted face and implacable eyes of the outlaw from the north. it was then that the wiry little gray-bearded trapper showed the skill and coolness that had made his name famous throughout a score of tribal wars which had flickered and flared through the far northwest during his trapping days. standing lithe and loose, he swung his automatic from his hip in a half-circle and fired three shots so quickly that the echo of one blended with the beginning of the next. hard upon the last report came the pop of pinto's deadly blow-gun. three of the besiegers toppled over dead or wounded, and with a dreadful shout scar dawson clawed frantically at his shoulder where a keen thorn of death from pinto's tube had lodged. the other two indians scrambled down in terror, and there came a chorus of appalling screams, wails, and yells from the other side of the thick wall. [illustration: hideous heads suddenly showed over the edge of the wall] "i could have got 'em all," remarked jud cheerfully, polishing his smoking automatic on his sleeve, "but i've only got four cartridges left an' we're likely to need 'em later. will," he went on, "you just step over to the watch-tower there an' see if there 're any signs of hen an' joe. a few south american cow-boys would come in mighty handy just about now." "if they don't come before night," stated professor ditson calmly, "we're gone. the miranhas are certain to rush us as soon as it gets dark." even as he spoke, there came from outside a wail, swelling to a shriek like the unearthly scream of a wounded horse, yet with a note of triumph and anticipation running through it. pinto started and shivered, while professor ditson's face showed grim and set. "you'll have to get us first," he muttered. "what do they mean by that little song?" inquired jud coolly. "it's the hag-cry that the women raise before they torture the prisoners," returned the other. "they think they're sure of us as soon as the sun goes down." will returned just in time to catch the last words. "there's no one in sight," he said. "couldn't we slip off ourselves down the cliff?" he went on. "not a chance," explained the scientist. "they'd roll boulders down on us." "is there any way of holding them off after dark?" went on will, after a little pause--and had his answer in the pitying silence of the two older men. for a moment he turned very white. then he set his teeth and threw back his shoulders. "i'm only a kid," he said, "but i've been in tight places before. you needn't be afraid to talk plain." "if they get over when it's too dark to shoot straight," said jud at last, "we 're all in." will looked at him unflinchingly. "watch the stairs," he said suddenly. "i've an idea." and the boy hurried back to the little parapet that overhung the trail that ran a thousand feet below. beyond and above him, the rim of the setting sun was coming nearer and nearer to the snow-capped mountains that cut the sky-line of the west. already their white crests were gleaming crimson in the dimming light. as he went, will fumbled in his belt and pulled out a tiny round pocket-mirror, which, with a tooth-brush, a comb, and a few other light articles, he had carried all through the trip in a rubber pocket fastened to his belt. during these happenings, miles away, concealed by the intervening range, hen and joe were riding at the head of a troop of hard-bitten, hard-faced vaqueros, the cow-boys of the south, whom they had met at the end of their first day's journey. armed with mauser rifles, and with revolvers and knives in their belts, these riders of the pampas backed their wiry little south american horses with the same ease which their brethren of the northern prairies showed. the leader of the troop had turned out to be an old friend of professor ditson, who had been with him on an expedition years before. he readily agreed to journey with joe and hen over the mountains to the lost city. the men had been rounding up half a dozen hardy, tiny burros, those diminutive donkeys which can carry their own weight of freight all day long up and down steep mountain trails. it was decided to take these along for the use of the travelers. with the obstinacy of their breed, however, there was never a time throughout the day when one or more and sometimes all of the burros were not balking at this long trip away from the ranch where food and rest were awaiting them. accordingly, it was late in the afternoon when the party reached the range behind which was hidden machu pichu. suddenly joe, who with hen, mounted on spare horses, was piloting the little troop, caught sight of a flicker of light across the crest of the highest peak of the range ahead of them. at first he thought that it came from the rays of the setting sun reflected from a bit of polished quartz. suddenly he noticed, with a sudden plunge of his heart, that the light was flickering in spaced, irregular intervals. with will and several of the other boys of his patrol, joe had won a merit badge for signaling in his boy scout troop, and his tenacious indian mind had learned forever the morse code. as he watched now he saw the sun-rays flash the fatal s o s. again and again came the same flashes, carrying the same silent appeal, which he knew could come from none other than will behind the range, heliographing with the last of the sun to the chum who had stood back of him in many a desperate pinch. as joe glanced at the setting sun he realized how short a time was left in which to save his friends. with an inarticulate cry, he turned to hen, who was jogging lazily beside him, and in a few quick words told him what he had read in the sky. with a shout hen gave the alarm to the troop behind in the rolling spanish of the pampas, and in an instant, hobbling the burros, every man was spurring his horse desperately up the steep trail. with the very last rays of the disappearing sun the message changed, and the indian boy sobbed in his throat as he read the words. "good-by, dear old joe," flickered in the sky. as the golden rim of the sun rolled beneath the horizon, will strained his eyes desperately, hoping against hope to see a rescue-party appear against the trail which showed like a white thread against the mountain-side. suddenly, in the dimming light, he saw a few black dots moving against the crest of the opposite mountain. they increased in number, and, once over the ridge, grew larger and larger until will could plainly make out a far-away troop of riders and glimpse the rush of straining horses and the stress and hurry of grim-faced men. with a shout he leaned far out over the parapet until in the distance the drumming beat of galloping hoofs sounded loud and louder. ten minutes later a long line of men with rifles in their hands were hurrying up the steep path that led to sacsahuaman. the besieged were not the only ones who knew of their coming. outside of the walls of the fort, the miranha band had understood will's shout when he first saw the distant horsemen. they too had heard the hoofbeats, which sounded louder and nearer every minute, and, although the path up the precipice could be seen only from the fort, yet from without the besiegers could hear the clink of steel against the rocks and the murmur of the voices of the climbing men. just before the rescue-party reached the fort, jud's quick ear caught the sound of muttered commands, the quick patter of feet, and through a loop-hole he saw a black band hurrying toward the other entrance to the city, carrying with them the bodies of their dead and wounded comrades. even as he looked there was a shout, and into the little fortress burst the rescue-party, headed by hen, and joe. in another minute they swarmed through the streets of the city; but the enemy was gone. at the foot of the other path the last of them were even then slipping into the darkening valley. of all the band, alive or dead, one only had been left behind. just outside the thick wall of the fort lay a huge motionless form. as jud and professor ditson approached it they recognized scar dawson, deserted by the men whom he had so recently led. as they came close they saw that he lay helpless. only his staring eyes were fixed upon them with an expression of awful appeal; yet there seemed to be no wound any where on his great body. as they bent over him, pinto pointed silently to a tiny red spot showing at the front of the outlaw's right shoulder--the mark made by one of the indian's fatal little arrows. jud stared sternly down at the helpless man. "you've only got what was comin' to you," he said. "you'd have tortured every one of us to death if you could," he went on but there was an uncertain note in his voice. "he's a bad actor if ever there was one," he blustered, turning to the others. "still, though, i'd hate to see any man die without tryin' to help him," he finished weakly. "he deserves death if any man ever did," said professor ditson grimly; "yet it does not seem right to let a man die without help." "yes," chimed in will, looking down at the dying man pityingly; "do save him if you can." the professor hesitated. "well," he said at last, "i can and i will; but i am not at all sure that i ought." beckoning to one of the vaqueros, he took from his pouch a handful of the brown salt that is part of the equipment of every south american cattle-man. reaching down, he forced open the stiffening jaws of the outlaw and pressed between them a mass of salt until dawson's mouth was completely filled with it. "swallow that as fast as you can," he commanded. even as he spoke, the muscles of the man's great body relaxed as little by little the antidote for the urari poison began to work. fifteen minutes later, tottering and white, but out of danger, the outlaw stood before them. "i have saved your life," said professor ditson, "and i hope that you will make some better use of it than you have done. your friends went down that way," he continued precisely, pointing to the path along which the indians had retreated. "i would suggest that you follow them." the outlaw stared scowlingly for a moment at the ring of armed men who stood around him. then he turned to professor ditson. "for saving my life i'll give you a tip which may save yours," he said thickly. "don't treasure-hunt in eldorado--_it's guarded_!" without another word he disappeared down the steep trail. "i hope i haven't made a mistake," murmured professor ditson to himself, as he watched scar dawson disappear in the distance. chapter xii eldorado a day and a night on burro-back brought the treasure-seekers through the mountains to yuca, the loveliest valley in the world, where nine thousand feet above the sea it is always spring. there, half a thousand years ago, the incas built their country houses, as of old the kings of israel built in the mountain-valley of jezreel, and among the ruins of stone buildings, beautiful as ahab's house of ivory, several hundred whites and half-breed indians had made their homes. in yuca professor ditson found many old friends and acquaintances, and the party rested there for a week and, thanks to jim donegan's generous letter of credit, which had survived the shipwreck, thoroughly equipped themselves for the last lap of the dash to eldorado. one morning, before the dawn of what felt like a mid-may day, the expedition headed back along the trail mounted on mules, the best and surest-footed animals for mountain work. in order to prevent any unwelcome followers, the professor allowed it to be supposed that they were going back for a further exploration of the sacred city of machu pichu. when at last they were clear of the valley, with no one in sight, he called a halt, and carefully consulted his map at a point where the trail led in and out among slopes and hillocks of wind-driven sand. "here is where we turn off," he said finally. jud suddenly produced two large, supple ox-hides which he had carried rolled up back of his saddle. "so long as we're goin' treasure-huntin'," he remarked "an' scar dawson is still above ground, i calculate to tangle our trail before we start." under his direction, the whole party rode on for a mile farther, and then doubled back and turned off at right angles from the trail, jud spreading rawhides for each mule to step on. their progress was slow, but at the end of half a mile they were out of sight of the original trail and had left no tracks behind except hollows in the sand, which the wind through the day would cover and level. for the next three days professor ditson guided them by the map among a tangle of wild mountains and through cañons so deep that they were dark at midday. at night their camp-fire showed at times like a beacon on the top of unvisited peaks, and again like a lantern in the depths of a well, as they camped at the bottom of some gorge. here and there they came upon traces of an old trail half-effaced by the centuries which had passed since it had been used in the far-away days when the incas and their followers would journey once a year to the sacred lake with their annual offerings. even although professor ditson had been to eldorado before, yet he found it necessary continually to refer to the map, so concealed and winding was the way. on the third day they reached a wide plateau which ranged just above the tropical jungles of the eastern lowlands. at first they crossed bare, burned slopes of rock, with here and there patches of scanty vegetation; but as they came to the lower levels they found themselves in a forest of vast cacti which seemed to stretch away for an immeasurable distance. some of the larger specimens towered like immense candelabras sixty and seventy feet high, and there were clumps of prickly-pears as big as barrels and covered with long, dark-red fruit which tasted like pomegranates. underfoot were trailing varieties which hugged the earth and through which the mules had to pick their way warily because of the fierce spines with which they were covered. some of the club-cacti were covered with downy, round, red fruit fully two inches in diameter, luscious, sweet and tasting much like huge strawberries. jud, who firmly believed that eating was one of the most important duties and pleasures of life, nearly foundered before they reached the pampas beyond the thorny forest. there they had another adventure in south american foods. as they were crossing a stretch of level plain, suddenly a grotesque long-legged bird started up from the tangled grass and, with long bare neck stretched out horizontally and outspread wings, charged the little troop, hissing like a goose as he came. "don't shoot!" called out professor ditson to the startled jud, who was the nearest one to the charging bird. "it's only a rhea, the south american ostrich. he'll run in a minute." sure enough, the old cock rhea, finding that he could not frighten away the intruders by his tactics, suddenly turned and shot away across the level plain, his powerful legs working like piston-rods and carrying him toward the horizon at a rate of speed that few horses could have equaled. in the deep grass they found the nest, a wide circular depression containing thirty great cream-colored eggs, the contents of each one being equal to about a dozen hen's eggs. the professor explained that the female rheas of each flock take turns laying eggs in the nest, which, as a fair division of labor, the cock bird broods and guards. after incubation starts the shell turns a pale ashy gray. the party levied on the rhea's treasure-horde to the extent of a dozen glossy, thick-shelled eggs, and for two days thereafter they had them boiled, fried, roasted, and made into omlets, until jud declared that he would be ashamed ever to look a rhea in the face again. at last, about noon of the fifth day after leaving yuca, the trail seemed to end in a great wall of rock high up among the mountains. when they reached the face of this cliff it appeared again, zigzagging up a great precipice, and so narrow that the party had to ride in single file. on one side of the path the mountain dropped off into a chasm so deep that the great trees which grew along its floor seemed as small as ferns. finally the trail ended in a long, dark tunnel, larger and higher than the one through which they had passed on the way to yuca. for nearly a hundred feet they rode through its echoing depths, and came out on the shore of an inky little lake not a quarter of a mile across, and so hidden in the very heart of the mountain that it was a mystery how any one had ever discovered it. although it sloped off sharply from its bare white beach, professor ditson told them that it was only about twenty feet deep in the center. a cloud of steam drifting lazily from the opposite shore betokened the presence of a boiling spring, and the water, in spite of the latitude, was as warm as the sun-heated surface of the amazon itself. leading the way, professor ditson showed them, hidden around a bend, a raft which he and his party had built on their earlier visit, from logs hauled up from the lower slopes with infinite pains. apparently no one had visited the lost lake since he had been there, and a few minutes later the whole party were paddling their way to the center of eldorado, where lay hidden the untold wealth of centuries of offerings. "if i could have dived myself, or if any of the indians who were with me could have done so," remarked the professor regretfully, "we need not have wasted a year's time." "well," returned jud, already much excited over the prospect of hidden treasure, "i used to do over forty feet in my twenties, when i was pearl-divin', an' now, though i'm gettin' toward fifty, i certainly ought to be able to get down twenty feet." "fifty!" exclaimed will. "fifty!" echoed joe. "fifty!" chimed in professor ditson. "that's what i said," returned jud, looking defiantly at his grinning friends, "fifty or thereabouts. i'll show you," he went on grimly, stripping off his clothes as they reached the very center of the little lake, and poising his lean, wiry body on the edge of the raft. suddenly he turned to professor ditson. "there ain't nothin' hostile livin' here in this lake, is there?" he questioned. "i don't think so," returned the professor, reassuringly. "piranhas are never found at this height, and we saw no traces of any other dangerous fish or reptiles when we were here last year." "here goes then, for a fortune!" exclaimed jud, throwing his hands over his head and leaping high into the air with a beautiful jack-knife dive. his slim body shot down out of sight in the dim, tepid water. the seconds went by, with no sign of him, until he had been under fully three minutes. just as they all began to be alarmed for his safety, his gray head suddenly shot two feet out of the water near where he had gone down. puffing like a porpoise, with a few quick strokes he reached the edge of the raft and tossed on its surface something which clinked as it struck the logs. there, gleaming in the sunlight, was a bird of solid gold, which looked like a crow, with outspread wings, and which was set thickly with rough emeralds as large as an ordinary marble. with a cheer, joe and will gripped jud's shoulders and pulled him over the side of the raft, where he lay panting in the sunlight, while the treasure was passed from hand to hand. it was nearly a foot long, and so heavy that it must have handicapped the old man considerably in his dash for the surface. "pretty good for a start," puffed jud happily, as he too examined the gleaming bird. "unless i miss my guess," he went on earnestly, "the great emerald that old jim has got his heart set on is down there, too. the bottom is pretty well silted over, but i scrabbled through the mud with my hands, an' when i struck this i figured out that i had just enough breath left to reach the top; but just as i was leavin', my fingers touched somethin' oval an' big as a hen's egg. it was pretty deep in the mud, and i didn't dare wait another second, but i'm sure i can bring it up next time." for half an hour jud rested while professor ditson told them treasure-stories which he had heard in his wanderings among the indian tribes or remembered from his studies of spanish archives. he told them the story of the galleon _santa maria_, which was sunk off the fortune islands, loaded down with a great altar of solid gold incrusted with precious stones; and of the buccaneer sir henry morgan, who sacked panama and burned and sank in the harbor what he thought were empty vessels, but which held millions of dollars in gold and jewels in double bulkheads and false bottoms, and which lie to this day in the mud of panama harbor. then, there was the story of the two great treasure-chests which drake of devon captured from the great galleon _cacafuego_. as they were being transshipped into drake's vessel, the _golden hind_, both of the chests broke loose and sank off caño island on the coast of costa rica. still at the bottom of that tiny harbor, thousands of pounds of gold bars and nuggets and a treasure of pearls and emeralds and diamonds lie waiting for some diver to recover them. then professor ditson launched into the story of pizarro's pilot, who, when the temple of pachacainac, twenty miles from lima, was looted, asked as his share of the spoils only the nails that fastened the silver plates which lined the walls of the temple. pizarro granted him what he thought was a trifling request, and the pilot received for his share over two thousand pounds of solid silver. "that's enough," said jud, starting to his feet. "here goes for the biggest treasure of all." down and down through the dim water he dived straight and true. hardly had he disappeared from sight before great air-bubbles came up and broke on the surface, and a few seconds later wavering up from the depths came what seemed to be his lifeless body with staring, horrified eyes and open mouth. as his white face showed above the surface, will and joe leaped in together, and in an instant had him out and on the raft again. in another minute the two boys were making good use of their knowledge of first aid, which they had learned as boy scouts. working as they had never worked for merit badges, they laid jud on the raft face down, with his arms above his head and his face turned a little to one side. then, while joe pulled his tongue out, will, kneeling astride his body, pressed his open hands into the spaces on either side of his ribs. then, alternately pressing and relaxing his weight as the water ran out of jud's mouth and nose, will began the artificial breathing at the rate of fifteen times a minute, while joe rubbed with all his might the old trapper's legs and body toward the heart. at the end of a couple of minutes of this strenuous treatment jud gave a gasp and at last opened his eyes. half an hour later he was able to tell what had happened. "i didn't get more than half-way down," he said weakly, "when a great greenish-yellow eel, five feet long an' big as my arm, came gliding toward me. i tried to pass it but in a second i felt its cold, clammy body pressin' against mine. then came a flash, an' somethin' broke in my head, an' the next thing i knew i was up here with you chaps workin' over me." professor ditson brought his hands together with a loud clap. "that is what dawson meant by saying the lake was guarded," he said. "what attacked jud here was a gymnotus." "a jim-what?" queried jud. "an electric eel," explained the professor. "the old priests must have brought them up from the lowlands, and they have thrived here in this warm water ever since. it carries an electric battery in the back of its head, and a big one can give a shock which will stun a strong man. wait a moment," he went on, "and i'll show you every electric eel within a radius of fifty yards." as he spoke he fumbled in his knapsack and pulled out a cylinder two feet long, wrapped in waxed paper, with a curious little clockwork attachment at one end. "i brought along two or three sticks of dynamite equipped with detonators," explained the professor. "they are really small depth-bombs. i thought," he went on, "that if the mud were too deep at the bottom of the lake, a stick or so of dynamite exploded there might stir things up. i'll set this one to go off half-way down, and the shock will stun every living thing in the water for a couple of hundred feet around." winding and setting the automatic mechanism so as to explode the bomb at a ten foot depth, the scientist carefully threw one into the water some distance from the raft. two seconds later there was a dull, heavy _plop_, and the water shouldered itself up in a great wave which nearly swamped the raft. as it went down, scores of fish of different kinds floated stunned on the surface. among them were a dozen great green-gold electric eels. as they floated by, hen slashed each one in two with his machete. as he finished the last one, will began to strip off his clothes. "i can dive twenty feet," he said, "and i'm going to have the next chance at the inca emerald." "no," objected professor ditson, "let hen try it. he's a great swimmer." jud also protested weakly that he wanted to go down again; but will cut short all further argument by diving deep into the center of the still heaving circle of widening ripples in front of the raft. even as he did so, hen, who had stood up to take his place, gave a cry of warning; but it was too late to reach the boy's ears, already deep under the water. just beyond the circle of the ripples drifted what seemed to be the end of a floating snag; yet the quick eyes of the negro had caught the glint of a pair of green, catlike eyes showing below the tip of a pointed snout which looked like a bit of driftwood. "it's a big 'gator," he murmured to professor ditson, who stood beside him. the latter took one look at the great pointed head and olive-colored body, now showing plainly in the water. "it's worse than that," he whispered, as if afraid of attracting the saurian's attention. "it's an american crocodile. the explosion and the sight of the dead fish have brought it over from the farther shore." without paying any attention to the raft or the men, the great crocodile suddenly sank through the water, so close to them that they could see its triangular head, with the large tooth showing on each side of its closed lower jaw, which is one of the features that distinguishes a crocodile from an alligator. even as they watched, wavering up through the smoky water came the white figure of the boy from the depths below, swimming strongly toward the surface, his right hand clasped tightly around some large object. even as they glimpsed the ascending body, a gasp of horror went up from the little group on the raft. before their very eyes, with a scythe-like flirt of its long, flattened tail, the great reptile shot its fifteen-foot body down toward the swimming boy. not until fairly overshadowed by the rushing bulk of the crocodile did will realize his danger. then he tried frantically to swerve out of the line of the rush of this terrible guardian of the treasure-horde. it was too late. even as he swung away, the cruel jaws of the great saurian opened with a flash of curved keen teeth and closed with a death-grip on will's bare thigh. with a shout and a splash, the black form of the giant negro shot down into the water. hen had learned to love the happy-hearted, unselfish boy, and, desperate at the sight of his danger, had gone to his rescue. no man nor any ten men can pull apart the closed jaws of a man-eating crocodile. the plated mail in which he is armored from head to tail can not be pierced by a knife-thrust and will even turn aside a bullet from any except the highest powered rifles. yet all the crocodilians--alligators, crocodiles, gavials, or caymans--have one vulnerable spot, and hen, who had hunted alligators in florida bayous, knew what this was. swimming as the onlookers had never seen man swim before, the great negro shot toward the crocodile, which was hampered by the struggling boy, locked his strong legs around the reptile's scaly body, and sank both of his powerful thumbs deep into the sockets of the crocodile's eyes. the great saurian writhed horribly as he felt the rending pain. inexorably the thumbs of his assailant gouged out the the soft tissues of the eye-sockets until the crocodile reluctantly loosed his grip and sought refuge from the unbearable pain by a rush into the deeps beyond the raft. as the great jaws opened, hen unwound his legs from the armored body, and, catching will in his mighty arms, shot up to the surface with him. in another moment the boy, slashed and torn, but conscious, was stretched on the raft beside jud, while joe and the professor bound up the gashes in his thigh, which, although bleeding profusely, were not deep enough to be dangerous. as the last knot of the hasty bandages was tied, will smiled weakly and opened his right hand. there, in the outstretched palm, gleamed and coruscated the green glory of a great oval emerald, cut and polished by some skilful lapidarist perhaps a thousand years ago. lost for centuries, the gem which had been worshiped by a great nation had once again come to the earth from which it had disappeared. three weeks later, professor amandus ditson lay sleeping in a luxurious bedroom on the ground floor of the rambling house of a spanish friend whom he was visiting in the beautiful, historic, blood-stained city of lima. in other rooms of the same house slept will and jud and joe. two days later the steamer would sail which was to take them all back north. pinto was already on his way back to his wife and children at para, and hen was visiting friends of his own in the city and intended to join the party on the steamer. the silence of the night was broken abruptly by a grating, creaking noise, and into the room of the sleeping scientist through the veranda window stepped a great masked figure. as the electric lights were switched on. professor ditson awoke to find himself looking into the barrel of an automatic revolver. "give me the treasure from eldorado," croaked a voice from behind the mask, "if you want to keep on livin'." the scientist stared steadily at the speaker for a moment before he spoke. "if you will take off your mask, dawson," he said finally, "i am sure you will find it more comfortable. i was positive," he went on, as the other obeyed and showed the scarred, scowling face of the outlaw, "that i made a mistake in sparing your life." "i'll spare yours, too," retorted dawson, "unless you make me kill you. i'm goin' to take the treasure an' light out. it would be much safer for me to kill you, but i won't unless i have to--just to show you how grateful i am." "i appreciate your consideration," returned the scientist, quietly; "but you're too late. the treasure is not here." "i know better," growled dawson. "i've had you shadowed ever since you got here. it's locked in that leather bag, which never leaves your sight day or night, an' i'm goin' to take it right now." suiting his action to his words, and still keeping his revolver leveled at the professor, the outlaw pulled toward him a big cowskin bag, which, as he said truly, the scientist had kept with him night and day ever since he purchased it at a shop in lima the morning of his arrival. "dawson," returned professor ditson, earnestly. "i give you my word as a gentleman that the treasure is now in the safe on the steamer which leaves the day after to-morrow, and i hold the receipt of the steamship company for it. don't open that bag. there is nothing in it for you but--death." "i'll see about that," muttered scar dawson. "don't move," he warned, as the scientist started up from his bed. "i'll shoot if you make me." even as he spoke, he drew a knife from his belt and slit the leather side of the bag its whole length with a quick slash, and started to thrust in his hand. as he did so he gave a yell of terror, for out from the opening suddenly appeared, wavering and hissing horribly, the ghastly head of the great bushmaster which the scientist had carried and cared for all the way from the amazon basin. in another second, half its great length reared threateningly before the terrified outlaw. with one more yell, dawson threw himself backward. there was a crash of broken glass, and by the time will and jud and joe and their host, aroused by the noise, had reached the room, they found only professor ditson, coolly tying up the damaged bag, into which, by some means known only to himself, he had persuaded the bushmaster to return. to-day, in the world-famous gem collection of big jim donegan, in the place of honor, gleams and glows the great emerald of the incas. what he did for those who won the treasure for him, and how that same party of treasure-hunters traveled far to bring back to him that grim, beautiful, and historic stone of the far east, the red diamond--well, that's still another story.