The izzard-hunter said that he had killed lynxes in this forest; and at night he would not care to be alone in it, as it was a favourite haunt of the black wolves. With, such company, however, he had no fear: as they could kindle fires and keep the wolves at bay.

The neighbourhood, in which he expected to find the bear, was more than two miles from the place where they had entered the forest. He knew the exact spot where the animal was at that moment lying—that is, he knew its cave. He had seen it only a few days before going into this cave; but as he had no dogs with him, and no means of getting the bear out, he had only marked the place, intending to return, with a comrade to help him. Some business had kept him at Eaux Bonnes, till the arrival of the strangers; and learning their intentions, he had reserved the prize for them. He had now brought his dogs—two great creatures they were, evidently of lupine descent—and with these Bruin might be baited till he should come forth from his cave. But that plan was only to be tried as a last resource. The better way would be to wait till the bear started out on his midnight ramble,—a thing he would be sure to do,— then close up the mouth of the cave, and lie in ambush for his return. He would "not come home till morning," said the izzard-hunter; and they would have light to take aim, and fire at him from their different stations.

It seemed a feasible plan, and as our adventurers now placed themselves in the hands of the native hunter, it was decided they should halt where they were, kindle a fire, and make themselves as comfortable as they could, until the hour when Bruin might be expected to go out upon his midnight prowl.

A roaring fire was kindled; and Pouchskin's capacious haversack being turned inside out, all four were soon enjoying their dinner-supper with that zest well-known to those who have ridden twenty miles up a steep mountain-road.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE IZZARD-HUNTER.

They passed the time pleasantly enough, listening to the stories of the izzard-hunter, who related to them much of the lore current among the peasantry of the mountains—tales of the chase, and of the contraband trade carried on between Spain and France, besides many anecdotes about the Peninsular war, when the French and English armies were campaigning in the Pyrenees. In this conversation Pouchskin took part: for nothing was of greater interest to the old soldier than souvenirs of those grand times, when Pouchskin entered Paris. The conversation of the izzard-hunter related chiefly to his own calling, and upon this theme he was enthusiastic. He told them of all the curious habits of the izzard; and among others that of its using its hooked horns to let itself down from the cliffs—a fancy which is equally in vogue among the chamois hunters of the Alps, but which Alexis did not believe, although he did not say so—not wishing to throw a doubt on the veracity of their guide. The latter, however, when closely questioned upon the point, admitted that he had never himself been an eye-witness of this little bit of goat gymnastics; he had only heard of it from other hunters, who said they had seen it; and similar, no doubt, would be the answer of every one who spoke the truth about this alleged habit of the chamois. The fact is, that this active creature needs no help from its horns. Its hoofs are sufficient to carry it along the very narrowest ledges; and the immense leaps it can take either upward or downward, can be compared to nothing but the flight of some creature furnished with wings. Its hoof, too, is sure, as its eye is unerring. The chamois never slips upon the smoothest rocks—any more than would a squirrel upon the branch of a tree.

Our travellers questioned the izzard-hunter about the profits of his calling. They were surprised to find that the emolument was so trifling. For the carcass of an izzard he received only ten francs; and for the skins two or three more! The flesh or venison was chiefly purchased by the landlords of the hotels—of which there are hundreds at the different watering-places on the French side of the Pyrenees. The visitors were fond of izzard, and called for it at the table. Perhaps they did not relish it so much as they pretended to do; but coming from great cities, and places where they never saw a chamois, they wished to be able to say they had eaten of its flesh. In this conjecture the izzard-hunter was, perhaps, not far out. A considerable quantity of game of other kinds is masticated from a like motive.

It was suggested by Ivan, that, with such a demand for the flesh, the izzard should fetch a better price. Ten francs was nothing?

"Ah!" replied the hunter with a sigh, "that is easily explained, monsieur! The hotel-keepers are too cunning, both for us and their guests. If we were to charge more, they would not take it off our hands."

"But they would be under the necessity of having it, since their guests call for it."

"So they do; and if there were no goats, our izzard-venison would sell at a higher price."

"How?" demanded Ivan, puzzled to make out the connection between goats and izzard-venison.

"Goats and izzards are too much alike, monsieur—that is, after being skinned and cut up. The hotel-keeper knows this, and often makes 'Nanny' do duty for izzard. Many a hotel traveller at Eaux Bonnes may be heard praising our izzard's flesh, when it is only a quarter of young kid he's been dining upon. Ha! ha! ha!"

And the hunter laughed at the cheat—though he well knew that its practice seriously affected the income of his own calling.

But, indeed, if the truth had been told, the man followed the chase far less from a belief in its being a remunerative profession, than from an innate love for the hunter's life. So enthusiastic was he upon the theme, that it was easy to see he would not have exchanged his calling for any other—even had the change promised him a fortune! It is so with professional hunters in all parts of the world, who submit to hardships, and often the greatest privations, for that still sweeter privilege of roaming the woods and wilds at will, and being free from the cares and trammels that too often attach themselves to social life.

Conversing on such topics, the party sat around the bivouac fire until after sunset, when their guide admonished them that they would do well to take a few hours of sleep. There was no necessity for going after the bear until a very late hour—that is, until near morning—for then the beast would be most likely to be abroad. If they went too soon, and found him still in his cave, it was not so certain that even the dogs could prevail on him to turn out. It might be a large cavern. He might give battle to the dogs inside; and big as they were, they would be worsted in an encounter of that sort: since a single blow from the paw of a bear is sufficient to silence the noisiest individual of the canine kind. The dogs—as the hunter again repeated—should only be used as a last resource. The other plan promised better; as the bear, once shut out of his cave, would be compelled to take to the woods. The dogs could then follow him up by the fresh scent; and unless he should succeed in finding some other cavern in which to ensconce himself, they might count upon coming up with him. It was not uncommon for the Pyrenean bear, when pursued by dogs and men, to take to a tree; and this would be all that their hearts could desire: since in a tree the bear would be easily reached by the bullets of their guns. Besides, they might have a chance, when he returned to his closed cave, to shoot him down at once; and that would end the matter without further trouble.

It was not necessary to go to the cave until near morning—just early enough to give them time to close up the entrance, and set themselves in ambush before day broke. On this account the guide recommended them to take some sleep. He would answer for it that they should be waked up in time.

This advice was cheerfully accepted and followed. Even Pouchskin required repose, after the rough handling he had received at the mouths of the mules; and he was now quite as ready as his young masters to wrap himself up in his ample grenadier great-coat, and surrender himself into the arms of the Pyrenean Morpheus.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE AMBUSCADE.

True to his promise, the izzard-hunter awoke them about an hour before dawn; and having saddled and bridled their animals, they mounted and rode off. Among the great tree trunks it was very dark; but the hunter knew the ground; and, after groping along for half a mile farther, and somewhat slowly, they arrived at the base of a cliff. Keeping along this for some distance farther, they came at length to the place of their destination—the mouth of the cave. Even through the gloom, they could see a darker spot upon the face of the rock, which indicated the entrance. It was of no great size—about large enough to admit the body of a man in a stooping attitude—but the hunter was under the impression that it widened inward, and led to a grand cavern. He drew his inference, not from having ever explored this particular cave, but from knowing that there were many others of a similar kind in that part of the mountains, where the limestone formation was favourable to such cavities. Had it been only a hole just big enough for the den of a bear, he would have acted very differently—then there would have been a hope of drawing Bruin out with the dogs; but if the place was an actual cavern, where the beast might range freely about, she hunter knew there would be no chance of getting him out. Their presence outside once suspected, the bear might remain for days within his secure fortress; and a siege would have to be laid, which would be a tedious affair, and might prove fruitless in the end.

For this reason, great caution had been observed as they drew near the cave. They feared that they might come upon the bear, by chance wandering about in the woods,—that he might hear them, and, taking the alarm, scamper back to his cavern.

Acting under this apprehension, they had left their animals a good way off—having tied them to the trees—and had approached the cave on foot, without making the slightest noise, and talking to each other only in whispers.

The izzard-hunter now proceeded to put his designs into execution. While the others had been sleeping, he had prepared a large torch, out of dry splinters of the stone pine; and now quietly igniting this, set it in the ground near the base of the cliff. The moment the bright flame illuminated the entrance to the cave, all stood with their guns in hand ready to fire. They were not sure that Bruin had gone out at all. He might still be a-bed. If so, the light of the torch might wake him up and tempt him forth; therefore it was best to be prepared for such a contingency.

The izzard-hunter now slipped his dogs, which up to this time he had held securely in the leash. As soon as they were free, the well-trained animals, knowing what was expected of them, rushed right into the care.

For some seconds the dogs kept up a quick continuous yelping, and their excited manner told that they at least scented a bear: but the question to be determined was, whether the brute was still in his den.

The hunter had surmised correctly. The aperture conducted to a real cavern, and a very large one—as could be told by the distance at which the yelping of the dogs was heard. Out of such a place it would have been hopeless to have thought of starting a bear—unless it should please Bruin to make a voluntary exit. It was, therefore, with no little anxiety that the hunters listened to the "tongue" of the dogs, as it echoed within the cavernous hollow.

They all knew that if the bear should prove to be inside, the dogs would soon announce the fact by their barking, and other fierce sounds characteristic of canine strife.

They were not kept long in suspense; for, after an interval of less than a minute, both dogs came running out, with that air of disappointment that told of their having made an idle exploration.

Their excited movements, however, proved that the scent of the bear was fresh—that he had only recently forsaken his den—for the dogs had been heard scratching among the sticks and grass that composed it; but this only showed clearly that his habitation was untenanted, and Bruin was "not at home."

This was just what the izzard-hunter desired; and all of them laying aside their guns, proceeded to close up the entrance. This was an easy task. Loose boulders lay around, and with these a battery was soon built across the mouth of the cavern, through which no animal could possibly have made an entrance.

The hunters now breathed freely. They felt certain they had cut off the retreat of the bear; and unless he should suspect something wrong, and fail to return to his cave, they would be pretty sure of having a shot at him.

Nothing remained but to place themselves in ambush, and wait for his coming. How to conceal themselves became the next consideration. It was a question, too, of some importance. They knew not which way the bear might come. He might see them while approaching, and trot off again before a shot could be fired? To prevent this some extraordinary measure must be adopted.

A plan soon presented itself to the practised hunter of the Pyrenees. Directly in front of the cliff grew several large trees. They were of the pinus sylvestris, and thickly covered with bunches of long needle-shaped leaves. If they should climb into these trees, the leaves and branches would sufficiently conceal them, and the bear would hardly suspect their presence in such a situation.

The suggestion of their guide was at once acted upon. Ivan and Pouchskin got into one tree, while the izzard-hunter and Alexis chose another; and all having secured places where they could command a view of the walled-up entrance without being themselves seen, they waited for daylight and the coming back of the bear.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A BEAR IN A BIRD'S NEST.

For the light they had not long to wait. The day broke almost as soon as they had got well settled in their places; but the bear was likely to delay them a little longer—though how long it was impossible to guess, since his return to his sleeping quarters might depend on many contingencies.

Formerly the Pyrenean bears—so the izzard-hunter said—were often met with ranging about in the day-time; but that was when they were more numerous, and less hunted. Now that they were scarce, and their skins so highly prized—which, of course, led to their becoming scarcer every day, and more shy too—they rarely ever left their hiding-place except during the night, and in this way they contrived to escape the vigilance of the hunters. As to the one they were waiting for, the hunter said he might return earlier or later, according to whether he had been much chased of late.

The exact time of his return, however, was soon after ascertained, by the bear himself making his appearance right under their noses.

All at once, and in the most unexpected manner, the great quadruped came shuffling up to the mouth of the cave. He was evidently moving under some excitement, as if pursued, or alarmed by something he had seen in the woods. It was perhaps the sight of the horses, or else the scent of the hunters themselves—on whose track he appeared to have come. Whatever it was, the party in the trees did not take time to consider, or rather the bear did not give them time; for, the moment he reached the entrance to his cave, and saw that it was blocked up, he gave utterance to a terrific scream expressing disappointment, and turning in his tracks, bounded off, as rapidly as he had come up!

The volley of four shots, fired from the trees, caused some of his fur to fly off; and he was seen to stagger, as if about to fall. The hunters raised a shout of triumph, thinking they had been successful; but their satisfaction was short-lived: for, before the echoes of their voices died along the cliff, the bear seemed once more to recover his equilibrium, and ran steadily on.

Once or twice he was seen to stop, and face round to the trees—as if threatening to charge towards them; but again resigning the intention, he increased his speed, went off at a lumbering gallop, and was soon lost to their sight.

The disappointed hunters rapidly descended from their perch; and letting loose the dogs, started off on the trail. Somewhat to their surprise, as well as gratification, it led near the place where they had left their animals; and as they came up to these, they had proofs of the bear having passed that way, by seeing all four, both ponies and mules, dancing about, as if suddenly smitten with madness. The ponies were "whighering," and the mules squealing, so that their owners had heard them long before coming in sight of them. Fortunately the animals had been securely fastened—else there was no knowing whither they would have galloped, so panic-stricken did they appear.

Our hunters believed it a fortunate circumstance that the bear had gone that way; for the guide assured them that there was no telling where he would now stop; and as the chase might carry them for miles through the mountains, they would have been compelled to take to their saddles before starting upon it. The direction the bear had taken, therefore, was just the one most convenient for his pursuers.

Staying no longer than to untie their animals, they once more mounted, and kept after the dogs, whose yelping they could hear already some distance in the advance.

As the izzard-hunter said, the Pyrenean bear, like his Norwegian cousin, when started from his lair, often scours the country to a great distance before making halt—not unfrequently deserting the ravine or mountain-side, where he habitually dwells, and making for some other place, where he anticipates finding greater security.

In this way he often puts his pursuers at fault—by passing over rocky shingle, along ledges of cliffs, or up precipitous slopes, where neither men nor dogs can safely follow him. This was just what they now had to fear; for the guide well knew that the forest they were in was surrounded on almost every side by rocky cliffs; and if the bear should get up these, and make to the bald mountains above, they would stand a good chance of losing him altogether.

But one hope the hunter had. He had perceived—as indeed they all had— that several of their shots had hit the bear—and that he must be severely wounded to have staggered as he had done. For this reason he might seek a hiding-place in the forest, or perchance take to a tree. Cheered by this hope, the pursuers pushed onward.

The conjecture proved to be a just one; for before they had gone half a mile farther, a continuous barking sounded on their ears, which they knew to be that of the dogs. They knew, moreover, by this sign, that the bear had done one of three things—either taken to a tree, retreated into a cave, or come to a stand in the open ground, and was keeping the dogs at bay. Of the three conjectures, they desired that the first should prove the correct one; and from the manner in which the dogs were giving tongue, they had reason to hope that it would.

In effect, so it did; for, on getting a little closer, the two dogs were seen bounding about the roots of an enormous tree, at intervals springing up against its trunk, and barking at some object that had taken refuge in the branches above.

Of course, this object could only be the bear; and under this belief, the pursuers approached the tree—each holding his gun cocked and ready to fire.

When they had got quite up to the tree, and stood under it, no bear was to be seen! A large black mass was visible among the topmost branches; but this was not the body of a bear: it was something altogether different. The tree was one of gigantic size—the very largest they had seen in the whole forest; it was a pine, of the species sylvestris, with huge spreading limbs, and branches thickly covered with fascicles of long leaves. In many places the foliage was dark and dense enough to have afforded concealment to an animal of considerable size; but not one so bulky as a bear; and had there been nothing else but the leaves and branches to conceal him, a bear could not have found shelter in that tree without being visible from below. And yet a bear was actually in it—the very same bear they were in pursuit of—though not a bit of his body—not even the tip of his snout, was visible to the eyes of the hunters!

He was certainly there: for the dogs, who were not trusting to their eyes, but to that in which they placed far more confidence—their scent,—by their movements and behaviour, showed their positive belief that Bruin was in the tree.

Perhaps you will fancy that the pine was a hollow one, and that the bear had crept inside. Nothing of the kind: the tree was perfectly sound— not even a knot-hole was visible either in its trunk or limbs. It was not in a cavity that Bruin had been able to conceal himself.

There was no mystery whatever about their not seeing him: for as soon as the hunters got fairly under the tree, and looked up, they perceived, amidst its topmost branches, the dark object already mentioned; and as the bear could be seen nowhere else in the tree, this object accounted for his being invisible.

You will be wondering what it was; and so wondered our young hunters when they first raised their eyes to it. It looked more like a stack of faggots than aught else; and, indeed, very good faggots would it have made: since it consisted of a large mass of dry sticks and branches, resting in an elevated fork of the tree, and matted together into a solid mass. There were enough to have made a load for an ordinary cart, and so densely packed together, that only around the edges could the sky be seen through them; towards the centre, and for a diameter as large as a millstone, the mass appeared quite solid and black, not a ray of light passing through the interwoven sticks.

"The nest of a lammergeyer!" exclaimed the izzard-hunter, the moment his eye glanced up to it. "Just so!—my dogs are right: the bear has taken shelter in the nest of the birds!"



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE LAMMERGEYERS.

This was evident to all. Bruin had climbed the tree, and was now snugly ensconced in the great nest of the vulture-eagles, though not a hair of his shaggy hide could be visible from below.

The hunters had no doubt about his being there. The chasseur was too confident in the instinct of his well-trained dogs to doubt them for a moment, and his companions had no reason to question a fact so very probable. Had there been any doubt, it would soon have been set aside, by an incident that occurred the moment after their arrival under the tree. As they stood looking upward, two great birds were seen upon the wing, rapidly swooping downward from on high. They were lammergeyers, and evidently the owners of the invaded nest. That the intruder was not welcome there, became apparent in the next moment; for both the birds were seen shooting in quick curves around the top branches of the tree, flapping their wings over the nest, and screaming with all the concentrated rage of creatures in the act of being plundered. Whether Bruin, in addition to his unwelcome presence, had also committed burglary, and robbed the eagles of their eggs or young, could not be told. If he had done so, he could not have received greater objurgation from the infuriated birds, that continued their noisy demonstrations, until a shot fired from below admonished them of the presence of that biped enemy far more dreaded than the bear. Then did they only widen the circle of their flight, still continuing to swoop down over the nest at intervals, and uttering their mingled cries of rage and lamentation.

The shot was from the gun of the izzard-hunter; but it was not till after he had been some time upon the ground that he had fired it. All four had previously dismounted and fastened their animals to the surrounding trees. They knew that the bear was in the nest; but although his retreat was now cut off, it was still not so certain that they should succeed in making a capture. Had the bear taken refuge in a fork, or even among thick branches, where their bullets might have reached him, it would have been a very different thing. They might then have brought him down at their pleasure, for if killed, or severely wounded, he must have fallen to the ground; but now—ah, now! what was to be done? The broad platform of the nest not only gave him a surface on which he could recline at his ease, but its thick mass formed a rampart through which not even a bullet would be likely to penetrate to his body!

How were they to reach him with their bullets? That was the next question that came under consideration. The odd shot had been fired as an experiment. It was fired in the hope that it might startle the bear, and cause him to shift his quarters—if only a little—so that some part of his body might be exposed; and while the izzard-hunter was discharging his piece, the others had stood watching for a chance. None was given to them, however. The bullet was heard striking the sticks, and caused the dust to puff out, but it produced no further effect—not a move was made by the occupant of that elevated eyrie.

Two or three more shots were fired with like effect; and the fusil of Pouchskin was next called into requisition, and brought to bear upon the nest. The large bullet crashed up among the dry sticks, scattering the fragments on all sides, and raising a cloud of dust that enveloped the whole top of the tree. But not a sign came from Bruin, to tell that it had disturbed him; not even a growl, to reward Pouchskin for the expenditure of his powder and lead. It was evident that this mode of proceeding could be of no service; and the firing was at once discontinued—in order that they might take into consideration some other plan of attack.

At first there appeared to be no way by which the bear might be ousted from his secure quarters. They might fire away until they should empty both their powder-horns and pouches, and all to no purpose. They might just as well fire their shots into the air. So far as their bullets were concerned, the bear might bid them defiance—a cannon shot alone could have gone through his strong rampart of sticks.

What could they do to get at him? To climb up and assail him where he lay was not to be thought of—even could they have climbed into the nest. On the firm ground, none of them would have liked to risk an encounter with the enemy, much less upon such insecure footing as a nest of rotten sticks. But they could not have got into the nest, however bent upon such a thing. Its wide rim extended far beyond the supporting branches; and only a monkey, or the bear himself, could have clambered over its edge. To a human being, ascent to the nest would have been not only difficult, but impossible; and no doubt the instinct of the eagles guided them to this while they were constructing it. Not for a moment, then, did our hunters think of climbing up to their eyrie.

What, then, were they to do? The only thing they could think of was to cut down the tree. It would be a great undertaking: for the trunk was several feet in diameter; and as they had only one axe, and that not a very sharp one, it would be a work of time. They might be days in felling that gigantic pine; and even when down, the bear might still escape from them—for it did not follow that the fall of the tree would result in the consummation of his capture. It might swing over gradually and easily, or, striking against others, let the bear down without doing him the slightest damage; and in the confusion consequent on its fall, he would have a good chance of getting off.

These considerations caused them to hesitate about cutting down the tree, and reflect whether there might not be some easier and more effective method for securing the skin of the bear.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

FIRING THE EYRIE.

After beating their brains, for some time to no purpose, an exclamation from the izzard-hunter at length announced that some happy idea had occurred to him. All eyes were at once turned towards him; while the voice of Ivan was quickly heard, interrogating him as to the object of his exclamation.

"I've got a plan, young monsieur!" replied the hunter, "by which I'll either force the bear to come down, or roast him up yonder where he lies. Parbleu! I've got an excellent idea!"

"What is it? what is it?" eagerly inquired Ivan; though from what the izzard-hunter had said, he already half comprehended the design.

"Patience, young monsieur! in a minute you shall see!"

All three now gathered around the chasseur, and watched his movements.

They saw him pour a quantity of gunpowder into the palm of his hand; and then tear a strip of cotton rag from a large piece which he had drawn out of his pouch. This he saturated with saliva and then coated it over with the powder. He next proceeded to rub both rag and powder together—until, after a considerable friction between the palms of his hands, the cotton became once more dry, and was now thoroughly saturated with the powder, and quite blackened with it.

The next proceeding on the part of the chasseur was to procure a small quantity of dead moss, which was easily obtained from the trunks of the surrounding trees; and this, mixed with a handful or two of dry grass, he rolled up into a sort of irregular clew.

The man now felt in his pouch; and, after a little fumbling there, brought forth a small box that was seen to contain lucifer-matches. Seemingly satisfied with their inspection, he returned the box to its place, and then made known the object for which all these preliminary manoeuvres had been practised. Our young hunters had already more than half divined it, and it only confirmed their anticipations when the hunter declared his intention to climb the tree and set fire to the nest. It is needless to say that one and all of them approved of the scheme, while they admired its originality and cunning. Its boldness, too, did not escape their admiration, for it was clearly a feat of daring and danger. The bottom of the nest might be reached easily enough; for though a tall tree, it was by no means a difficult one to climb. There were branches all along its trunk from bottom to top; and to a Pyrenean hunter, who, when a boy, as he told them, had played pigeon vidette in one of the "crows' nests" they had seen, the climbing of such a tree was nothing. It was not in this that the danger lay, but in something very different. It was in the contingency, that, while up in the branches, and before he could effect his purpose, the bear might take a fancy to come down. Should he do so, then, indeed, would the life of the venturesome hunter be in deadly peril.

He made light of the matter, however, and, warning the others to get their guns ready and stand upon their guard, he sprang forward to the trunk, and commenced "swarming" upward.

Almost as rapidly as a bear itself could have ascended, the izzard-hunter glided up the tree, swinging himself from branch to branch, and resting his naked feet—for he had thrown off his shoes—on knots and other inequalities, where no branch offered. In this way he at length got so close to the nest, that he could without difficulty thrust his hand into the bottom of it.

He was now seen drawing forth a number of the dry sticks, and forming a cavity near the lower part of the huge mass. He operated with great silence and circumspection—taking all the care he could not to make his presence known to the bear, nor in any way disturb whatever dreams or reflections Bruin might then be indulging in.

In a short time he had hollowed out a little chamber among the sticks— just large enough for his purpose,—and, taking the ball of dry grass out of his pouch, he loosened it a little, and then placed it within the cavity.

It was but the work of another minute to light a lucifer-match, and set fire to the long strips of tinder rag that hung downwards from the grass.

This done, the izzard-hunter swung himself to the next branch below; and, even faster than he had gone up, he came scrambling down the trunk.

Just as he reached the ground, the grass was seen catching; and amidst the blue smoke that was oozing thickly out of the little chamber, and slowly curling up around the edges of the nest, a red blaze could be distinguished—accompanied with that crackling noise that announces the kindling of a fire.

The four hunters stood ready, watching the progress of the little flame—at the same time directing their glances around the rim of the nest.

They had not long to wait for the denouement. The smoke had already caught the attention of the bear; and the snapping of the dry faggots, as they came in contact with the blazing grass, had awakened him to a sense of his dangerous situation.

Long before the blaze had mounted near him, he was seen craning his neck over the edge of the nest; first on one side, then on another, and evidently not liking what he saw. Once or twice he came very near having a bullet sent at his head; but his restlessness hindered them from getting a good aim, and for the time he was left alone.

Not for long, however: for he did not much longer remain upon his elevated perch. Whether it was the smoke that he was unable longer to endure, or whether he knew that the conflagration was at hand, does not clearly appear; but from his movements it was evident the nest was getting too hot to hold him.

And no doubt it was too hot at that crisis. Had he remained in it but two minutes longer, an event would have occurred that would have ruined everything. The bear would either have been roasted to a cinder; or, at all events, his skin would have been singed, and, of course, completely spoilt for the purpose for which it was required!

Up to this moment that thought had never occurred to the young hunters; and now that it did occur, they stood watching the movements of the bear with feelings of keen apprehension. A shout of joy was heard both from Alexis and Ivan as the great quadruped was seen springing out from the smoke, and clutching to a thick branch that traversed upward near the nest. Embracing the branch with his paws, he commenced descending stern foremost along the limb; but a more rapid descent was in store for him. Out of the four bullets fired into his body, one at least must have reached a mortal part; for his forearms were seen to relax their hold, his limbs slipped from the bark, and his huge body came "bump" to the ground, where it lay motionless as a log and just as lifeless.

Meanwhile the flames enveloped the nest, and in five minutes more the whole mass was on fire, blazing upward like a beacon. The dry sticks snapped and crackled—the pitchy branches of the pine hissed and spurted—the red cinders shot out like stars, and came showering down to the earth—while high overhead could be heard the vengeful cries of the vultures, as they saw the destruction of their aerial habitation.

But the hunters took no heed of all this. Their task was accomplished, or nearly so. It only remained to divest Bruin of his much-coveted skin; and, having done this in a skilful and proper manner, they mounted their roadsters, and once more took their route across the mountains.

On reaching the first village on the Spanish side, they parted with the expert izzard-hunter and his hired charge—having well remunerated him for his threefold service, each branch of which he had performed to their entire satisfaction.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

SOUTH AMERICAN BEARS.

Our travellers passed southward to Madrid, where they only remained long enough to witness that exciting but not very gentle spectacle, a bull-fight.

Thence proceeding to Lisbon, they took passage direct for Para, or "Gran Para," as it is called—a thriving Brazilian settlement at the mouth of the Amazon river, and destined at no very distant day to become a great city.

The design of our hunters was to ascend the Amazon, and reach, by one of its numerous head waters, the eastern slope of the Andes mountains— which they knew to be the habitat of the "spectacled bear."

On arriving at Para, they were not only surprised, but delighted, to find that the Amazon river was actually navigated by steamboats; and that, instead of having to spend six months in ascending to the upper part of this mighty river—as in the olden time—they could now accomplish the journey in less than a score of days! These steamers are the property of the Brazilian Government, that owns the greater part of the Amazon valley, and that has shown considerable enterprise in developing its resources—much more than any of the Spano-American States, which possess the regions lying upon the upper tributaries of the Amazon. It is but fair to state, however, that the Peruvians have also made an attempt to introduce steam upon the Amazon river; and that they have been unsuccessful, from causes over which they could scarce be expected to have control. The chief of these causes appears to have been the dishonesty of certain American contractors, who provided them with the steamers—three of them—which, on being taken to the head of steam navigation on the Amazon, were found to be utterly worthless, and had to be laid up! This bit of jobbery is to be regretted the more, since its bad effects do not alone concern the people of Peru, but the whole civilised world: for there is not a country on the globe that would not receive benefit by a development of the resources of this mighty river.

Our young Russians had been under the belief, as most people are, that the banks of the Amazon were entirely without civilised settlements— that the great river had scarcely been explored—that only a few travellers had descended this mighty stream; and that altogether it was still as much of a terra incognita as in the days of Orellana. They found that these notions were quite incorrect; that not only is there the large town of Para near the mouth of the Amazon, but there are other considerable settlements upon its banks, at different distances from each other, all the way up to Peru. Even upon some of its tributaries— as the Rio Negro and Madeira—there are villages and plantations of some importance. Barra, on the former stream, is of itself a town of 2,000 inhabitants.

In that part of the Amazonian territory which lies within the boundaries of Brazil, the settlements are, of course, Brazilian—the settlers being a mixture of Portuguese negroes and Christianised Indians. The portion of the great valley higher up towards the Cordilleras of the Andes, belongs to the Spanish-American governments—chiefly to Peru. There are also settlements of a missionary character, the population of which consists almost entirely of Indians, who have submitted themselves to the rule of the Spanish priests. Years ago many of these missionary settlements were in a flourishing condition; but at present they are in a complete state of decay.

Our young Russians found, then, that the great South American river was by no means unknown or unexplored—though as yet no great observer has given an account of it. The different travellers who have descended the Amazon, and written books about it, have all been men of slight capacity, and lacking powers of scientific observation; and one cannot help feeling regret, that Humboldt did not choose the Amazon, instead of the Orinoco, as the medium of his valuable researches into the cosmography of South America. Such a grand subject was worthy of such a man.

In ascending the Amazon—which our party did by the Brazilian steamer— they were fortunate in finding on board a very intelligent travelling companion; who gave them much information of the great valley and its resources. This man was an old Portuguese trader, who had spent nearly a lifetime in navigating not only the Amazon itself, but many of its larger tributaries. His business was to collect from the different Indian tribes the indigenous products of the forest—or montana, as it is called—which stretches almost without interruption from the Andes to the Atlantic. In this vast tropical forest there are many productions that have found their way into the channels of commerce; and many others yet unknown or unregarded. The principal articles obtained by the traders are sarsaparilla, Peruvian bark, annatto, and other dyes, vanilla, Brazil nuts, Tonka beans, hammocks, palm fibre, and several other kinds of spontaneous vegetable productions. Monkeys, toucans, macaws, parrots, and other beautiful birds, also enter into the list of Amazonian exports; while the imports consist of such manufactured articles as may tempt the cupidity of the savage, or the weapons necessary to him either in war or for the chase.

In this trade their travelling companion had spent thirty years of his life; and being a man of intelligence he had not only acquired a consider able fortune, but laid in a stock of geographical knowledge, of which the young Russians were not slow to take advantage. In the natural history of the montana he was well versed; and knew the different animals and their habits from actual observation—for which thirty years of adventure had given him a splendid opportunity. It was a rich store, and our travellers, especially the naturalist Alexis, did not fail to draw largely from it.

From the information given by this intelligent trader, Alexis was enabled to determine several facts about the bears of South America, that had hitherto been doubtful. He learnt that there are at least two very distinct varieties of them—one, the "spectacled bear" (ursus ornatus)—so called, on account of the whitish rings around his eyes, suggesting the idea of spectacles; and another without these white eye markings, and which has been lately named by a distinguished German naturalist ursus frugilegus.

The former kind is known throughout the Peruvian countries as the "Hucumari," and although it inhabits the Cordilleras, it does not ascend to the very cold elevations known as the "paramos" and "puna." On the contrary, it affects a warmer climate, and is not unfrequently found straying into the cultivated valleys termed generally the "Sierra." The ursus frugilegus chiefly frequents the tangled woods that cover the eastern spurs of the Andes, ranging often as far down as the montana, and never so high as the declivities that border on the region of snow.

Both of these species are black bears, and termed "oso negro" by the Spanish-Americans; but the Hucumari is distinguished by a white list under the throat, a white breast, a muzzle of a greyish buff colour, and the crescent-like eye markings already mentioned. It is also of a gentler disposition than its congener, smaller in size, and never preys upon other animals. The other does so—frequently making havoc among the flocks of sheep, and even attacking the cattle and horses of the haciendas. The ursus frugilegus will give battle even to man himself—when baited, or rendered furious by being chased.

Both these species are supposed to be confined to the Chilian and Peruvian Andes. This is an erroneous supposition. They are equally common in Bolivia, and in the sierras of New Grenada and Venezuela. They are found on both sides of Lake Maracaibo—in the sierras Perija and Merida. One of them, at least, has also been observed in the mountains of Guiana—though naturalists have not met with it there. Humboldt, it is true, saw the tracks of what the natives told him was a bear on the Upper Orinoco; and, reasoning from their size, he drew the inference that it must have been a much smaller species than the ursus americanus; but in this matter the great philosopher was led into an error by a misapplied name. He was informed that the animal was the "oso carnero," or flesh-eating bear—a title given by the Mission Indians to distinguish it from two other animals, which they also erroneously term bears—the "oso palmero," or great ant-eater (tamanoir), and the "oso hormiguero" (tamandua). The animal by whose tracks Humboldt was misled, was, no doubt, one of the smaller plantigrade animals (coatis or grisons), of which there are several species in the forests of South America.

Our hunters learnt enough from their travelling acquaintance to convince them that, in whatever latitude they might approach the Andes from the east, they would be certain to find both varieties of the South American black bear; but that the best route they could take would be up the great Napo river, which rises not very far from the old Peruvian capital of Quito. In the wild provinces of Quixos and Macas, lying to the east of Quito—and to which the Napo river would conduct them—they would be certain to meet with the animals they were in search of.

They would have been equally sure of meeting bears in the territory of Jean de Bracamoros; and this would have been more easily reached; but Alexis knew that by taking that route across the Cordilleras, they would be thrown too far to the west for the isthmus of Panama—which it was necessary they should cross on their way to the northern division of the American continent.

By keeping up the Napo to its source, and then crossing the Cordilleras of New Granada, they would still be enabled to make westerly as far as Panama—to which port they could get passage in one of the Grenadian coasting-vessels.

On arriving at the mouth of the Napo, therefore, they engaged a periagua, with its Indian crew, and continued their journey up this stream towards the still-distant Cordilleras of Quito.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE AMAZONIAN FOREST.

The river Napo is one of the largest of the head waters of the Amazon, and one of the most interesting—since, by it, most of the early expeditionists descended in search of the country of the gilded kings, and the gold-roofed temples of Manoa. Though these proved to be fabulous, yet the existence of gold dust among the Indians of the Napo was true enough, and is true to the present hour. On this river, and its numerous branches, gold washings, or placers, are quite common; and occasionally the savages, who roam over this region, collect the dust, and exchange it with the traders who venture among them. The Indians, however, are of too idle a habit to follow this industry with any degree of energy; and whenever they have obtained a quill full of the metallic sand—just enough to purchase them some coveted nick-knack of civilised manufacture—they leave off work, and the precious ingots are permitted to sleep undiscovered in their beds.

Notwithstanding the length of their journey up the Napo, our travellers did not deem it tedious. The lovely tropical scenery, ever under their eyes, together with the numerous little incidents which were constantly occurring, relieved the monotony of their daily life, and kept them in a constant state of interested excitement. At every bend of the river appeared some object, new and worthy of admiration—some grand tropical plant or tree, some strange quadruped, or some bird of glorious plumage.

The craft in which they travelled was that in general use on the upper tributaries of the Amazon: a large canoe—hollowed out from the gigantic bombax ceiba, or silk-cotton tree—and usually known as a periagua. Over the stern part, or quarter-deck, a little "round house" is erected, resembling the tilt of a wagon; but, instead of ash hoops and canvas, it is constructed of bamboos and leaves of trees. The leaves form a thatch to shade the sun from the little cabin inside, and they are generally the large leaves of the vihai, a species of heliconia, which grows abundantly in the tropical forests of South America. Leaves of the musacaae (plantains and bananas) serve for a similar purpose; and both kinds are equally employed in thatching the huts in which the natives dwell.

The little cabin thus constructed is called a toldo. Inside it is high enough for a man to sit upright, though not to stand; and generally it is only used for sleeping in, or as a shelter during rain. At other times the traveller prefers the open air; and sits or reclines upon the roof of the toldo, which is constructed of sufficient strength to bear his weight. The forward part of the periagua is left quite open; and here the rowers take their stations, so that their movements do not interfere with the comfort of the travellers.

Through the influence of the Portuguese trader, our party had the good fortune to obtain a proper periagua and crew. They were Christianised Indians, belonging to one of the Spanish missions situated far up the Napo. They had descended this river with a cargo of the products of the mission; and were just about starting to go back, as our travellers arrived at the river's mouth. An agreement was easily entered into with the capataz, or chief of the periagua; and as our travellers always paid liberally for such service, and kept the crew well fed, they received as good attendance and accommodation as circumstances would admit of. Here and there on the banks of the river—though at very long intervals apart—were settlements of the wild Indians of the forest; and as nearly all the tribes of Amazonia do less or more in the way of cultivation and commerce, our travellers were enabled from time to time to replenish their larder. Their guns, too, helped materially to keep up the supply: since almost every day game of one kind or another was procured along the banks. For bread they had farinha, a good stock of which they had brought with them on the steamer from Paru. This is the grated root of the manioc plant (jatropha manihot), and forms the staple food of all classes throughout the countries of Amazonia.

Alexis was particularly interested in what they saw. Never had naturalist a finer field for observation. Here was nature presented to the eye in its most normal condition. Here could be observed the tropical forest in all its primeval virginity, unbroken by the axe of the lumberer, and in many places untrodden even by the foot of the hunter. Here its denizens—quadrupeds, quadrumana, birds, reptiles, and insects—might be seen following out their various habits of life, obedient only to the passions or instincts that had been implanted in them by Nature herself, but little modified by the presence of man. Now would appear a flock of capivaras—or chiguires, as they are also called—the largest of rodent animals, basking upon some sunny bank, raising their great rabbit-like heads, and gazing curiously at the passing periagua. Perhaps before the travellers had lost sight of them, the whole gang would be seen suddenly starting from their attitudes of repose, and in desperate rush making for the water. Behind them would appear the yellow-spotted body of the jaguar—the true tyrant of the Amazonian forest, who, with a single blow of his powerful paw would stretch a chiguire upon the grass, and then, couching over his fallen victim, would tear its body to pieces, drink its warm blood, and devour its flesh at his leisure.

If by good fortune the flock might all escape, and reach the water, the jaguar, conscious of their superior adroitness in that element, would at once abandon the pursuit; and returning to his ambush, lie waiting for a fresh opportunity. But for all that, the poor chiguires would not be certain of safety; for even in the water they might encounter another enemy, equally formidable and cruel, in the gigantic jacare—the crocodile of the Amazonian waters. Thus assailed in either element, the poor innocent rodents are driven from land to water, and from the water back again to the land; and so kept in a state of continual fear and trembling. The puma, too, assails them, and the jaguarundi, and the fierce coatimundi; and not unfrequently the enormous anaconda enfolds them in its deadly embrace; for the innocuous creatures can make no defence against their numerous enemies; and but for that fecundity which characterises the family to which they belong—the so called "Guinea pigs"—their race would be in danger of total extirpation.

The chiguires were not the only gregarious animals observed by our travellers in their ascent of the Napo. Others of a very different order appeared in the peccaries, or wild pigs of the montana. These are true pachyderms, and in reality pigs; though naturalists have seen fit to separate them from the genus Sus, and constitute for them a genus of their own. It is hardly necessary to say that this is a very useless proceeding—since the peccaries are neither more nor less than true wild hogs, the indigenous representatives of the suidae, on the American continent. Their classification into a separate genus has been productive of no good purpose, but the very contrary: since it has added to the number of zoological names, thereby rendering still more difficult the study of that interesting science. For such an endless vocabulary, we are chiefly indebted to the speculations of anatomic naturalists, who, lacking opportunities of actual observation, endeavour to make up for it by guesses and conjectures, founded upon some little tubercle upon a tooth! Notwithstanding their learned treatises, it often proves—and very often too—that these tubercles tell most abominable stories; in plainer terms, that the animals "lie in their teeth."

The peccary—which the old writers were content to regard as a wild pig, and very properly placed under the genus sus—is now termed dicotyles. Two species only are yet known to naturalists—the "white-lipped" and "collared" (dicotyles labritus and dicotyles collaris); and although they are rarely found frequenting the same district of country, either one or the other kind can be encountered in all the wilder parts of America—from California on the north, to the latitude of the La Plata on the south. Both are nearly of one form and colour—a sort of speckled greyish-brown; the collared species being so named from a whitish list running up in front of its shoulders, and forming the semblance of a collar; while the white-lipped derives its specific title from having lips of a greyish-white colour. In size, however, there is a great difference between the two: the white-lipped peccary weighing 100 pounds, or nearly twice the weight of the collared species. The former, too, is proportionably stouter in build, and altogether a stronger and fiercer animal; for although fierceness is not a characteristic of their nature, like other animals of the hog family, when, roused, they exhibit a ferocity and fearlessness equalling that of the true carnivora.

Both kinds of peccary are preyed upon by the jaguar; but this tyrant of the wilds approaches them with more caution and far less confidence, than when he makes his onslaught on the helpless chiguires; and not unfrequently in conflicts with the peccary, the jaguar comes off only second best. Of this fact our travellers had ample proofs—having frequently witnessed, while ascending the Napo, encounters between the peccaries and the jaguars. One of these encounters they had watched with an interest more than common: for in its result their own safety was concerned; and the very position of peril in which they were placed, enabled them to have a full and perfect view of the whole spectacle; an account of which we find recorded in the journal of Alexis.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE PERUVIAN CINNAMON-TREE.

They had reacted a district which lies between two great branches of the Napo river, and which bears the name of Canelos, or the "cinnamon country." The name was given to it by the Spanish discoverers of Peru— from the fact of their finding trees in this region, the bark of which bears a considerable resemblance to the celebrated spice of the East Indies. Canela is the Spanish name for cinnamon; and the rude adventurers Pineda and Gonzalez Pizarro, fancying it was the real cinnamon-tree itself, so called it; and the district in which they found it most abundant thenceforward took the name of Canelos.

The tree, afterwards identified and described by the Spanish botanist Mutis, is not the Laurus cinnamomum of Ceylon; but a species of laurus peculiar to the American continent—to which this botanist has given the name laurus cinnamomoides. It is not, however, confined to the region around the Rio Napo, but grows in many parts of the Great Montana, as well as in other countries of tropical America. Bonpland identified it on the Upper Orinoco, and again in the county of Caraccas; though nowhere does it appear to be in such plenty as to the east of the Cordilleras of Ecuador and Peru—throughout the provinces of Quixos, Macas, and Jean de Bracamoros. In these provinces it is found forming extensive woods, and filling the air with the delicious aroma of its flowers. The bark of the laurus cinnamomoides is not considered equal in delicate flavour to that of the Oriental cinnamon. It is hotter and more pungent to the taste—otherwise the resemblance between the two trees is very considerable, their foliage being much alike, and the bark peeling off of nearly equal thickness. The American, however, becomes more brownish when dried; and, though it is not equal to the cinnamon bark of Ceylon, large quantities of it are collected, both for use in the Spanish-American countries and for export to Europe—where it is often passed off for the true cinnamon. Were it not that the province of anelos is rather inaccessible to commerce, no doubt a great deal more of it would find its way into the European markets; but there are perils and hardships in the collecting of this bark, which make it unprofitable to deal in, even at the full price of the true cinnamon. The Peruvians believe that, were the tree cultivated in a proper manner, as the Oriental cinnamon is, its bark would prove equal in quality to the latter; and perhaps this may be true, since occasionally specimens of it have been procured, having all the rich aroma of the spice of Ceylon. These have been taken from trees that grew in favourable situations— that is, standing alone, and where the sun had free access to the leaves and flowers. The leaves themselves have the peculiar cinnamon flavour, and the flowers also; but in a much stronger degree. Indeed, the flowers are even more aromatic than those of the laurus cinnamomum.

It is said that the wild pigs (peccaries) are very fond of these flowers, as well as the seeds, when ripe; and a singular habit of these animals is related by some of the early Peruvian travellers—the Jesuit Ovalle for one. The old father states that when a flock of the peccaries go in search of the flowers of the canela-tree, they separate into two divisions, of about nearly equal numbers. The individuals of one division place their shoulders to the different trees; and, by shaking them violently, cause the flowers to fall down to the earth. While thus employed, the peccaries of the other party stand under the shower, and eat undisturbedly until they have quite filled their bellies, or otherwise satisfied themselves. These last then take the place of the hungry hogs; and reciprocating the service by shaking the trees, leave the former to enjoy themselves in their turn!

It is not easy to swallow this story of the Jesuit, though he was himself a native of the country where the scene is laid. That part of it which relates to the hogs shaking the trees for one another, is not likely to be true, though it is possible all the other particulars are correct.

It may be true enough that the animals shake the trees to bring down the flowers: for this would exhibit a sagacity not greater than hogs of other species are capable of; but it is not according to the laws of their moral nature to perform the service for one another. That they roam in great flocks through the canela forests, and devour with avidity the blossoms of these trees, is undoubtedly a fact—of which our travellers had the evidence of their own eyes while on their journey up the river Napo.

They were passing a place where these wild cinnamon-trees lined the banks of the stream; and, in order to make a closer examination of such an interesting species, Alexis landed from the periagua, Ivan went along with him—taking his double-barrelled gun, in hopes of getting a shot at something. In one barrel he had a bullet, while the other was loaded with shot—so that he was prepared for any sort of game that might turn up, either beasts or birds. Alexis, as usual, carried his rifle.

It was their intention to walk for some distance up the bank. There was a sandy strip between the water and the trees—which would enable them to make way without difficulty—and it is only where this occurs that the banks of the Amazonian rivers can be followed on foot. Generally, the thick forest comes down to the very water's edge; and there is no pathway except an occasional track followed by the chiguires, tapirs, and other animals; but, as these creatures only open the underwood to the height of their own bodies, all above that is a matted labyrinth of leaves and llanos, that form an impenetrable barrier to the passage of anything so tall as a man. The Indians themselves rarely follow these paths, but keep to their canoes or periaguas.

Seeing this fine open sand-bar, which appeared to stretch for miles above them, our young travellers, tired of sitting upon the toldo, determined to stretch their legs in a walk; and, directing the capataz to keep up the river and take them in above, they set out along the bank—now and then dipping into the woods, wherever an opening showed itself, and examining such rare natural objects as attracted their attention.

Pouchskin did not go with them; and the reason was that, some days before, Pouchskin had encountered a mishap, by which he was laid up lame. The cause of his lameness was simply that some chigas had got between his toes; and not having been extracted in time, had there laid their eggs, and caused a terrible inflammation to his feet. A misfortune that frequently happens in tropical countries. The wound caused by the chiga, though not absolutely of fatal consequences, is very dangerous to be trifled with—often leading to the necessity of amputating the part attacked by these diminutive insects. Pouchskin, sneering at the insignificance of the enemy, had neglected taking proper precautions—notwithstanding that the Indian canoe-men had warned him of the danger. The consequence was a swelling of the parts and an inflammation, that lamed the old grenadier as completely as if his leg had been carried off by a bomb-shell; and he was now reclining along the top of the toldo, unable to stand upon his feet.

For this reason, being in no condition to join his young masters on their pedestrian excursions, he was necessarily left behind. It was, perhaps, just as well for him: since it was the means of keeping him clear of a scrape into which both of the young hunters chanced to fall very soon after; and which, perhaps, had Pouchskin been with them, might have ended worse than it did: since it could not have ended much better.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

A SKURRY OVER A SAND-BAR.

Journeying along the bank, as we have described, Alexis and Ivan had gone some two or three miles up the river. They were beginning to get tired of their walk: as the sand was rather soft, and sank under their feet at every step. Just then they descried, a little ahead of them, a long bar, or "spit" of the bank, running out nearly to the middle of the river. They made up their minds to go on until they should reach this bar. At its end appeared a proper place for the periagua to come to, and take them aboard.

The craft was still working up stream, and had got nearly opposite them, so that they could hail it. They did so—desiring the popero, or steersman, to put in at the extremity of the sand-bar. This matter having been arranged, they continued on up the bank, going at their leisure.

On arriving at that part of the bank where the sand-spit projected into the river, they were about stepping out upon it, when the quick ear of Ivan caught the sound of some animals moving among the underwood. All was game that came to Ivan's gun; and as he had seen nothing worth wasting a charge upon, during their long walk, he was very desirous to have a shot at something before returning to the periagua.

What he heard was a rustling of leaves. It did not appear to proceed from any particular spot, but rather from all parts of the forest. Now and then the sound was varied by a sort of half-squeaking, half-grunting noise, that indicated the presence of animals, and a great many of them too: since at times, several scores of these squeaks and grunts could be heard uttered simultaneously. Alexis heard the sounds too; but being less of a keen sportsman than his brother, cared less to go after the creatures that were making them. He had no objection to Ivan straying a little out of his way; and promised to wait for him on the open bank.

Had he known what sort of game it was that his brother was going after— that is, had he been acquainted with the habits of the animals that were making themselves heard, he would either have gone along with Ivan, or, what is more likely, would have hindered him from going at all. Alexis, however, was under the impression that monkeys of some kind were making the strange noises—for not only are there many species of these in the forests of the Napo, but some that can imitate the voices of other animals. Of course, with monkeys, there could be no danger: since none of the American quadrumana are large enough or strong enough to attempt an attack upon man.

Ivan had not left the spot more than five minutes, when a loud report, reverberating among the trees, announced that he had fired his gun; and, almost in the same instant, a second crack told that both barrels were now empty.

Alexis was about proceeding to the place to see what his brother had shot, when all at once his ears were assailed by a loud chorus of noises—a screaming, and snorting, and grunting,—that seemed to come from all parts of the wood; while the cracking of sticks, and the "swishing" of branches, announced a singular commotion—as if some hundreds of creatures were rushing to and fro through the jungle. At the same instant was heard the voice of Ivan, crying out in accents of alarm; while the boy was himself seen breaking his way through the bushes, and running with all his might in the direction of his brother. His looks betokened terror, as if some dreaded pursuer was behind him.

"Run! brother—run!" cried he, as he got clear of the underwood; "run for your life!—they're after me—they're after me!"

It was no time to inquire what pursuers were after him. Evidently, they were of a sort to be shunned: since they had caused to the courageous Ivan such serious alarm; and Alexis, without staying for an explanation, turned, and joined in his brother's flight. Both directed themselves towards the open sand-spit, in hopes of being able to reach the periagua—which could be seen just drawing up to its point of the bar.

They had not made a dozen steps into the open ground, when the bushes from which they had just parted were seen to vibrate, and from out their trembling cover rushed a host of strange creatures: literally a host, for, in a few seconds' time, not less than two hundred of them made their appearance.

They were quadrupeds of a greyish-brown colour, not larger than half-grown pigs; and pigs they were—that is to say, they were peccaries. They were those of the species labiatus—as could be seen by their white lips. These lips were especially conspicuous, for each individual was rushing on open-mouthed, with snout raised aloft— all of them cracking their teeth like castanets, uttering, as they ran, a confused chorus of short, sharp grunts and squeaks expressive of anger.

As soon as Alexis saw them, he recognised the peril of the situation in which he and his brother were placed. He had read, and heard moreover from the Portuguese trader—as well as from the Indian canoe-men—of the danger to be apprehended from an attack of these fierce little animals; and how the hunter, to escape from them, is often compelled to take to a tree. Had he and Ivan reflected for a moment, they would probably have made for the woods, instead of running out on the open sand-bar as they had done. It was now too late, however. The peccaries covered the whole line of beach behind them; and no tree could have been reached, without passing back again through the midst of the drove. Their retreat in the direction of the woods was completely cut off; and there appeared no alternative, but to make the best use they could of their heels, and if possible get on board the periagua.

With this determination they rushed on over the sandbank, closely pursued by the peccaries.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

PURSUED BY PECCARIES.

It is needless to say that our young hunters took as long strides as the nature of the ground would permit; but, unfortunately, they were not long enough. The sand was soft and heavy, and in places so full of holes, where the turtles had had their eggs—now empty—that the fugitives could make but slow progress, though fear was urging them to do their utmost. The pursuers themselves did not make as good speed as they would have made on firmer ground, but they were going faster than the pursued; and the boys were beginning to fear that they would never be able to reach the periagua in time. To be overtaken meant the same as to be dragged down upon the sand, and torn to pieces by the sharp tusks of the peccaries. The periagua was still three hundred yards distant. The Indians saw the chase, and knew the danger—knew it so well, that it was not likely they would venture ashore to the rescue; and as for Pouchskin, he was unable to budge an inch—even had there been no other means of saving his young masters. It was a moment of fearful apprehension for the faithful Pouchskin. He had seized his fusil, and wriggled his body into an erect attitude; but he felt powerless to do more.

In this moment of peril an object came under the eyes of Alexis that promised safety. At least it held out the prospect of a temporary retreat from the danger—though whether they might succeed in reaching this retreat was not certain.

This object was a tree—not standing and growing, but a fallen tree— dead, and divested of its leaves, its bark, and most of its branches. It lay upon the sand-spit—where it had, no doubt, been deposited during the season of floods—not exactly in the line of their flight, but some paces to the right of the track they would have followed in keeping on to the periagua. It was nearer them than the boat, by full two hundred yards; and Alexis observing this, suddenly conceived a hope that they might yet reach the tree, and find shelter, either upon its trunk or among its branches. Of these the larger ones still remained—rising many feet above the surface of the sand, and shrouded under masses of weeds and withered grass, which had been there deposited at the falling of the flood. Indeed, Alexis scarce looked to the capabilities the tree afforded for giving them a secure retreat. There was no alternative. It was like the drowning man catching at straws. He only cast a look behind him, to see what time they might have to spare; and by a quick glance calculating their distance from the pursuers, he shouted to Ivan to follow him, and turned obliquely towards the tree.

They had noticed the tree when first starting to run, but had not thought of it as a place of retreat. Indeed, they had thought of nothing except getting back to the boat; and it was only now, when this had proved clearly impossible, that they determined on taking to the tree.

As they faced full towards it, they were able to note the chances it offered for their safety. They saw that they were not so bad; and, encouraged by hope, they made efforts more energetic than ever—both of them straining every nerve and muscle in their legs and bodies.

The effort was needed; but fortunately it proved sufficient to save them. Just sufficient: for scarce had they succeeded in getting upon the log, and drawing their limbs up after them, when the infuriated host arrived upon the ground, and in a few seconds surrounded them on all sides. Lucky it was that the log was a large one. It was the dead-wood of a gigantic silk-cotton—the bombax ceiba of the tropical forests; and its trunk, being full five feet in diameter, gave them that elevation above the surface of the sand. Notwithstanding this, they saw that their safety was not yet quite assured: for the spiteful peccaries, instead of desisting in their attacks, commenced leaping up against the log, endeavouring to reach its top, and there assail them. Now and then one more active than the rest actually succeeded in getting its fore feet over the ridge of the dead-wood: and, had it not been for the quick use which our hunters made of the butts of their guns, undoubtedly they would have been reached. Both stood with their barrels grasped firmly— now threatening the assailing host, and now punching in the head such of them as sprang within reach—the peccaries all the while uttering their angry grunts, and chattering their teeth, as if a hundred strings of Christmas crackers were being let off at the same time!

In this way the conflict was carried on—the hunters bit by bit working themselves along the log towards the top branches, which, projecting higher, appeared to offer a more secure place of retreat. But at intervals as they advanced, they were compelled to make halt, and deal a fresh shower of blows to their assailants, who still kept leaping up from below.

At length the boys succeeded in reaching the projecting limbs of the tree; and each choosing one strong enough to carry him, they scrambled up towards their tops. This placed them in a position where they could set the peccaries at defiance; for although the creatures could now spring up on the main trunk—which several of them had already done—the more slender limbs baffled all their efforts at climbing; and such of them as attempted it were seen to roll off and tumble back upon the sandbank.

The hunters, now feeling secure, could not refrain from a shout of joy, which was answered by a cheer from the periagua, in which the baritone of Pouchskin bore a conspicuous part.

Our heroes now believing themselves in for a siege, began to consider the best means of raising it; when all at once a spectacle came under their eyes, that guided their thoughts into a far different channel.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS.

Their retreat upward upon the slanting limbs of the tree had brought a large band of their assailants round to that side; and, just as they raised their triumphant cry, they saw the peccaries dancing among the branches that lay extended along the sand-bar. Many of these were hidden by the flakes of hanging grass already mentioned; but another fearful creature chanced to have been hidden there also; who now displayed himself in all his shining majesty—not only to the eyes of the besieged, but likewise to those of the besiegers. The creature was a quadruped—one of fearful mien, and dimensions far exceeding that of the Lilliputian peccaries. It was their natural enemy—the jaguar!

Whether it was the shout that had startled him, or the peccaries had trodden him out of his lair, or both, certain it was that he now sprang suddenly out, and with one bound launched himself upon the log. For a moment he stood cowering on its top, turning his eyes first upon the branches where the boys had taken refuge, and then in the opposite direction, towards the woods. He seemed irresolute as to which course he would take; and this irresolution, so long as it lasted, produced an unpleasant effect upon our young hunters. Should the jaguar also attack them, their destruction might be accounted as certain; for the great cat would either strike them down from their unstable porch, or claw them to death if they continued to cling to it. Of course, to fall down among the peccaries would be death, equally certain and terrible.

By good fortune, however, the jaguar at the moment of showing himself was eagerly assailed by the wild pigs; and it was to escape from their assault, that he had sprung upward to the log. Thither the peccaries had pursued him, and were now endeavouring to reach the top of the dead-wood, just as they had done while after the hunters. The jaguar no longer stood silent and irresolute; but, uttering loud screams, he commenced defending himself against the assailing host, striking them with his broad ungulated paws, and flinging one after another back to the ground, where they lay kicking in the throes of death.

Perhaps it was the presence of mind exhibited by Alexis that brought matters to a climax, and saved the lives of himself and his brother. His rifle was still loaded—for it had appeared useless firing into the midst of two hundred assailants. He knew he could kill only one or two; and this, instead of frightening them off, would but render the others more implacable in their resentment. Partly for this reason, and partly that he had all along held the piece "clubbed" in his hands, he had reserved his fire. Now was the time to deliver it. The jaguar was even more to be dreaded than the peccaries—for they were now secure from the attacks of the latter, whereas they were not only within reach of the former, but in the very place to which the brute might fancy retreating. To prevent this contingency, Alexis resolved to give the jaguar his bullet.

It was but a moment's work to turn the gun in his hand and take aim. The crack followed quickly; and, on the instant, the hunters had the gratification to see the great tawny quadruped spring out from the log, and alight upon the sand—where, in a second's time, he was surrounded by the dark drove, that from all sides rushed screaming towards him.

It was a bit of good fortune that the bullet of Alexis had only wounded the jaguar, instead of killing him on the spot. Had he been shot dead, the peccaries would have torn his beautiful skin to ribbons, and reduced his quivering flesh to mincemeat, and that within the space of a score of seconds; but luckily it chanced that the jaguar was only wounded—had only received a broken leg; and, availing himself of the three that remained sound, he commenced retreating towards the timber. Thither he was followed by his thick-skinned assailants; who, transferring their spite to this new enemy, seemed to forget all about their original adversaries, who remained quietly perched upon the limbs of the tree!

For some time nothing could be seen but a confused crowd, writhing over the sand—a dark mass, in the midst of which now and then a bright yellow object appeared conspicuous, and was then for a time out of sight; and thus, like a rolling wave, the great drove went surging on, amidst grunting and screaming, and growling, and chattering of teeth, till it swept up to the edge of the underwood, and then suddenly disappeared from the eyes of the spectators!

Whether the peccaries eventually succeeded in destroying the jaguar, or whether the wounded tyrant of the forest escaped from their terrible teeth, could never be told. Our young hunters had no curiosity to follow and witness the denouement of this strange encounter. Neither cared they to take up the bodies of the slain. Ivan was completely cured of any penchant he might have had for peccary pork; and, as soon as their late assailants were fairly out of sight, both leaped down from the limbs of the tree, and made all haste towards the boat. This they reached without further molestation; and the canoe-men, rapidly plying their paddles, soon shot the craft out upon the bosom of the broad river—where they were safe from the attack either of wild pigs or wild cats.

It was likely the jaguar betook himself to a tree—his usual mode of escape when surrounded by a herd of infuriated peccaries—and, as a proof that he had done so, our travellers could hear the wild hogs still uttering their fierce grunts long after the boat had rounded the sand-spit, and was passing up the bend of the river.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

THE OLD MISSIONS.

Passing many scenes of interest, and meeting with several other strange incidents, our travellers at length arrived at Archidona—a small town at the head of boat navigation upon the Napo, and the usual port of embarkation for persons proceeding from the country around Quito to the regions upon the Amazon. Up to this place they had been journeying through a complete wilderness—the only exceptions being some missionary stations, in each of which a monkish priest holds a sort of control over two or three hundred half christianised Indians. It would be absurd to call these missions civilised settlements: since they are in no degree more advanced, either in civilisation or prosperity, than the maloccas, or villages of the wild Indians—the "infidels," as it pleases the monks to call those tribes who have not submitted to their puerile teachings. Whatever difference exists between the two kinds of Indians, is decidedly in favour of the unconverted tribes, who display at least the virtues of valour and a love of liberty, while the poor neophytes of the missions have suffered a positive debasement, by their conversion to this so called "Christian religion." All these monkish settlements—not only on the Napo, but on the other tributaries of the Amazon—were at one time in a state of considerable prosperity. The missionary padres, backed by a little soldier help from the Spanish Government, were more able to control their Indian converts, and compel them to work—so that a certain amount of prosperity was visible in the mission settlements, and some of them had even attained to a degree of wealth. This, however, was but an apparent civilisation; and its benefits only extended to the monks themselves. The Indian neophytes were in no way bettered by the wealth they created. Their condition was one of pure slavery—the monks being their masters, and very often hard taskmasters they proved themselves—living in fine conventual style upon the sweat and labour of their brown-skinned converts. The only return made by them to the Indians was to teach the latter those trades, by the practice of which they themselves might be benefited, and that was their sole motive for civilising them. On the other hand, instead of endeavouring to cultivate their intellectual nature, they strove in every way to restrain it—inculcating those doctrines of duty and obedience, so popular among the priests and princes of the world. They taught them a religion of the lips, and not of the heart—a religion of mere idle ceremonies, of the most showy kind; and above all a religion, whose every observance required to be paid for by toll and tithe. In this manner they continued to filch from the poor aboriginal every hour of his work—and keep him to all intents and purposes an abject slave. No wonder, that when the Spanish power declined, and the soldier could no longer be spared to secure the authority of the priest—no wonder that the whole system gave way, and the missions of Spanish America— from California to the Patagonian plains—sank into decay. Hundreds of these establishments have been altogether abandoned—their pseudo converts having returned once more to the savage state—and the ruins of convents and churches alone remain to attest that they ever existed. Those still in existence exhibit the mere remnants of their former prosperity, and are only kept together by the exertions of the monks themselves—backed by a slight thread of authority, which they derive from the superstitions they have been able to inculcate. In fact, in the missions now existing, the monks have no other power than that which they wield through the terrors of the Church; and in most cases, these padres constitute a sort of hierarch chieftaincy, which has supplanted the old system of the curacas, or caciques.