the butt of his loaded pistol.

"Obed," he said, "I don't like the jungle, and I shall be glad when I
get out of it. It's too vast, too bewildering, and its very beauty fills
me with fear. I always feel that fangs and poison are lurking behind the
beauty and the bloom."

"You're not so far wrong, Ned. I believe I'd rather be on the dusty
deserts of the North. We'll go through the tierra caliente just as
quickly as we can."

The next day they became lost among the paths, and did not regain their
true direction until late in the afternoon. Sunset found them by the
banks of a considerable creek, the waters of which were cold, as if its
source were in the high mountains. Being very tired they bathed and
arranged couches of grass on the banks. After the heat and perplexity of
the jungle they were very glad to see cold, running water. The sight and
the pleasant trickle of the flowing stream filled Ned with desires for
the north, for the open land beyond the Rio Grande, where cool winds
blew, and you could see to the horizon's rim. He was sicker than ever of
the jungle, the beauty of which could not hide from him its steam and
poison.

"How much longer do you think it will be before we leave the tierra
caliente?" he asked.

"We ought to reach the intermediate zone between the tierra caliente and
the higher sierras in three or four days," replied Obed. "It's mighty
slow traveling in the jungle, but to get out of it we've only to keep
going long enough. Meanwhile, we'll have a good snooze by the side of
this nice, clean little river."

As usual after hard traveling, they fell asleep almost at once, but Ned
was awakened in the night by some strange sound, the nature of which he
could not determine at first. The jungle surrounded them in a vast, high
circle, wholly black in the night, but overhead was a blue rim of sky
lighted by stars. He raised himself on his elbow. Obed, four or five
feet away, was still sleeping soundly on his couch of grass. The little
river, silver in the moonlight, flowed with a pleasant trickle, but the
trickle was not the sound that had awakened him.

The forest was absolutely silent. Not a breath of wind stirred, but the
boy, although awed by the night and the great jungle, still listened
intently.

The sound rose again, a low, hoarse rumble. It was distant thunder. A
storm was coming. He heard it a third time. It was not thunder. It was
the deep growl of some fierce, wild animal. For a moment