ese searches, I caught sight of such a picturesque bay
that I proposed a halt. In front of us opened a tolerably deep glade,
bordered by tall palm-trees. L'Encuerado pushed the raft to land over
the aquatic plants, and I jumped ashore to moor our craft.

A fallen tree tempted us into the forest, and on the damp ground Lucien
caught sight of a magnificent rattlesnake, seemingly torpid. Sumichrast
discharged his gun at the reptile, which reared itself up, and then fell
down dead. A noise immediately resounded in several directions, and two
or three snakes of the same family appeared, one of them followed by
three young ones. The snake killed by my friend measured more than a
yard in length. Its skin was speckled with black, brown, and gray spots,
and its flat, triangular head had a very repulsive look. Lucien, with a
blow from his _machete_, cut off the rattles which give to the reptile
its name. These horny appendages, of which there were seven, were given
to l'Encuerado, who, like all his fellow-countrymen, believed them to be
endued with miraculous virtues--among others, that of tuning guitars
and preventing the strings from breaking.

A shot fired by the Indian led us back to the bivouac; our companion had
just killed an ocelot, called by the Indians _ocotchotli_.

"You see this animal, Chanito?" cried l'Encuerado, who was stroking its
black and brown spotted fur; "well, its tongue is poisonous. When it
kills a stag or peccary, it buries its prey under some leaves, then
climbs the nearest tree, and howls until it attracts all the carnivorous
animals near. When they have feasted, it comes down and devours what is
left."

[Illustration]

"But why does it call the animals?" I asked.

"Didn't I tell you its tongue is poisonous? If it ate first, the venom
would be communicated to the food, and the animals that feasted on the
remains would die."

This fable narrated by Hernandez, and still told by the Indians, must
have originated in some as yet unobserved habit of the _ocotchotli_.

After dinner, when Lucien was going towards his pets to give them some
fruit, he saw an unfortunate tortoise between Master Job's paws. The
monkey was turning it over, smelling at it, and then depositing it on
the ground, persistently poking his fingers into its shell, a proceeding
which by no means tended to enliven the melancholy animal. According to
l'Encuerado's advice, Lucien stuck up some branches near the water, and
put the tort