ike the men of a forlorn hope
who press up to the breach, they braced themselves to renew the
conflict, and pushed on. The truth of the proverb, that "fortune
favours the brave," was verified on this occasion. The storm passed
over almost as quickly as it had begun, the sky cleared up, and, before
night set in, they had crossed the pass, and were rapidly descending the
eastern side of the mountains towards the fertile plains and valleys of
Columbia.

The transition from the wintry cold of the high regions of the Andes to
the intense tropical heat of the plains and forests was rapidly made.
In a few days the travellers were obliged to throw off their ponchos and
warm garments, and at the end of a few weeks we find them stretched out
lazily in the stern of a canoe, under the guidance of four Creoles,
floating quietly down one of the numerous tributaries of the Orinoco.
The change was not only sudden but also agreeable. In truth, our
adventurers had been so long subjected by that time to excitement and
exhausting toil--especially while crossing the mountains--that the most
robust among them began to long for a little rest, both bodily and
mental, and, now that they lay idly on their backs gazing at the passing
scenery, listening to the ripple of the water and smoking cigarettes, it
seemed as if the troubles of life had all passed away and nothing but
peace lay around and before them.

"'Tis paradise intirely," observed Larry, removing his cigarette for a
moment, and winking facetiously at a small monkey which happened to peep
at him just then through the foliage overhead.

"Him won't be long like dat," said Bunco.

"Come, now, ye ill-omened spalpeen, don't be causin' yer dirty clouds to
come over this purty vision. Wot's the use o' cryin' before ye're hurt,
or pretendin' to know the futur' whin ye knows nothin' about it? Ye're
no better than a baboon, Bunco, as I've fraiquintly had occasion to tell
ye before now."

Bunco made no reply to this, but smiled slightly as he changed his
position to one of greater comfort, and lit a fresh cigarette.

"Larry," said Will Osten, "did you remember to put the fresh meat in the
canoe this morning?"

"Och! morther," cried the Irishman, starting up with a look of desperate
annoyance on his expressive face; "sure I've wint an' forgot it! It's
hangin' at this minit on the branch where I putt it last night for fear
o' the tigers--bad luck to them!"

"Ho, ho!" ejaculated Bunc