g and kind, admonishes him against acting rashly now, and he but
restates his opinion: that they will do best to remain under cover of
the trees, at least till night's darkness comes down. Of course this is
conclusive, and it is determined that they stay.

Dismounting, they make fast their horses to some branches, and sit down
beside them--_en bivouac_. But in this camp they kindle no fire, nor
make any noise, conversing only in whispers. One passing the copse
could hear no sound inside it, save the chattering of a flock of macaws,
who have their roosting-place amid the tops of its tallest trees.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

IN THE SACRED TOWN.

That same sun which became so suddenly obscured over the _salitral_, to
shine again in the later hours of the afternoon, is once more about to
withdraw its light from the Chaco--this time for setting. Already
appears its disc almost down upon the horizon; and the strangely-shaped
hill, which towers above the Tovas town, casts a dark shadow over the
plain eastward, to the distance of many miles. The palms skirting the
lake reflect their graceful forms far over the water, whose surface,
undisturbed by the slightest breath of air, shows smooth and shining as
a mirror; broken, however, here and there, where water-fowl disport
themselves upon it. Among these may be observed the great musk duck,
misnamed "Muscovy," and the black-necked swan; both indigenous to the
Chaco; while in the shallower places along shore, and by the edges of
the islets, appear various species of long-legged waders, standing
still, or stalking about as if on stilts; the most conspicuous of all
being the scarlet flamingo, side by side with the yet taller _garzon_,
already known to us as "soldier-crane."

A scene of tranquil yet picturesque beauty--perhaps no fairer on earth--
is the landscape lying around the Sacred Town of the Tovas.

And on this same day and hour, a stranger entering within the precincts
of the place itself might not observe anything to contrast with the
tranquillity of the scene outside. Among the _toldos_ he would see
children at play, and, here and there, seated by their doors young girls
engaged in various occupations; some at basket work, others weaving mats
from the fibres of split palm leaves, still others knitting _redes_, or
hammocks. Women of more mature age are busied with culinary cares,
preparing the evening repast over fires kindled in the open air; while
several are