the captain of this band of marauders
(or, to use their correct name, _caucheros_). His face was of a sickly,
yellowish hue, and a big, black moustache hid the lower part of his
cruel and narrow chin. He took a quick aim as he saw us in his path,
but before he could pull the trigger, Arara, with a mighty side-swing
of his club literally tore the Spaniard's head off. Now, at last,
the bonds of restraint were broken for this handsome devil Arara, and
yelling himself hoarse, and with his strong but cruel face contracted
to a fiendish grin, he charged the enemy; I saw him crush the life
out of three.

The Chief took no active part in the fight whatever, but added
to the excitement by bellowing with all his might an encouraging
"_Aa--Oo--Ah_." No doubt, this had a highly beneficial effect upon the
tribesmen, for they never for an instant ceased their furious fighting
until the last Peruvian was killed. During the final moments of the
battle, several bullets whirred by me at close range, but during the
whole affair I had had neither opportunity nor necessity for using
my pistol. Now, however, a _caboclo_, with a large, bloody machete
in his hand, sprang from behind a tree and made straight for me. I
dodged behind another tree and saw how the branches were swept aside
as he rushed towards me.

Then I fired point-blank, sending three bullets into his head. He
fell on his face at my feet. As I bent over him, I saw that he had
a blow-gun arrow in his left thigh; he was therefore a doomed man
before he attacked me. This was my first and only victim, during this
brief but horrible slaughter. As I was already thoroughly sick from
the noise of cracking rifles and the thumping of clubs smashing their
way into the brains of the Peruvians, I rushed toward the centre of
the valley where the first attack on the advance guard of the enemy
had taken place, but even more revolting was the sight that revealed
itself. Here and there bushes were shaking as some _caboclo_ crawled
along on all fours in his death agony. Those who were struck by the
blow-gun arrows seemed simply to fall asleep without much pain or
struggle, but the victims of the club-men and the bow-and-arrow men had
a terrible death. They could not die by the merciful wourahli poison,
like those shot by the blow-gun, but expired from hemorrhages caused
by the injuries of the ruder weapons. One poor fellow was groaning
most pitifully. He had received a well-directed big-game ar