“Of course we must go through Lima,” Stephen said as they started.

“Assuredly, senor, the roads over the passes all start from there, and it would take us a long circuit to avoid the town.”

“Oh, there is no occasion to avoid it,” Stephen said.  “It is about five miles, is it not?”

“That is the distance; but, as the road ascends a good deal, we generally count it as six.  It is a fine city Lima, and I hope that it will not be very long before we shall be able to enjoy it without the presence of the Spaniards; we think they cannot remain here much longer.  If the Chilian army would but move from the sea-coast the whole country would be up in arms.  We would rather have done without the Chilians if we could, for there has never been any great friendship between them and the Peruvians.  I do not say between them and us, for I am almost as much Chilian as Peruvian, seeing that I was born within half a mile of the frontier and high up in the hills.  But there is more money to be made here.  In the first place, the Peruvians have more towns beyond the passes, and there is more traffic; and in the next place, in Chili most men are ready to work if there is money to be made, whereas most of the Peruvians are too lazy to pick up gold if it lay at their feet.  Most men in our business come from the hills.”

“And why don’t the Peruvians and Chilians like each other?”

“Who can tell.  The Chilians have a colder climate, and the people for the most part came from the north of Spain; they are hardier and more active; then, too, they are not so strict in church matters, and here they call them heretics, and a Peruvian hates a heretic a great deal worse than he does the father of all evil.  We muleteers pray to the saints for protection on our journeys, and before we start on a long expedition burn a few candles at the shrine of our patron saint, and we never pass a shrine or a wayside cross without making a prayer; but we don’t concern ourselves with other people’s religion; that is their business, not ours.  But that is not so with the Spaniards, and the Peruvians are just as bad.  You may kill a man in a knife fight and no one cares much about it.  But if you were to pass a village shrine without raising your sombrero they would be ready to tear you in pieces as a heretic.”

“What is the country like when you once get over the mountains?”

“It is a tree country and generally flat.  Here you see the hillsides are mostly bare; but on the other side of the ranges of mountains-for there are two chains-the forest grows almost to the top, and, as I have heard, they extend thousands of miles over the country beyond.  In these great forests there are swamps and rivers, great rivers.  Very few white men know where they rise or how they go, but they all run into the largest of them all, which, when it gets near the sea, is called the Amazon, but which has many names at different points of its course.  They say that some of these rivers have many rapids and falls, and on almost all of them there are Indians who are more dangerous still; some of them they say eat men who fall into their hands.

“It is a terrible journey that you are undertaking, senor.  One thing is certain, you must take with you some man of courage and resolution, one who at least knows something of the country.  No man knows much, but there are men, Indians, who make it their business either to trade or to guide traders.  Of course they never go very far, but they have gone far enough to know much of the nature of the dangers and difficulties.”

“Do you think that you would be able to find me such a man?”

“There are many,” the muleteer said; “but it is not everyone that can be trusted.  I know of one man who, if he happened to be at home and disengaged, would suit you well if he would undertake such a journey.  He would go if anyone would, for no dangers terrify him, and he has made, before now, perilous expeditions with officers and others who have sought to discover the sources of the rivers.  He lives in a village but a few miles from the summit of the pass, and if you have not as yet decided on your route, he will at any rate, if he cannot go himself, give you better advice than you can obtain from anyone else I know of.”

They passed through the city of Lima unnoticed.  There were still numbers of people in the streets, and the sound of musical instruments came from the open windows.  Parties of ladies stood on the balconies and were enjoying the coolness of the night air, and it was evident that Lima had no thoughts of going to bed for a long time yet.

“You would hardly see a soul in the streets while the sun is high,” the muleteer said upon Stephen remarking on the number of people still about.  “The whole town goes to sleep from eleven to four or five, the shops are all closed, and save on a business of life or death no one would think of going out.  About six the day really begins, and goes on until one in the morning; then people sleep till five or six, and for a time the streets are busy; the marketing is done then, the ladies all go to early mass, the troops do their exercises; by nine the streets begin to thin, and by ten they are deserted.”

Stephen was much struck with the appearance of the town, which had been laid out with great care, the streets running at right angles to each other, and being all precisely the same width, dividing the town into regular blocks.  It contained at that time some 70,000 inhabitants.  He was surprised at the want of height in the houses, comparatively few of which had more than one story.  On remarking on this to the muleteer, the latter said: 

“It is because of the earthquakes; nowhere are there such bad earthquakes as here.  If it were not for that Lima would be perfect.  The country round is very fertile, there is an abundance of pure water, the climate is healthy, and it lies 600 feet above the sea.  But the earthquakes are terrible, there has not been a bad one lately, but it might come at any time.  Every twenty or thirty years there is a very bad one.  The worst were those of 1687 and 1746; the first destroyed every house in Lima, and the second was almost as bad, but was much worse at Callao.  There they not only had the earthquake but a tumult of waves such as never was before seen.  The sea went right over the town, and almost every soul there, and at other towns along the coast, perished.  There were twenty-three ships in the harbour at Callao, nineteen of these were sunk and the other four carried half a mile inland.  Since then there has been nothing like that, but the Indians say that we may expect another before long.  I don’t know what they go by, but people say that they predicted the others long before they came.  Have you ever felt an earthquake, senor?”

“No, there was a very slight shock when I was at Valparaiso, but it was not much more than the rumble a heavy wagon makes in the street, and did no damage whatever.”

“I have never felt a great earthquake,” the muleteer said, “but I have felt little ones.  The animals always know when they are coming, and when I see the mules uneasy and apprehensive, I always choose some level spot where there is no fear of rocks coming rolling down on us, and halt there.  The first shock may be so slight that one hardly feels it, but the mules know all about it.  They straddle their legs and brace themselves up or else lie down on the ground.  When I see them do that I know that the next shock is going to be a smart one, and I lie down too.  It is nothing when you are out in the country, but in the towns it is terrible.  People rush out into the streets screaming with fear, If they are near a church they make for that; if not, they kneel down in the streets, where they are pretty safe, the houses being so low and mostly thatched.  I have never seen one severe enough to bring the houses down, but I have seen them crack, and parapets tumble down, and great pieces peel off the walls.  What with the dust, and the screams of the women and children, and the ringing of all the church bells, it is enough to shake a man’s courage I can tell you.”

After proceeding some ten miles farther, by a road always ascending and often steep, a halt was made.  The muleteer removed the valises and packs, gave a double handful of corn to each animal, and then, hobbling them, allowed them to wander about to pick up what they could.  He and Stephen partook of some of the food they had brought with them, and then wrapping themselves in their cloaks lay down for a few hours’ sleep.  At daylight the journey was renewed.  So they travelled on, halting for five or six hours in the heat of the day, and riding in the morning early, and late on into the evening.  The climate, however, scarcely necessitated the mid-day halt, and at night they were glad to wrap themselves in a blanket in addition to the cloak.  At last the summit of the pass was reached.  In front of them rose another chain of mountains almost as lofty as that which they had climbed.  Between these great ranges lay a plain varying in width.  Several towns and small villages were visible.

“That is Jauja to the right,” the muleteer said, “and that is Pasco to the left; they are both large towns.  They do not look so very far apart from here.  But the air of the mountains is so clear it is difficult to judge distances.  You would not take them to be much more than twenty miles from us; they are nearly three times as far, and are fully eighty miles apart.”

“Where does the guide of whom you spoke live?”

“It is some twenty miles down; it is where the roads from the two towns fall into this pass.  It is convenient for him, because he is in the track of merchants going either north or south.”

No stay was made on the top of the pass, for the wind was strong and piercing.  There were snow-covered peaks on either hand, and so they hurried onwards, although they had already done a long morning’s march.  Five miles farther they halted in a wood, and although they had already made a descent of some thousand feet they were glad to light a fire.  On the following day they halted early at a solitary hut standing at the junction of two roads.

“Bravo!” the muleteer said as the door opened and a man came out at the sound of the mules’ feet, “here is Pita himself.  I thought we should find him, for, since the war began, trade has gone off greatly, and he was likely to be out of employment.  Well met, Pita; I was in hopes that I should find you here, for the senor has need of the services of a bold fellow like yourself.”

“Enter, senor,” the Indian said gravely, lifting his sombrero, for he was dressed in Peruvian fashion.  “It is long since I have seen you, Gomez.”

“Yes, a full year,” the muleteer replied; “it was at Cuzco, and you were just starting with a party of traders.”

The hut contained little furniture, but there was a pile of skins, the proceeds of the Indian’s hunting since his return from his last expedition.  He took off three or four of them, threw them on the ground, and motioned Stephen to take a seat while he busied himself in preparing a meal.  Nothing was said of business until this was served.  When it was finished the Indian rolled three cigars, and when these were lighted, and three cups of excellent coffee made, Pita said: 

“Now, senor, in what way can I serve you?”

“I want to go down the Amazon to the coast.”

“It is a long journey, long and difficult; I have never been so far.  The farthest point that I have reached has been Barra, where the Madeira falls into the Solimoes.”

“That is the Amazon,” Gomez explained.  “It is called the Marañón here in Peru, but from the frontier it is known as the Solimoes.”

“As far as the frontier,” Pita went on, “there are no great difficulties, and there are many towns on the banks; beyond that to Barra there are but one or two villages.  The Mozon begins at Llata, some two hundred miles north of this.  The road is a good one, for we pass through Pasco and Huanuco; there you can take boat, which will carry you as far as the frontier, and beyond that you will have to take another, for no Peruvians will venture so far from here.”

“The senor wishes to escape towns,” Gomez said.  “He has no papers, and wishes to escape questioning.  You know what Spanish authorities are, and how suspiciously they view the passage of a stranger.  Could you not take him down the Madeira?”

“It is a terrible journey,” the Indian said.  “Very few white men have ever descended the river.  There are bad falls and bad Indians.  I myself have never gone down it more than a few hundred miles.  It would need much courage, senor, and even then things might turn out badly.  I would not undertake such a journey single-handed, though with a good comrade I might adventure it.  You could not get a boat unless you bought one, and, as a rule, men travel on light rafts, as these are safer on the rapids than boats.  That way has the advantage of being a good deal shorter than going round by the Marañón, but the difficulties and dangers are very much greater.”

“Do you love the Spaniards?” Stephen asked.

The Indian’s face darkened.

“They have been the destroyers of our race,” he said; “the oppressors of our country.  I hate them with all my heart.”

“Then I may tell you at once,” Stephen said, “that I am an Englishman.  I am one of the officers of the English admiral who commands the fleet that has destroyed their war-ships and is blockading their towns.  I was wrecked on the Peruvian coast and thrown into prison.  They were about to hand me over to the Inquisition as a heretic when I escaped, so you can understand the danger that I should run in passing through any of their towns.  I speak, as you hear, the Chilian dialect, therefore I would be detected as a stranger at once, and as I could give no satisfactory reply to questions, and have no papers, I should at once be seized and sent back again to Callao.”

The Indian nodded gravely.  He had heard of the misfortunes that had befallen the Spaniards, and knew that the fleet that had inflicted such damage upon them was commanded by an Englishman.

“The senor is provided with money,” Gomez said.  “I did not myself know that he was an Englishman, though I suspected from the manner in which I was hired that he had trouble with the Spaniards.”

“I would have told you so, Gomez,” Stephen said, “but I thought it better that you should not know, so that if I were seized by the Spaniards you could declare that you were wholly ignorant of my being an Englishman, and believed that I was only a trader travelling on business.”

“They would not have believed me,” Gomez laughed.  “You had no goods with you, and your speech showed that you were not a Peruvian.  I have often wondered on the way to what nation you belonged, and how it was that one so young could be ready to undertake so desperate an enterprise as you proposed; but now that I know you are an officer under the terrible English admiral I can well understand it.”

“I would do much,” Pita said, “for any enemy of the Spaniards; and more for this reason than for the sake of money.  I am ready to undertake to do my best to take you in safety to Barra; beyond that I would not go.  The river below that is, as I hear, quite open, and you could journey down without difficulty save such as you would meet with from the Portuguese authorities; but the distance would be too great for me to return.  Even from Barra it would be a journey fully two thousand miles home again.”

“What would be your terms for taking me to Barra?”

“I do not say that I would take you there, senor, I only say that I would try and do so.  As I tell you, I have never journeyed far down the Madeira myself, and know not what the difficulties may be.  For that reason I shall want half the money paid to me when we reach Cuzco, near which live my wife and family, and I must leave this with them in case I never return.  I will think over what pay I shall require for myself and my comrade.  It is not a matter upon which one can decide at a word.”

“I can quite understand that, Pita.  I must of course keep sufficient in hand to pay my expenses down to Para, where I can doubtless obtain a passage by an English ship.  But I am ready to pay any sum you may ask that is within my means.  Now, Gomez, we had better go out and look to the mules, and leave Pita to himself to think the matter over.”

“The Indian will not overcharge you,” Gomez said when they were outside the hut; “the pay of these men is small.  They value their lives lightly, and when, like Pita, they once take to the life of a guide, either to those who are searching for mines or to traders, they never settle down.  They are proud of the confidence placed in them, and of their own skill as guides, and so long as they can earn enough to keep their families during their absence-and a very little suffices for that-they are contented.”

“I suppose there are mines to be discovered yet, Gomez?”

“Assuredly there are,” the muleteer said confidently.  “The Spaniards have worked rich mines ever since they came here, but great as is the treasure that they have taken away, it is still insignificant compared with the store of gold among the Incas when they came here.  Every Peruvian on this side of the Andes dreams of gold, and there are thousands of men who, as soon as they earn enough money to buy tools and provisions, set off to search for gold-mines or buried treasure.  It is certain that the Incas buried a vast quantity of their treasure rather than see it fall into the hands of the Spaniards, and it has never been discovered.  It is generally believed that the secret of the hiding-place is known to Indians, who have handed down the secret from father to son.  This may be true or it may not.  So many thousands of Indians have either been killed by the Spaniards or have died in their mines, that it may well be that all who knew the secret died centuries ago.  But I do not say that it may not be known to some of them now; if so, it is more likely that these may be among the tribes beyond the boundaries of Peru.  There are vast tracts there where neither Spaniards nor Portuguese have penetrated.  The whole country is one great forest, or, in some places, one great desert.

“The Indians of Peru have become, for the most part, an idle, shiftless race.  Centuries of slavery have broken their spirit altogether, and had the secret been known to many of them, it would have been wrung from them long since, especially as all are now Catholics and go to confession, and would never be able to keep such a secret from leaking out.  It is true that there are little Indian villages among the mountains where the people are still almost independent, and here the secret may still be handed down; but I doubt if it will ever be known.  Doubtless it is guarded by such terrible oaths that those who know it will never dare to reveal it.  Pita has gone, in his time, with a score of expeditions in search of the treasure; most of these thought that they had obtained some clue to it, but nothing was ever discovered, and I doubt whether Pita himself was ever earnest in the search.

“In some respects he is like ourselves, in others he is still an Indian, and has a full share of Indian superstitions, so that his Christianity is no deeper than his skin.  He would do his best to guide those who employed him to the neighbourhood where they thought that the treasure was hidden, but I doubt whether he would do anything to assist in their search, or would really try to gather from the Indians any clue as to its whereabouts.”

“But, at any rate, the natives could not very well have carried away their gold-mines.”

“Not carried them away, senor,-no; and that the Spaniards had such rich mines at first shows that they did learn from the natives-by torture, I daresay-where most of these were situated; but they got more silver than gold, and even now there is gold to be found in the sands of most of the rivers in South America, so that I think it was from washings more than mines that the Spaniards got their gold.  Still, we all think that there must have been rich gold-mines in the times before the Spaniards, and that when the natives saw how villainously their monarch and all his chief men were treated, and how the Spaniards thought of nothing but gold and silver, they may have blocked up the entrances to all their richest mines, and in a few years all signs of the sites would be covered by thick vegetation.  You see, senor, these things are talked over whenever a few of us get together, and though there are not many other things that we do know, you will scarcely meet a Peruvian who could not talk with you for hours about the lost treasure and the lost gold-mines of the Incas.

“There are many places that I know of where the sand is rich enough to pay well for washing, but they are all far away from habitations.  A man would have to carry his stores and provisions and tools with him; and then, it is hard work, and a Peruvian does not care for hard work.  As to the natives, there would be no keeping them at it, they would desert and run away at once; for not only do they hate work, but, above all things, they hate to work for gold.  They look upon gold as an accursed thing, which brought about the conquest of the country by the Spaniards, and the centuries of oppression that have befallen their race; and even should a native alight upon a rich spot he would go away and never say a word about it, fearing that if he did, all sorts of trouble would fall upon him.”

“Pita is a fine-looking Indian, Gomez.”

“Yes, senor; he is a mixture, that is, he is of pure Indian blood, but he belongs to two tribes.  His father was a native of one of the villages highest up among the hills.  He too was a hunter and guide.  In one of his journeys down in the plain country he married the daughter of one of the chiefs of the wild Indians, and Pita was their son.  I don’t know which tribe it was that his mother belonged to, but I know that they lived in the forests on one of the greater rivers.  Pita is not one who talks much of himself, or who talks much at all, but I know that he has the reputation of being one of the most daring hunters and guides in the country, and that he has gone through many adventures while travelling with traders.  He has always been trustworthy and faithful to his employers.  As he says, he cannot promise to take you safely down the Madeira, but if any man can do it, he will.”

Half an hour later they returned to the hut, where the Indian was sitting in precisely the same attitude in which they had left him.

“Well, Pita, have you arrived at a conclusion?” Gomez asked.

“I have thought it over,” he said, “and I calculate that it may be a year before I return, and the risk is great.  Can the senor afford to pay three hundred and sixty-five dollars?  That is for the services of myself and my comrade.  He has no wife or family, and will therefore need less pay than I, who will have to leave money behind for mine.  The senor will be at no other expense until he arrives at Barra, except for such things as tea and sugar, and any liquor he may wish to put on board at starting.  If the senor cannot afford that, I will guide him down along by the foot of the mountains until we can cross over into Chili.  It will be an arduous journey, but without perils, and we shall pass through few villages.”

“How long will that take, Pita?”

“It would be a long journey, senor.  As a bird flies it would be seven or eight hundred miles; but winding round the foot of the hills it would be two thousand.”

“I would rather try the other, Pita,” Stephen replied; for the thought of the passage by water through unknown forests, and then down the Amazon, exercised a strong fascination over him, and the idea of a toilsome journey of two thousand miles was the reverse of attractive.  The war was, he was sure, nearly over.  He might arrive in Chili only to find that the admiral had gone away; and even when he reached the frontier he had another journey to make before he reached Valparaiso, whereas when he arrived at Para he could sail direct for England.

“I could afford to pay you the terms you ask,” he went on, “and shall still have enough left to take me from Barra home.”

“Then, so be it,” the Indian said; “to-morrow we will start for Paucartambo, which lies but a few miles from the Mayutata.  We shall pass through Cuzco on our way.  You have arms, I see, senor?”

“Yes, and some ammunition, but I shall want a larger supply before we start.”

At daybreak next morning they set out, the Indian walking ahead.  Once or twice Stephen pushed his mule forward to endeavour to enter into conversation, but he could get but few words from him, and had to drop back to Gomez, who was willing enough to talk.

“It is no use trying to get anything out of Pita, senor.  If you can get him in the mood by a camp fire, he may tell you some of his adventures; but the natives are not given to talking overmuch, and Pita, when he is once on his way as guide, will go on without saying a word for hours.  I have made several journeys with him, and it is always the same.  Of course there is nothing for him to look after here, but it is a sort of habit.  I have no doubt that he could tell you how many birds have crossed the road to-day.  He has noticed every lizard, could tell you where a mule belonging to the last party has made a false step, how many there were travelling together, and all about them.  He takes it all in; and though here it might just as well be left alone, this watchfulness might save your life afterwards.”

Day after day they journeyed on.  Stephen did not enter Cuzco.  As the capital of the Incas he felt an interest in it, but cared little for it as a great Spanish town whose glory had almost departed; and it was not worth running any risk when nothing was to be gained by visiting it.  He therefore remained at Pita’s Indian hut a few miles away, while Gomez went into the town with the guide to get the stores they required.  Pita’s comrade returned with them.  Stephen was greatly surprised at the man’s appearance.  Pita himself was, for an Indian, tall; he was spare in frame, but very sinewy; his muscles stood up beneath the brown skin like cords.  Hurka was so short that he was almost a dwarf, and, save for his face, he might have been taken for a boy of fourteen.  He possessed none of Pita’s gravity, but was soon laughing and chatting with the Indian’s wife and children, and was evidently a special favourite with them.  His face was bright and intelligent.

“You would not think, senor,” Gomez said as, after telling him what they had purchased in the city, he stood watching Hurka, who was running backwards and forwards between the hut and the mules, carrying in packages, “that that little chap is one of the best guides on this side of the Andes.  He and Pita are, I should say, the two best; and whenever they can, they work together.  He is a wonderful shot-better than Pita.  He can swim like a fish; and he does not seem to know what fatigue is.  He and Pita are like brothers, although they are so different in their ways; and it is wonderful to see how they get on together.  I would not mind where I went with them, for they can find their way through the thickest forest, and are up to every device that can be useful to travellers.  I have never heard of their losing anyone under their charge, except, of course, from disease and heat, and perhaps a few shot by Indians.  That is a thing that may always happen, there is no guarding against it-especially when you have got men with you who will go their own way, and make light of any idea of taking precautions.  Sometimes they have had to fall back altogether when they have been with gold or treasure seekers, but never when they were with trading parties.

“In the forest country the natives are generally ready enough to trade, but there are parts where they never allow a white party to penetrate.  Whether it is that there is really a treasure, or an extraordinary rich gold-mine, or whether it is only that in some sections the tribes are more hostile than in others, no one knows for certain, but there is no doubt that when any party approaches certain localities troubles begin directly.  As they go through the forest, arrows come flying thick through the tangle of creepers, and poisoned darts from blow-pipes.  The foes are invisible, but they make themselves felt, and it soon breaks down the courage of the bravest to be shot at when you never get a chance of shooting back in return.  Both Pita and Hurka have been with parties that have been attacked and forced to fall back; but it has not been their fault, for they always warn those who employ them that the dangers are too great to be overcome.  Still, men who think that they have got a clue to hidden wealth always seem to consider that their guides are interested in preventing their getting it, and will listen to no advice till they find out for themselves that the danger has not been exaggerated, and that it is certain death to push on further.”

“I wonder that neither of them has been killed,” Stephen said.

“It is a wonder, senor, and some have even declared that they must be in league with the Indians; but it is due to their understanding the native way of fighting.  While white men stand up and fire away into the bush, they quickly throw themselves down behind the trunk of a tree, and then crawl into the forest and fight in the same way as the Indians do; and they say that more than once those two alone have made the natives fall back, and so enabled the whites to retreat.  You will see that they will both take bows and arrows with them; and though they would use their rifles if openly attacked, in these battles in the forests, or when hunting in dangerous neighbourhoods, they use their bows in preference to the rifles.”

The next day the journey was continued, and in ten days they reached a stream which, as the Indians told Stephen, ran into the Beni, one of the principal feeders of the Madeira.  Here was a village occupied wholly by Indians and half-castes.  A large canoe was purchased, and the loads of the two mules stowed in it, a store of bread and fruit was obtained from the natives, together with ten skins sewn up as bags, and intended to be inflated and used for the construction of a raft.  Two days were spent in making their preparations, and then Stephen took leave of Gomez, to whom he gave a handsome present, in addition to the sum that had been agreed upon.  By this time Stephen had come to appreciate the good qualities of Hurka, whose unfailingly good temper and gaiety had lightened the journey, and whose humorous stories of his adventures, and of the obstinacy and folly of his employers, raised a smile even on the impassive face of Pita.

Stephen was delighted when the canoe pushed out into the stream, and they began their journey down the thousands of miles of river that had to be traversed before they reached the eastern sea-coast.  Pita sat in the stern of the canoe, Hurka in the bow, while Stephen had a comfortable seat in the middle, separated from them by two piles of stores and provisions.  Over him was a roof of green boughs, supported by four poles, connected by others, to which a thin curtain of cotton-stuff was attached.  It was all made in one piece, and was rolled up in the daytime to allow the passage of air, but at night could be dropped all round so as to form a protection against insects and the vapours from the water.  The tent was large enough for the three men to sleep in comfortably; and in the centre was a small stove, in which fire was kept burning for cooking purposes in the daytime, and to counteract the dampness of the air at night.  As soon as it was dark, and the insects became troublesome, the Indians threw on the fire branches that they cut fresh every day from shrubs growing on the banks.  This caused a pungent odour which effectually prevented insects from making their way in through the leafy roof.

During the daytime the canoe was generally kept close to one shore or the other, so as to be under the shade of the overhanging forest trees; at night they sometimes tied up to a tree, but more often one or other of the Indians sat in the stern of the boat giving an occasional stroke with his paddle to keep her drifting down in the centre of the current.  While it was light they always had their guns close at hand, and sometimes brought down a bird from the trees overhead.  Baited hooks on a long line were towed astern.  They seldom caught anything during the day, but at night they frequently captured a few fish.  This, however, was more often done by spearing them, the Indians having bought spears for the purpose at the village.  On these occasions Stephen took his place in the bow with two lighted torches of resinous wood; the light attracted the fish, which were speared by the Indians, who seldom missed striking them, however far beneath the surface, though Stephen failed even to catch sight of them.

The fish formed the main staple of their food, helped out by the birds, which were, for the most part, of the pigeon tribe, though larger and differing much in plumage from the English species.  They had brought from Cuzco a hundred pounds of flour, which was sewed up in two skins, so that in case of a misfortune to the canoe it would be uninjured by water.  From this the Indians made flat cakes, which were an excellent substitute for bread.

For the first ten days Hurka while paddling generally sung Spanish songs that he had picked up, but gradually he ceased doing so, and became as taciturn as Pita himself.

“The Indians on this part of the river,” he told Stephen, “are generally of a peaceful nature, and are quite willing to trade, but, as we have no merchandise, they would look upon us with some suspicion; and, moreover, the tribes are often at war with each other, and in that case it is always better that travellers should avoid them.  Consequently it is better to travel silently.”

For the same reason they generally timed themselves so as to pass the Indian villages at night, the fire on such occasions being kept very low, and ashes being drawn up over the embers so as to completely extinguish the light until the village was well behind them.  Shooting was, for the time, entirely given up.