There was a loud splashing noise, another cry, and the gurgling made by someone being dragged under water; and then, just as I felt that the horror was greater than I could bear, the carpenter cried: 

“What’s the matter with you?  Don’t make a row like that.”

“I ­I felt something ketch hold of me and pulling me down.”

“Something!  Do you call me something?” growled the carpenter.  “Of course I catched hold of you.  You’d catch hold if you tumbled as I did.  Bad job about the light, master.”

“Yes, a very bad job,” said my uncle’s voice out of the darkness.  “How was it?”

“Stepped down into some hole, sir.  Felt myself going right into a crack-like sort o’ place.”

“All stand still, then,” cried my uncle, “while I strike a match.  Where’s the lanthorn?”

“Oh, I’ve got that fast, sir; but you won’t get the wick to light, I’m afraid, now.”

“Here, stop!” I cried, as a sudden feeling of delight shot through me.  “I can see daylight yonder.”

“Bravo!  Well done, Nat!” cried my uncle.  “It’s a long way off, but there’s a faint gleam yonder in the direction from which that sound of falling water comes.  Let me lead now, Cross.  I think I can manage without a light.”

“Better feel about well, sir, with your stick,” said the carpenter.  “That hole I trod in was rather awkward.”

“I’ll mind,” said my uncle; “follow me close,” and he began to wade in the direction of the faint gleam of light.

“Did you get wet, Pete?” I said.

“Wet, sir?  He pulled me right under water.  It’s buzzing in my ears now.”

“Better than being pulled under by a water-snake, Pete,” I said, and he gave a shivering shudder as we followed on without either coming across the hole, and at the end of a quarter of an hour the light ahead was rapidly growing plainer, while the roar of falling water became louder and echoed through the vast cavern over whose watery floor we progressed.

In another half-hour’s slow wading, we were able to make out our position, one which now became more striking minute by minute, for we could see that we were in a vast chasm whose bottom was the rushing foaming river along which we were wading.  It was some fifty feet wide, and the roof overhead nearly as much, while right in front, at the distance of a couple of hundred yards, and facing us as it now sent ever-changing flashes and reflections of light into the cavern, was the great fall whose waters thundered as they dived from somewhere out of sight into a huge basin whose overflowings formed the underground river along which we journeyed.

The scene became more beautiful minute by minute, the noise more deafening; and at last we stopped short, warned by the increasing depth of the water, and the sight of the great pool into which the cascade thundered down.

We were standing in the beautiful green twilight water to the middle, but no one for a time wished to stir, the scene was so grand, made more beautiful as it was from time to time by a gleam of sunshine shooting down across the faint mist of spray which floated upwards, and wherever this bright light fell we had glimpses of what seemed like fragments of a broken rainbow.

“Very beautiful, Nat,” said my uncle at last, “but the floor here is rather damp; I am tired and hungry; and we have to get out.  Which way shall we try?”

“Not go back, uncle,” I said quickly.  “Let’s get into the sunshine again.”

“Certainly; but how?  We can’t wade any farther without risk of drowning.  What do you say, Cross?”

“Yonder’s an awful pit, sir,” said the carpenter.

“I could climb over the stones at the side there,” said Pete suddenly.

“Well, I think it possible,” said my uncle.  “But where’s that rope?”

“I’ve got it here, sir, round me,” said Pete.

“Well, we’ll make one end fast round you, and pay out the line as you climb, so that we can haul you in if you fall into the deep water.  Will you try?”

“Oh, yes, sir; I’ll try,” cried Pete.

We made for the side, to find it slightly shallower, and after knotting the rope round his waist, Pete was started up the rocks, which proved, in spite of their threatening appearance much less difficult than we had anticipated, so that in a few minutes the lad had climbed to the level of the top of the falls, where he stood on a broad shelf, and by the help of the rope hauled up our baskets and satchels.

This done, Pete threw the rope down to us, then it was made fast to my waist and I began to climb, Pete hauling in the slack as I advanced, finding the way giddy but easy to climb.  The danger was a slip upon the mossy rocks, wet with the fine spray which rose from the awful watery pit below.

But the touch of the rope gave confidence, and in a few minutes I was by Pete’s side, ready to throw down the rope to Cross, who came up with the sure-footedness of a sailor.  Then the packs were hauled up, and my uncle followed.

Our task was not yet done, for we had to take to the river again, just beyond the edge of the fall, a hundred feet above where we had waded before, and found ourselves in a narrow gorge with almost perpendicular sides covered with tree, bush, creeper, and wonderful ferns, all made glorious by the sunshine and blue sky.

The water was shallow, and we made fair progress, always looking the while for some way out of the gorge, whose beauties tempted us to linger, for we were once more among flowers, insects, and birds, one of the first of which sailed slowly overhead and across the gorge ­an eagle with widespread pinions.

“Out of shot,” said my uncle, as we stood knee-deep watching the large bird till it floated right out of sight.

“And not the sort of specimen we want, if it were in, uncle,” I said.

“Quite right, Nat.  Look yonder at the finches and those lovely blue creepers; but they’re not what we want.”

“No, uncle,” I said; “I’m looking for what we do want.  Ought not the quetzals to be found in a place like this?”

“We are in their region, Nat,” he replied, “and that is all I can say.  We know so little about them, the skins having been mostly supplied by the Indians.  But these rocks and patches of timber ought to be their home.”

“There’s a place, sir, where we might climb up out of this hollow,” said Cross just then, and he pointed to a mere gash in the rocks, down which a tiny rivulet trickled.

It proved to be passable, and at the end of another quarter of an hour we were upon fairly level ground, open, and in the full sunshine, ready to rest, bask, dry our clothes, and sit down to what seemed to me the most delicious meal I had ever eaten.

In spite of the length of time which we had apparently spent in the darkness, it was still early in the day, and it was not long, after a good rest upon a hot rock in the sunny glow, before the two sufferers from their plunge were able once more to go about in quite dry clothes.

By this time we had made use of pocket compass and glass, taking bearings, so to speak, and pretty well made out our position to be only a few miles to the south and west of Puma Valley, while my uncle was in ecstasies with the promising appearance of the district, for as a collecting ground we had mountain, forest, plain, valley, and the lovely river-gorge waiting to be farther explored.

“If the quetzals are to be found, Nat,” said my uncle, “we ought to see them here.”

“What about going back, uncle?” I said, interrupting him.

“Back!” he cried.  “What, are you tired already?”

“No, I was thinking about the possibility of getting up the tent and some more stores so as to be able to thoroughly explore these higher grounds.”

“Yes,” he said; “that’s what we must do.  I fancy we can make our way back without going through that hole again; but it was well worth the trouble, since it led us to this lovely ravine.”

“Pst!” I whispered; “Pete sees something.  He is making signs.  Look, he is signing to those trees.”

We seized our guns and advanced cautiously in the direction pointed out, separating so as to cover all the ground, in the full expectation of seeing some rare bird or another take flight.  But we met on the other side of the cluster of trees indicated, after having passed right through without a sign.

“Gone on to the next patch, uncle,” I whispered; and we went on again, carrying out the same plans; and a finch or two took flight, but nothing more.

Again we went on, and tried a third little clump, but with no better fortune, and we stopped and looked at each other.

“Whatever it was, it is too cunning for us, Nat,” said my uncle, “so we may as well give it up, for we could go on like this till dark.”

“Yes,” I said, with a sigh, “and it’s hot and tiring work.”

“Never mind; let’s go back now,” he said.  “We don’t even know what it was the lad saw.”

We began to retrace our steps, keeping a sharp look-out, but seeing nothing but some active lizards sunning themselves among the rocks, and a rattlesnake, which we carefully left at rest; but before we were half-way back to where we had left our companions we came upon them with the spare guns.

“Haven’t you shot it, sir?” asked Pete, staring hard at my uncle.

“No, we have not even seen it, whatever it is,” said my uncle, smiling.

“Wonderful handsome bird, sir, with long blue and green and red and yellow feathers in its tail.”

“Macaw ­Ara,” said my uncle; “flying across from tree to tree?”

“Yes, sir, I daresay it was,” said Pete; “but it wasn’t flying; it was on the ground, and when we saw it, in it went among the bushes quite slowly, didn’t it, Bill?”

“You said it did, my lad,” replied Cross.  “I didn’t see it.”

“Long green, blue, red, and yellow feathers in its tail?” said my uncle.

“Yes, sir; that’s it,” looking up.

“And on the ground?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Running?”

“Oh, no, sir, it was just creeping quietly along when I beckoned you.”

“I don’t know any bird answering your description but a macaw,” said my uncle.  “How big was it?”

“As big as a barn-door cock, sir, I think.”

“Look here, Pete; you’ve seen macaws, or aras, as they call them.  Mr Nat here shot one days ago.”

“Them big poll parrots, sir?  Oh no, it warn’t one of them, sir.  I know that sort well enough.”

“I hope we shall come upon it another day then,” said my uncle.

We had a short rest, and then turned in the direction of the river-gorge again, its presence simplifying our position, for we had only to steer south at any time to come upon the steep, well-wooded ravine, along whose sides we had constant peeps of the clear flowing water, finding several places where we could descend, while here the variety of birds, insects, and reptiles was wonderful, and had we wanted them we could soon have killed more than we should have been able to preserve.

But with most of them my uncle was familiar, and unless the specimen seen was something rare, he let it go in peace.

“Fortune may favour us, Nat,” he said, “and we may come upon the home of the beautiful trogons, especially the splendid trogon, or quetzal.  Then we must make the best of our opportunities.”

I had expected that we should make our way back to the boat-camp that night, but we spent so much time exploring the wonders and beauties of the gorge, that evening was coming on when we stopped about a mile higher along the stream than the spot where we first climbed up, and as we were well supplied with provisions, and were pretty well fagged, my uncle decided to camp in the shelter of the rocky side of the ravine for the night.

So Pete was set to collect dead wood for a fire, Cross descended with our kettle to fill it below, and before long we were partaking of a capital meat-tea by the light of the fire; while we strolled a little way from our camp to listen to the various sounds of the night, it seemed as if a fresh world of inhabitants had awakened, and for hours we listened to the strange notes of bird and insect, and watched with wonder the beauty of the fire-flies, which never seemed to grow common.

The fire was burning low when we turned back to camp, and Pete was stretched out on the sandy shelf beneath the great tree he had selected for our resting-place, and snoring as if he meant to make up for the hard day’s work.

But Cross was wakeful and ready to throw a few more dry twigs upon the fire to light us as soon as he heard our steps.

“Seen or heard anything, Cross?” I said.

“Crickets, and toads, and frogs, and chuckling birds who seem to think we must be foolish to come right out here into no-man’s-land, sir.  That’s about all.  How have you got on?”

“Had a lovely walk,” I said, as I settled down in my place beneath the sheltering boughs.  “Good-night, uncle; good-night, everybody,” and I believe that in ten minutes’ time I was sleeping as soundly as if secure and well housed in a civilised land.