Watch was kept that night and several more, while the days were passed suspiciously and uneasily.  But we saw no sign of more Indians, those who shared our camp seeming quite at home, and proving to be gentle, inoffensive creatures, now that they were satisfied that we intended to do them no harm.

The woman began at once to see to the fire, and fetch water from the river, and only once showed any sign of resentment.  That was on the morning following her coming, when my uncle began to unfasten his patient’s bandages after dressing my arm.

This she tried to stop by seizing my uncle’s hand, but at a word from her husband she sat down and watched the whole process.  After that the morning performance of the surgical duties was looked for with the greatest interest, the woman fetching water and waiting upon my uncle during his attention to both his patients.

The days passed on, with my wound troubling me but very little.  The prisoner’s was far worse, but he did not seem to suffer, settling down quite happily in a dreamy way, and as no danger came near, the shooting and collecting went on, my uncle going alone, and leaving Pete and Cross to protect me and the camp.

Fortunately we had a sufficiency of stores, my uncle shot for provisions as well as science; I helped by sitting down in one particular spot by the rushing stream and catching fish almost as fast as I could throw in, and Mapah, as the woman’s name seemed to be, went off every morning and returned loaded with wild fruit and certain roots, which she and her husband ate eagerly.

Some very good specimens were brought in by my uncle, and the two Indians sat watching us curiously as we busily skinned them, filled them out, and laid them to dry, Mapah eagerly taking possession of the tail-feathers of some parrots intended to be cooked for the evening’s meal, and weaving them into a band of plaited grass so as to form tiaras of the bright-hued plumes for herself and her husband, both wearing them with no little show of pride.

“And only to think of it, Master Nat,” said Pete.  “Reg’larly cheated me when I see ’em first over the bushes; I made sure they was birds.”

They expressed a good deal of pleasure, too, over some of the brighter birds brought in, and our prisoner talked and made signs to me and pointed in one direction as he tried hard to make me understand something one day; but I was alone with him, and very dense for a time, as in a crippled way I put the finishing touches to the skin of a brilliant kingfisher.

Then all at once I grasped his meaning.

“Why, of course!” I cried.  “How thick-headed of me!”

I went to the bamboo half-box, half-basket Cross had made, and brought it back to where the Indian was sitting nursing his wounded leg, took off the lid, and carefully withdrew the trogon.

“Is that the sort of bird you mean?” I said.

“Hah!” he said, in a long-drawn cry, full of the satisfaction he felt, and both he and his wife chattered to me eagerly, Mapah shaking her head, though, and pointing at the bird’s tail with one dusky hand, before holding both out before me a yard apart.

“You’ve seen them with tails as long as that?” I said, placing my hand by the caudal feathers of our one specimen, and then slowly drawing it away till it was some distance off.

“Hah!” cried the Indian again, and he laughed and chatted, and pointed across the river to the south, while his wife took off her feather crown, held it before me, and drew each long feather through her hand as if stretching it to three feet in length, and then touched the golden-green plumage of our solitary specimen.

The trogon was carefully put away, the kingfisher laid to dry, and then I could hardly contain myself till my uncle’s return, well laden with ducks and a dusky bird that was evidently a half-grown turkey.

“Tired out, Nat,” he said, throwing down the birds, for Mapah and her husband to seize and begin to pluck for our evening meal.  “We must make a fresh start.”

“Why?” I said quietly.

“Because we have shot the only trogon in the district, and we are wasting time here.”

“Nonsense,” I said; “there are plenty more.”

“If we could find them,” he replied wearily.

I had intended to keep him waiting longer, but I could not hold back what I felt certain I had discovered, and hurrying to the case I brought out the precious specimen and made Mapah and her husband go through the whole pantomime again.

“Why, Nat,” cried my uncle excitedly, while Pete and Cross looked on, “it’s as plain as a pikestaff:  these people are quite familiar with the long-tailed species ­resplendens ­and they could take us to places where they could be found.”

“That’s it, uncle,” I cried, and Pete and Cross joined in a hearty cheer.

“Oh, but to think of it ­the misery and disappointment,” cried my uncle:  “that poor fellow will not be able to walk and act as guide for a month, and it may be a hundred miles away.”

“That don’t matter, sir,” cried Pete; “he’s only a little chap.  Me and Bill Cross’ll take it in turns pig-a-backing him; won’t we mate?”

“We will that, Pete, lad,” cried the carpenter, and somehow that seemed to be the brightest evening of our expedition, even the two Indians seeming to share our satisfaction, for they readily grasped the idea that they had afforded us pleasure by promising in their fashion to show us the objects of our weary search.

As we lay down to sleep that night I felt more wakeful than ever I had been before, and I could hear my uncle turning restlessly about.

All at once he broke the silence by whispering, ­

“Asleep, Nat?”

“Asleep?  No; I’ve got quetzal on the brain, and the birds seem to be pecking at my shoulder on both sides with red-hot beaks.  How do you feel?”

“In agony, my boy.  I’m afraid we have been jumping at conclusions.  Perhaps the Indians do not understand, after all.”

Sleep came at last, though, and the next day nothing else could be thought of or talked of.  The Indians were questioned in dumb show, with the skin of the trogon for a text, and we got on more, Uncle Dick’s spirits rising as it grew more plainly that the Indian fully understood about the birds we wanted.  In fact, in dumb show he at last began to teach us the bird’s habits.

He showed us how it sat upon the branch of a tree, taking a parroquet as an example, pointing out that the bird we meant had toes like it, two before and two behind, setting it on a piece of wood, and then ruffling its plumage all up till it looked like a ball of feathers.

“That’s right, Nat,” cried my uncle.  “Exactly how trogons sit.  The fellow’s a born observer.  I am glad you shot him.  Go on, Dusky.”

The man understood, as he sat holding the piece of branch in one hand, the bird in the other.  He glanced at us to see if we were watching him, and then smoothing the feathers quickly, he began to buzz and whirr like a beetle, as cleverly as a ventriloquist.  Next he made the dead bird he held dart from its perch, and imitated the quick flight of one chasing a large beetle through the air, catching it, and returning to its perch, where with wonderful accuracy he went through the movements of it swallowing its prey, and then ruffling itself up again into a ball of feathers.

“Splendid!” cried my uncle.  “Exact.  He knows the right birds, Nat.  Now then, Cuvier, where is the happy spot?  Over yonder?” and my uncle pointed up the river; but the Indian shook his head, and pointed across and away to the south, after which he laid his head upon his hand and imitated going to sleep eight times.

“Eight days’ journey to the south, Nat,” said Uncle Dick.  “A long way to carry him.  I understand,” he said, turning to the Indian again, shouldering his gun, bending down, and making believe to walk; but his patient shook his head violently, took hold of his piece of wood, and went through the motion of paddling.

“Hah!” I cried, imitating him.  “He means we should have to go in a canoe, uncle.”

“That’s it,” he cried, and he pointed down at the river; but the man shook his head again, and pointed right across into the distance.

“Nat,” said my uncle, “we shall do it yet.  It must be on that river we passed before we turned up this.  We shall have to get him down to the boat.”

I wish I could write ­No sooner said than done; but it was not so; for our future guide was not yet fit to start on such a journey.  He was getting better fast, but not fast enough, and in spite of my assertions, I was not recovered from a very bad wound.  In short, it seemed that the only thing to do, as we appeared to have nothing more to fear from Indians with two such guards in camp, was to send down to the boat for more of the stores, that is, enough for another fortnight’s stay, when the difficulty was solved by Cross one morning.

“I’ve been turning it over in my mind, Master Nat, about carrying that chap down to the boat, but the doctor says it would open his wound again and throw him back, so that won’t do.”

“No; certainly not,” I said.

“Then I got a notion that I could knock up a sort of chair he could sit in, and me and Pete and Mrs Mapah could carry it strapped on our backs in turn.”

“Nonsense!  That little woman could not carry her husband.”

“What, sir!” cried Cross laughing.  “Don’t you make a mistake, sir; she’s as strong as a pony.  But the doctor says it would shake him too much, so what do you say to this?  S’pose I build a raft, and we go back the same as we come?”

“Through the dark cavern?”

“I don’t know no laws again’ our burning a good light, sir.”

“But how are you going to get it down the falls?”

“In bits, sir,” he said, laughing.  “I should build it down yonder on the side at the bottom of the falls.  Then we could swing old Dusky down with the rope, and all we should want would be a couple of bamboo poles, and there we are.”

The notion seemed wild at first, but Cross soon showed Uncle Dick and me that it was quite possible; and in the course of the next fortnight he proved it by means of his axe, making the raft out of the bamboos that he cut and which we sent down to him over the falls, some to be broken in the descent, but the most part to reach him safe and sound.

As the work went on Mapah helped, being wonderfully active and sure-footed on the rocks; and through her our prisoner grasped the meaning of what was going on, nodding and smiling when the time came for our start, and to my great satisfaction showing not the slightest shrinking from venturing into the cavern after being carefully lowered down.

For at last all was ready, and with a good supply of resinous boughs cut into lengths for torches, we lit up and embarked upon our return journey, to find that what had looked so terrible through the darkness of ignorance was a perfectly trivial affair.  It was through resounding cavern and winding tunnel, shrouded in gloom, but utterly wanting in terrors and difficulties, being merely the gliding down a subterranean stream out into broad daylight at the other end.

Here our raft served to carry us over the shallows right down to our boat, at which our prisoner gazed in wonder ­wonder which was increased when we set sail and glided towards the mouth of the little river we had passed on our way up.

It soon became evident that in his wanderings our Indian had been over the ground before.  This was proved by his manner towards his wife, to whom he talked eagerly, pointing out different objects, rocky cliff, forest and mountain, as if they were familiar objects.

But the great proof of all was his behaviour a couple of days later, when we felt that the mouth of the southern river must be near, for he was all excitement till it was in sight, when he began shouting to us and pointing, indicating that we should steer the boat into the mouth of the very river as I suggested weeks before, and take a fresh course.

“Hah!” exclaimed my uncle; “you were right, Nat, after all.  I fancied he meant this.”

Fortunately for us, the narrowness and the way in which the side stream was encumbered with overhanging growth, fallen log and tangle proved to be only at the very beginning; for at the end of a mile or two of difficulties which were very discouraging, while the stream narrowed so that it promised to close in overhead, its course became clearer and its waters deep and sluggish, so that we were able to camp at night some miles from the mouth.

The next day our guide showed us by signs that our oars were not proper implements for use in such a river, with the result that Cross set to work roughing out a paddle which our companions seized upon to finish off while another was made.  Boards from the bottom and thwarts were cut up for the purpose, and before many hours had passed we were furnished with half-a-dozen fairly useful paddles, by whose aid, and all working together, the boat could be directed through the narrowest channels of verdure.

For the next six days we steadily advanced, through a wonderfully beautiful region, a very paradise for a naturalist, and where we might have collected gorgeously plumaged birds by the thousand and insects galore.

But we had our one aim in view, and though we seemed as far off as ever, and there were moments when Uncle Dick and I began to doubt, our guide seemed so confident, pointing always onward, that we grew hopeful again, and went on and on.

“Do you know what Bill Cross says, Master Nat?” said Pete, when we were camping one evening.

“How should I?” I replied pettishly, for I was weary of the continuous paddling.

“Then, I’ll tell you, sir,” said Pete solemnly, “He says he feels cock-sure that them two brown ’uns is taking us to where their tribe lives, so that they may grab the boat and guns and things, and then light a fire and have a feast.”

“Eat us?” I said.

“That’s it, sir; the doctor says they must be Caribs, and Caribs is cannibals, and we ought to go back.”

“So we will, Pete,” I said, “when we have found the quetzals.”

It was the very next day that, after struggling a few more miles over shallows, the roar of water fell upon our ears, and the current gradually grew more swift, while that night with a good deal of pantomime our guide indicated that the boat could go no farther.

“As if we didn’t know that, Master Nat,” said Cross.

The consequence was that our craft was securely moored, the tent once more set up on shore, and after a good night’s rest we started off to explore the open wooded country around the beautiful falls close at hand.

We left Cross in camp with the Indian, and his wife eagerly started with us as guide, leading us through lovely patches of forest and open glade till we were well above the falls, and where the little stream now glided slowly along.

“It looks as if we’re to find the quetzal at last,” said my uncle softly; “the woman seems so confident.”

“I hope so,” I said; “for if ever there was a beautiful home for a bird it ought to be here.”

We had hardly spoken before Mapah, who was some distance ahead, stopped, held up her hand, and stole back, signing for us to take her place and go forward.

We cocked our guns and stepped cautiously on, to find ourselves at the edge of an opening where no less than five of the lovely birds we sought were perched, each on a dead bough, with plumage absolutely glittering in the sun-rays, which shot through, just as the flashing scale of the humming-bird sends forth its gleams of broken light.

Every now and then one darted out into the full sunshine in chase of butterfly or beetle, its loose tail-feathers spreading out comet-like and waving in the clear air.

The scene was so striking that for some time we stood bending forward watching the birds and their actions, every movement showing their glorious plumage in a fresh light, and but one feeling was upon us ­that it was like sacrilege to destroy creatures so exquisitely perfect.  At last, though, the naturalist and collector prevailed.  We had come thousands of miles to secure specimens of these birds for English museums, and have them we must.

I started as from a dream on seeing my uncle move.

“Going to fire, uncle?” I said.

“Yes, Nat,” he replied, with something like a sigh; “we must have a few to take back.”

He raised his gun, but lowered it again, and looked at me, while I looked at him.

“Was it all a dream?” he said hoarsely.

“Surely not, uncle,” I cried, as I stared about the opening, where not a bird was to be seen.

But we had proof directly that it was no dream, for Pete, who was holding the spare guns, cried excitedly: 

“Oh, I say!  You’ve let ’em go!”

In the days which followed we were less sentimental, getting, in the neighbourhood of where we had seen them first, specimen after specimen in the most perfect plumage, till we felt that it would be like a crime to shoot down more.

“Let’s get away from the temptation, Nat,” said my uncle, and the very next day we started back, intent now on the one thought of getting our treasures safely home.

We parted from our Indian companions a fortnight later, sending them ashore with our guide’s wound so nearly cured that he could limp about easily.  They were laden with presents ­Uncle Dick’s patient proud of the grandest prize he evidently thought a man could possess, to wit, the carpenter’s axe; and his wife rejoicing in a leather housewife of needles and thread, a pair of good useful scissors, and my old silver watch, hung by its chain round her tawny neck ­her great joy being in a child-like way to hold it to her ear after winding up to listen to its ticking.

Bill Cross made a set of new cases when he reached Port Royal for the careful packing of the skins in our glorious collection, and he and Pete parted from us with every sign of regret.

“I thought my tools might come in useful, gentlemen,” he said, smiling.

“I don’t know what we should have done without you, Cross,” said my uncle.

Pete’s forehead wrinkled up, and he looked at me wistfully.

“I don’t know which was the more useful, Cross,” I said, “you or Pete.”

“Wish you a safe journey home to the old country, gentlemen,” said Pete, smiling; “and, if ever you’re going collecting again and’ll take me, why, I’d come from anywheres the wide world round.”

But they did not say good-bye when the vessel in which we had taken our passage sailed, for the captain was short of hands and gladly took them on, so that it was at Liverpool we finally parted, for we had what they wished us, a safe journey home.

“You will take me if you go again, Master Nat?” cried Pete, when we shook hands.

“Yes, Pete,” I said; “I promise you I will.”