Chapter: I was not disappointed on my next visit to the forest, nor on several
succeeding visits; and this seemed to show that if I was right in
believing that these strange, melodious utterances proceeded from one
individual, then the bird or being, although still refusing to show
itself, was always on the watch for my appearance and followed me
wherever I went. This thought only served to increase my curiosity; I
was constantly pondering over the subject, and at last concluded that it
would be best to induce one of the Indians to go with me to the wood on
the chance of his being able to explain the mystery.

One of the treasures I had managed to preserve in my sojourn with these
children of nature, who were always anxious to become possessors of my
belongings, was a small prettily fashioned metal match-box, opening
with a spring. Remembering that Kua-ko, among others, had looked at this
trifle with covetous eyes--the covetous way in which they all looked at
it had given it a fictitious value in my own--I tried to bribe him with
the offer of it to accompany me to my favourite haunt. The brave young
hunter refused again and again; but on each occasion he offered to
perform some other service or to give me something in exchange for the
box. At last I told him that I would give it to the first person who
should accompany me, and fearing that someone would be found valiant
enough to win the prize, he at length plucked up a spirit, and on the
next day, seeing me going out for a walk, he all at once offered to go
with me. He cunningly tried to get the box before starting--his cunning,
poor youth, was not very deep! I told him that the forest we were about
to visit abounded with plants and birds unlike any I had seen elsewhere,
that I wished to learn their names and everything about them, and
that when I had got the required information the box would be his--not
sooner. Finally we started, he, as usual, armed with his zabatana, with
which, I imagined, he would procure more game than usually fell to his
little poisoned arrows. When we reached the wood I could see that he was
ill at ease: nothing would persuade him to go into the deeper parts;
and even where it was very open and light he was constantly gazing
into bushes and shadowy places, as if expecting to see some frightful
creature lying in wait for him. This behaviour might have had a
disquieting effect on me had I not been thoroughly convinced that his
fears were purely superstitious and that there could be no dangerous
animal in a spot I was accustomed to walk in every day. My plan was
to ramble about with an unconcerned air, occasionally pointing out an
uncommon tree or shrub or vine, or calling his attention to a distant
bird-cry and asking the bird's name, in the hope that the mysterious
voice would make itself heard and that he would be able to give me some
explanation of it. But for upwards of two hours we moved about, hearing
nothing except the usual bird voices, and during all that time he never
stirred a yard from my side nor made an attempt to capture anything. At
length we sat down under a tree, in an open spot close to the border of
the wood. He sat down very reluctantly, and seemed more troubled in
his mind than ever, keeping his eyes continually roving about, while he
listened intently to every sound. The sounds were not few, owing to the
abundance of animal and especially of bird life in this favoured spot.
I began to question my companion as to some of the cries we heard. There
were notes and cries familiar to me as the crowing of the cock--parrot
screams and yelping of toucans, the distant wailing calls of maam and
duraquara; and shrill laughter-like notes of the large tree-climber as
it passed from tree to tree; the quick whistle of cotingas; and strange
throbbing and thrilling sounds, as of pygmies beating on metallic drums,
of the skulking pitta-thrushes; and with these mingled other notes
less well known. One came from the treetops, where it was perpetually
wandering amid the foliage a low note, repeated at intervals of a few
seconds, so thin and mournful and full of mystery that I half expected
to hear that it proceeded from the restless ghost of some dead bird.
But no; he only said it was uttered by a "little bird"--too little
presumably to have a name. From the foliage of a neighbouring tree came
a few tinkling chirps, as of a small mandolin, two or three strings of
which had been carelessly struck by the player. He said that it came
from a small green frog that lived in trees; and in this way my rude
Indian--vexed perhaps at being asked such trivial questions--brushed
away the pretty fantasies my mind had woven in the woodland solitude.
For I often listened to this tinkling music, and it had suggested the
idea that the place was frequented by a tribe of fairy-like troubadour
monkeys, and that if I could only be quick-sighted enough I might one
day be able to detect the minstrel sitting, in a green tunic perhaps,
cross-legged on some high, swaying bough, carelessly touching his
mandolin, suspended from his neck by a yellow ribbon.

By and by a bird came with low, swift flight, its great tail spread open
fan-wise, and perched itself on an exposed bough not thirty yards from
us. It was all of a chestnut-red colour, long-bodied, in size like a big
pigeon. Its actions showed that its curiosity had been greatly excited,
for it jerked from side to side, eyeing us first with one eye, then the
other, while its long tail rose and fell in a measured way.

"Look, Kua-ko," I said in a whisper, "there is a bird for you to kill."

But he only shook his head, still watchful.

"Give me the blow-pipe, then," I said, with a laugh, putting out my hand
to take it. But he refused to let me take it, knowing that it would only
be an arrow wasted if I attempted to shoot anything.

As I persisted in telling him to kill the bird, he at last bent his lips
near me and said in a half-whisper, as if fearful of being overheard: "I
can kill nothing here. If I shot at the bird, the daughter of the Didi
would catch the dart in her hand and throw it back and hit me here,"
touching his breast just over his heart.

I laughed again, saying to myself, with some amusement, that Kua-ko was
not such a bad companion after all--that he was not without imagination.
But in spite of my laughter his words roused my interest and suggested
the idea that the voice I was curious about had been heard by the
Indians and was as great a mystery to them as to me; since, not being
like that of any creature known to them, it would be attributed by their
superstitious minds to one of the numerous demons or semi-human monsters
inhabiting every forest, stream, and mountain; and fear of it would
drive them from the wood. In this case, judging from my companion's
words, they had varied the form of the superstition somewhat, inventing
a daughter of a water-spirit to be afraid of. My thought was that if
their keen, practiced eyes had never been able to see this flitting
woodland creature with a musical soul, it was not likely that I would
succeed in my quest.

I began to question him, but he now appeared less inclined to talk and
more frightened than ever, and each time I attempted to speak he imposed
silence, with a quick gesture of alarm, while he continued to stare
about him with dilated eyes. All at once he sprang to his feet as
if overcome with terror and started running at full speed. His fear
infected me, and, springing up, I followed as fast as I could, but he
was far ahead of me, running for dear life; and before I had gone forty
yards my feet were caught in a creeper trailing along the surface, and I
measured my length on the ground. The sudden, violent shock almost took
away my senses for a moment, but when I jumped up and stared round to
see no unspeakable monster--Curupita or other--rushing on to slay and
devour me there and then, I began to feel ashamed of my cowardice; and
in the end I turned and walked back to the spot I had just quitted and
sat down once more. I even tried to hum a tune, just to prove to myself
that I had completely recovered from the panic caught from the miserable
Indian; but it is never possible in such cases to get back one's
serenity immediately, and a vague suspicion continued to trouble me for
a time. After sitting there for half an hour or so, listening to distant
bird-sounds, I began to recover my old confidence, and even to feel
inclined to penetrate further into the wood. All at once, making me
almost jump, so sudden it was, so much nearer and louder than I had
ever heard it before, the mysterious melody began. Unmistakably it was
uttered by the same being heard on former occasions; but today it was
different in character. The utterance was far more rapid, with fewer
silent intervals, and it had none of the usual tenderness in it, nor
ever once sunk to that low, whisper-like talking which had seemed to me
as if the spirit of the wind had breathed its low sighs in syllables
and speech. Now it was not only loud, rapid, and continuous, but, while
still musical, there was an incisiveness in it, a sharp ring as of
resentment, which made it strike painfully on the sense.

The impression of an intelligent unhuman being addressing me in anger
took so firm a hold on my mind that the old fear returned, and, rising,
I began to walk rapidly away, intending to escape from the wood. The
voice continued violently rating me, as it seemed to my mind, moving
with me, which caused me to accelerate my steps; and very soon I would
have broken into a run, when its character began to change again. There
were pauses now, intervals of silence, long or short, and after each one
the voice came to my ear with a more subdued and dulcet sound--more of
that melting, flute-like quality it had possessed at other times; and
this softness of tone, coupled with the talking-like form of utterance,
gave me the idea of a being no longer incensed, addressing me now in a
peaceable spirit, reasoning away my unworthy tremors, and imploring me
to remain with it in the wood. Strange as this voice without a body was,
and always productive of a slightly uncomfortable feeling on account of
its mystery, it seemed impossible to doubt that it came to me now in
a spirit of pure friendliness; and when I had recovered my composure I
found a new delight in listening to it--all the greater because of the
fear so lately experienced, and of its seeming intelligence. For the
third time I reseated myself on the same spot, and at intervals the
voice talked to me there for some time and, to my fancy, expressed
satisfaction and pleasure at my presence. But later, without losing its
friendly tone, it changed again. It seemed to move away and to be thrown
back from a considerable distance; and, at long intervals, it would
approach me again with a new sound, which I began to interpret as of
command, or entreaty. Was it, I asked myself, inviting me to follow? And
if I obeyed, to what delightful discoveries or frightful dangers might
it lead? My curiosity together with the belief that the being--I called
it being, not bird, now--was friendly to me, overcame all timidity, and
I rose and walked at random towards the interior of the wood. Very soon
I had no doubt left that the being had desired me to follow; for there
was now a new note of gladness in its voice, and it continued near me
as I walked, at intervals approaching me so closely as to set me staring
into the surrounding shadowy places like poor scared Kua-ko.

On this occasion, too, I began to have a new fancy, for fancy or
illusion I was determined to regard it, that some swift-footed being was
treading the ground near me; that I occasionally caught the faint rustle
of a light footstep, and detected a motion in leaves and fronds and
thread-like stems of creepers hanging near the surface, as if some
passing body had touched and made them tremble; and once or twice that
I even had a glimpse of a grey, misty object moving at no great distance
in the deeper shadows.

Led by this wandering tricksy being, I came to a spot where the trees
were very large and the damp dark ground almost free from undergrowth;
and here the voice ceased to be heard. After patiently waiting and
listening for some time, I began to look about me with a slight feeling
of apprehension. It was still about two hours before sunset; only
in this place the shade of the vast trees made a perpetual twilight:
moreover, it was strangely silent here, the few bird-cries that reached
me coming from a long distance. I had flattered myself that the voice
had become to some extent intelligible to me: its outburst of anger
caused no doubt by my cowardly flight after the Indian; then its
recovered friendliness, which had induced me to return; and finally its
desire to be followed. Now that it had led me to this place of shadow
and profound silence and had ceased to speak and to lead, I could not
help thinking that this was my goal, that I had been brought to this
spot with a purpose, that in this wild and solitary retreat some
tremendous adventure was about to befall me.

As the silence continued unbroken, there was time to dwell on this
thought. I gazed before me and listened intently, scarcely breathing,
until the suspense became painful--too painful at last, and I turned and
took a step with the idea of going back to the border of the wood, when
close by, clear as a silver bell, sounded the voice once more, but only
for a moment--two or three syllables in response to my movement, then it
was silent again.

Once more I was standing still, as if in obedience to a command, in the
same state of suspense; and whether the change was real or only imagined
I know not, but the silence every minute grew more profound and the
gloom deeper. Imaginary terrors began to assail me. Ancient fables of
men allured by beautiful forms and melodious voices to destruction all
at once acquired a fearful significance. I recalled some of the Indian
beliefs, especially that of the mis-shapen, man-devouring monster who is
said to beguile his victims into the dark forest by mimicking the human
voice--the voice sometimes of a woman in distress--or by singing some
strange and beautiful melody. I grew almost afraid to look round lest I
should catch sight of him stealing towards me on his huge feet with toes
pointing backwards, his mouth snarling horribly to display his great
green fangs. It was distressing to have such fancies in this wild,
solitary spot--hateful to feel their power over me when I knew that they
were nothing but fancies and creations of the savage mind. But if these
supernatural beings had no existence, there were other monsters, only
too real, in these woods which it would be dreadful to encounter alone
and unarmed, since against such adversaries a revolver would be as
ineffectual as a popgun. Some huge camoodi, able to crush my bones like
brittle twigs in its constricting coils, might lurk in these shadows,
and approach me stealthily, unseen in its dark colour on the dark
ground. Or some jaguar or black tiger might steal towards me, masked by
a bush or tree-trunk, to spring upon me unawares. Or, worse still,
this way might suddenly come a pack of those swift-footed, unspeakably
terrible hunting-leopards, from which every living thing in the forest
flies with shrieks of consternation or else falls paralysed in their
path to be instantly torn to pieces and devoured.

A slight rustling sound in the foliage above me made me start and
cast up my eyes. High up, where a pale gleam of tempered sunlight fell
through the leaves, a grotesque human-like face, black as ebony and
adorned with a great red beard, appeared staring down upon me. In
another moment it was gone. It was only a large araguato, or howling
monkey, but I was so unnerved that I could not get rid of the idea that
it was something more than a monkey. Once more I moved, and again, the
instant I moved my foot, clear, and keen, and imperative, sounded the
voice! It was no longer possible to doubt its meaning. It commanded me
to stand still--to wait--to watch--to listen! Had it cried "Listen! Do
not move!" I could not have understood it better. Trying as the suspense
was, I now felt powerless to escape. Something very terrible, I felt
convinced, was about to happen, either to destroy or to release me from
the spell that held me.

And while I stood thus rooted to the ground, the sweat standing in large
drops on my forehead, all at once close to me sounded a cry, fine and
clear at first, and rising at the end to a shriek so loud, piercing, and
unearthly in character that the blood seemed to freeze in my veins,
and a despairing cry to heaven escaped my lips; then, before that long
shriek expired, a mighty chorus of thunderous voices burst forth around
me; and in this awful tempest of sound I trembled like a leaf; and the
leaves on the trees were agitated as if by a high wind, and the earth
itself seemed to shake beneath my feet. Indescribably horrible were my
sensations at that moment; I was deafened, and would possibly have been
maddened had I not, as by a miracle, chanced to see a large araguato
on a branch overhead, roaring with open mouth and inflated throat and
chest.

It was simply a concert of howling monkeys that had so terrified me! But
my extreme fear was not strange in the circumstances; since everything
that had led up to the display--the gloom and silence, the period of
suspense, and my heated imagination--had raised my mind to the highest
degree of excitement and expectancy. I had rightly conjectured, no
doubt, that my unseen guide had led me to that spot for a purpose;
and the purpose had been to set me in the midst of a congregation of
araguatos to enable me for the first time fully to appreciate their
unparalleled vocal powers. I had always heard them at a distance; here
they were gathered in scores, possibly hundreds--the whole araguato
population of the forest, I should think--close to me; and it may give
some faint conception of the tremendous power and awful character of
the sound thus produced by their combined voices when I say that this
animal--miscalled "howler" in English--would outroar the mightiest lion
that ever woke the echoes of an African wilderness.

This roaring concert, which lasted three or four minutes, having ended,
I lingered a few minutes longer on the spot, and not hearing the voice
again, went back to the edge of the wood, and then started on my way
back to the village.



Perhaps I was not capable of thinking quite coherently on what had just
happened until I was once more fairly outside of the forest shadows--out
in that clear open daylight, where things seem what they are, and
imagination, like a juggler detected and laughed at, hastily takes
itself out of the way. As I walked homewards I paused midway on the
barren ridge to gaze back on the scene I had left, and then the recent
adventure began to take a semi-ludicrous aspect in my mind. All that
circumstance of preparation, that mysterious prelude to something
unheard of, unimaginable, surpassing all fables ancient and modern, and
all tragedies--to end at last in a concert of howling monkeys! Certainly
the concert was very grand--indeed, one of the most astounding in
nature---but still--I sat down on a stone and laughed freely.

The sun was sinking behind the forest, its broad red disk still showing
through the topmost leaves, and the higher part of the foliage was of
a luminous green, like green flame, throwing off flakes of quivering,
fiery light, but lower down the trees were in profound shadow.

I felt very light-hearted while I gazed on this scene, for how pleasant
it was just now to think of the strange experience I had passed
through--to think that I had come safely out of it, that no human
eye had witnessed my weakness, and that the mystery existed still to
fascinate me! For, ludicrous as the denouement now looked, the cause of
all, the voice itself, was a thing to marvel at more than ever. That it
proceeded from an intelligent being I was firmly convinced; and although
too materialistic in my way of thinking to admit for a moment that it
was a supernatural being, I still felt that there was something more
than I had at first imagined in Kua-ko's speech about a daughter of the
Didi. That the Indians knew a great deal about the mysterious voice, and
had held it in great fear, seemed evident. But they were savages, with
ways that were not mine; and however friendly they might be towards one
of a superior race, there was always in their relations with him a
low cunning, prompted partly by suspicion, underlying their words and
actions. For the white man to put himself mentally on their level is
not more impossible than for these aborigines to be perfectly open, as
children are, towards the white. Whatever subject the stranger within
their gates exhibits an interest in, that they will be reticent about;
and their reticence, which conceals itself under easily invented lies
or an affected stupidity, invariably increases with his desire for
information. It was plain to them that some very unusual interest took
me to the wood; consequently I could not expect that they would tell
me anything they might know to enlighten me about the matter; and I
concluded that Kua-ko's words about the daughter of the Didi, and what
she would do if he blew an arrow at a bird, had accidentally escaped
him in a moment of excitement. Nothing, therefore, was to be gained
by questioning them, or, at all events, by telling them how much
the subject attracted me. And I had nothing to fear; my independent
investigations had made this much clear to me; the voice might proceed
from a very frolicsome and tricksy creature, full of wild fantastic
humours, but nothing worse. It was friendly to me, I felt sure; at the
same time it might not be friendly towards the Indians; for, on that
day, it had made itself heard only after my companion had taken flight;
and it had then seemed incensed against me, possibly because the savage
had been in my company.

That was the result of my reflections on the day's events when I
returned to my entertainer's roof and sat down among my friends to
refresh myself with stewed fowl and fish from the household pot, into
which a hospitable woman invited me with a gesture to dip my fingers.

Kua-ko was lying in his hammock, smoking, I think--certainly not
reading. When I entered he lifted his head and stared at me, probably
surprised to see me alive, unharmed, and in a placid temper. I laughed
at the look, and, somewhat disconcerted, he dropped his head down again.
After a minute or two I took the metal match-box and tossed it on to
his breast. He clutched it and, starting up, stared at me in the utmost
astonishment. He could scarcely believe his good fortune; for he had
failed to carry out his part of the compact and had resigned himself to
the loss of the coveted prize. Jumping down to the floor, he held up the
box triumphantly, his joy overcoming the habitual stolid look; while all
the others gathered about him, each trying to get the box into his own
hands to admire it again, notwithstanding that they had all seen it a
dozen times before. But it was Kua-ko's now and not the stranger's, and
therefore more nearly their own than formerly, and must look different,
more beautiful, with a brighter polish on the metal. And that wonderful
enamelled cock on the lid--figured in Paris probably, but just like a
cock in Guayana, the pet bird which they no more think of killing and
eating than we do our purring pussies and lemon-coloured canaries--must
now look more strikingly valiant and cock-like than ever, with its
crimson comb and wattles, burnished red hackles, and dark green arching
tail-plumes. But Kua-ko, while willing enough to have it admired and
praised, would not let it out of his hands, and told them pompously that
it was not theirs for them to handle, but his--Kua-ko's--for all time;
that he had won it by accompanying me--valorous man that he was!--to
that evil wood into which they--timid, inferior creatures that they
were!--would never have ventured to set foot. I am not translating his
words, but that was what he gave them to understand pretty plainly, to
my great amusement.

After the excitement was over, Runi, who had maintained a dignified
calm, made some roundabout remarks, apparently with the object of
eliciting an account of what I had seen and heard in the forest of
evil fame. I replied carelessly that I had seen a great many birds and
monkeys--monkeys so tame that I might have procured one if I had had
a blow-pipe, in spite of my never having practiced shooting with that
weapon.

It interested them to hear about the abundance and tameness of the
monkeys, although it was scarcely news; but how tame they must have been
when I, the stranger not to the manner born--not naked, brown-skinned,
lynx-eyed, and noiseless as an owl in his movements--had yet been able
to look closely at them! Runi only remarked, apropos of what I had told
him, that they could not go there to hunt; then he asked me if I feared
nothing.

"Nothing," I replied carelessly. "The things you fear hurt not the white
man and are no more than this to me," saying which I took up a little
white wood-ash in my hand and blew it away with my breath. "And against
other enemies I have this," I added, touching my revolver. A brave
speech, just after that araguato episode; but I did not make it without
blushing--mentally.

He shook his head, and said it was a poor weapon against some enemies;
also--truly enough--that it would procure no birds and monkeys for the
stew-pot.

Next morning my friend Kua-ko, taking his zabatana, invited me to go out
with him, and I consented with some misgivings, thinking he had overcome
his superstitious fears and, inflamed by my account of the abundance
of game in the forest, intended going there with me. The previous day's
experience had made me think that it would be better in the future to
go there alone. But I was giving the poor youth more credit than he
deserved: it was far from his intention to face the terrible unknown
again. We went in a different direction, and tramped for hours through
woods where birds were scarce and only of the smaller kinds. Then my
guide surprised me a second time by offering to teach me to use the
zabatana. This, then, was to be my reward for giving him the box! I
readily consented, and with the long weapon, awkward to carry, in my
hand, and imitating the noiseless movements and cautious, watchful
manner of my companion, I tried to imagine myself a simple Guayana
savage, with no knowledge of that artificial social state to which I had
been born, dependent on my skill and little roll of poison-darts for
a livelihood. By an effort of the will I emptied myself of my life
experience and knowledge--or as much of it as possible--and thought
only of the generations of my dead imaginary progenitors, who had ranged
these woods back to the dim forgotten years before Columbus; and if the
pleasure I had in the fancy was childish, it made the day pass quickly
enough. Kua-ko was constantly at my elbow to assist and give advice; and
many an arrow I blew from the long tube, and hit no bird. Heaven knows
what I hit, for the arrows flew away on their wide and wild career to
be seen no more, except a few which my keen-eyed comrade marked to their
destination and managed to recover. The result of our day's hunting was
a couple of birds, which Kua-ko, not I, shot, and a small opossum his
sharp eyes detected high up a tree lying coiled up on an old nest, over
the side of which the animal had incautiously allowed his snaky tail
to dangle. The number of darts I wasted must have been a rather serious
loss to him, but he did not seem troubled at it, and made no remark.

Next day, to my surprise, he volunteered to give me a second lesson, and
we went out again. On this occasion he had provided himself with a
large bundle of darts, but--wise man!--they were not poisoned, and it
therefore mattered little whether they were wasted or not. I believe
that on this day I made some little progress; at all events, my teacher
remarked that before long I would be able to hit a bird. This made me
smile and answer that if he could place me within twenty yards of a bird
not smaller than a small man I might manage to touch it with an arrow.

This speech had a very unexpected and remarkable effect. He stopped
short in his walk, stared at me wildly, then grinned, and finally burst
into a roar of laughter, which was no bad imitation of the howling
monkey's performance, and smote his naked thighs with tremendous energy.
At length recovering himself, he asked whether a small woman was not
the same as a small man, and being answered in the affirmative, went off
into a second extravagant roar of laughter.

Thinking it was easy to tickle him while he continued in this mood, I
began making any number of feeble jokes--feeble, but quite as good as
the one which had provoked such outrageous merriment--for it amused
me to see him acting in this unusual way. But they all failed of their
effect--there was no hitting the bull's-eye a second time; he would only
stare vacantly at me, then grunt like a peccary--not appreciatively--and
walk on. Still, at intervals he would go back to what I had said about
hitting a very big bird, and roar again, as if this wonderful joke was
not easily exhausted.

Again on the third day we were out together practicing at the
birds--frightening if not killing them; but before noon, finding that it
was his intention to go to a distant spot where he expected to meet
with larger game, I left him and returned to the village. The blow-pipe
practice had lost its novelty, and I did not care to go on all day
and every day with it; more than that, I was anxious after so long an
interval to pay a visit to my wood, as I began to call it, in the hope
of hearing that mysterious melody which I had grown to love and to miss
when even a single day passed without it.

 Returning several times to the forest, Abel is gradually convinced that "the bird or being" follows him during each of the visits. He concludes that the Indians may know more about this mystery than they have revealed. Offering Kua-ko his metal match-box in return for the native's services as a guide through the woodland, Abel is at first spurned by the frightened Indian. Kua-ko, however, cannot resist the offer for long and so he accompanies Abel to the forest. Although Kua-ko takes along his zabatana, a long tube from which the Indians blow poisoned arrows, the young brave refuses to kill any game within the boundaries of the forbidden forest. He explains accidentally to Abel that "the daughter of the Didi," who dwells among the trees, would throw the poisoned dart back at him. Abel, although he laughs at this explanation, understands that he has become involved in a greater mystery. Kua-ko's alarmed behavior and abrupt silence confirm Abel's impression. Overcome by his fears, Kua-ko suddenly bolts from Abel's side and flees as fast as he can in the direction of the Indian village. Alone, Abel suddenly hears the mysterious creature nearby; he is completely bewildered by the apparently human emotions conveyed by the beautiful melodies of what he now calls "being, not bird." There is anger or resentment in the voice although Abel also feels that the creature is kindly disposed toward the young man's presence in the woodland. But Abel, like Kua-ko, begins to be overwhelmed by the imaginary terrors of the vast forest and by his own isolated situation. The suspense is broken when Abel finds himself in the surroundings of araguatos, or howling monkeys, who terrify him at first and then amuse him later with their antics and "unparalleled vocal powers." When the woodland voice becomes silent, Abel goes back calmly to the Parahuari village. After reflecting on his latest adventures, Abel enters the encampment of his hosts more confidently because he is now sure that the creature in the woods is friendly toward him and unfriendly toward the Indians. Runi and Kua-ko, obviously curious about their guest's impressions and experiences, conceal their desire to find out the truth. Nevertheless, they question Abel as slyly as possible; his report about the tame araguatos amaze the Indians who have never observed the howling monkeys at such close range. Runi, in fact, admits that the Indians never go to the forest to hunt despite the abundant game there. Abel impresses Kua-ko by giving the savage the match-box despite the fact that the Indian did not earn his prize. Kua-ko, in turn, surprises Abel by starting to teach the white man the use of the zabatana. When Abel becomes somewhat proficient in the use of the deadly weapon, Kua-ko eagerly agrees with his pupil that the latter might be able to shoot within twenty yards "a bird not smaller than a small man." Kua-ko, laughing heartily, puzzles Abel by inquiring "whether a small woman was not the same as a small man." Becoming curious once again about the "mysterious melody," Abel prepares to pay another visit to the forest, but he is determined to go alone from now on. While Abel is out with Kua-ko for further practice with the zabatana, he makes an excuse and returns to the village to ward off any suspicion before going into the woodland.

