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" target="_blank" title="ad.狡猾地；精巧地">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 purelysuperstitious 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 shrilllaughter-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 woodlandsolitude. 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,