should probably escape a lingering and far more painful death, I

dropped into the cloud of foliage beneath me and clutched
desperately at the twigs as I fell. For a moment I felt myself

sustained; but branch after branch gave way beneath my weight,
and then I only remember, very dimly, a swift flight through the

air before losing consciousness.
CHAPTER VII

With the return of consciousness, I at first had a vague
impression that I was lying somewhere, injured, and incapable of

motion; that it was night, and necessary for me to keep my eyes
fast shut to prevent them from being blinded by almost continuous

vivid flashes of lightning. Injured, and sore all over, but warm
and dry--surely dry; nor was it lightning that dazzled, but

firelight. I began to notice things little by little. The fire
was burning on a clay floor a few feet from where I was lying.

Before it, on a log of wood, sat or crouched a human figure. An
old man, with chin on breast and hands clasped before his

drawn-up knees; only a small portion of his forehead and nose
visible to me. An Indian I took him to be, from his coarse,

lank, grey hair and dark brown skin. I was in a large hut,
falling at the sides to within two feet of the floor; but there

were no hammocks in it, nor bows and spears, and no skins, not
even under me, for I was lying on straw mats. I could hear the

storm still raging outside; the rush and splash of rain, and, at
intervals, the distant growl of thunder. There was wind, too; I

listened to it sobbing in the trees, and occasionally a puff
found its way in, and blew up the white ashes at the old man's

feet, and shook the yellow flames like a flag. I remembered now
how the storm began, the wild girl, the snake-bite, my violent

efforts to find a way out of the woods, and, finally, that leap
from the bank where recollection ended. That I had not been

killed by the venomous tooth, nor the subsequentfearful fall,
seemed like a miracle to me. And in that wild, solitary place,

lying insensible, in that awful storm and darkness, I had been
found by a fellow creature--a savage, doubtless, but a good

Samaritan all the same--who had rescued me from death! I was
bruised all over and did not attempt to move, fearing the pain it

would give me; and I had a racking headache; but these seemed
trifling discomforts after such adventures and such perils. I

felt that I had recovered or was recovering from that venomous
bite; that I would live and not die--live to return to my

country; and the thought filled my heart to overflowing, and
tears of gratitude and happiness rose to my eyes.

At such times a man experiences benevolent feelings, and would
willingly bestow some of that overplus of happiness on his

fellows to lighten other hearts; and this old man before me, who
was probably the instrument of my salvation, began greatly to

excite my interest and compassion. For he seemed so poor in his
old age and rags, so solitary and dejected as he sat there with

knees drawn up, his great, brown, bare feet looking almost black
by contrast with the white wood-ashes about them! What could I

do for him? What could I say to cheer his spirits in that Indian
language, which has few or no words to express kindly feelings?

Unable to think of anything better to say, I at length suddenly
cried aloud: "Smoke, old man! Why do you not smoke? It is good

to smoke."
He gave a mighty start and, turning, fixed his eyes on me. Then

I saw that he was not a pure Indian, for although as brown as old
leather, he wore a beard and moustache. A curious face had this

old man, which looked as if youth and age had made it a
battling-ground. His forehead was smooth except for two parallel

lines in the middle running its entire length, dividing it in
zones; his arched eyebrows were black as ink, and his small black

eyes were bright and cunning, like the eyes of some wild
carnivorous animal. In this part of his face youth had held its

own, especially in the eyes, which looked young and lively. But
lower down age had conquered, scribbling his skin all over with

wrinkles, while moustache and beard were white as thistledown.
"Aha, the dead man is alive again!" he exclaimed, with a

chuckling laugh. This in the Indian tongue; then in Spanish he
added: "But speak to me in the language you know best, senor; for

if you are not a Venezuelan call me an owl."
"And you, old man?" said I.

"Ah, I was right! Why sir what I am is plainly written on my
face.

Surely you do not take me for a pagan! I might be a black man
from Africa, or an Englishman, but an Indian--that, no! But a

minute ago you had the goodness to invite me to smoke. How, sir,
can a poor man smoke who is without tobacco?"

"Without tobacco--in Guayana!"
"Can you believe it? But, sir, do not blame me; if the beast

that came one night and destroyed my plants when ripe for cutting
had taken pumpkins and sweet potatoes instead, it would have been

better for him, if curses have any effect. And the plant grows
slowly, sir--it is not an evil weed to come to maturity in a

single day. And as for other leaves in the forest, I smoke them,
yes; but there is no comfort to the lungs in such smoke."

"My tobacco-pouch was full," I said. "You will find it in my
coat, if I did not lose it."

"The saints forbid!" he exclaimed. "Grandchild--Rima, have you
got a tobacco-pouch with the other things? Give it to me."

Then I first noticed that another person was in the hut, a slim
young girl, who had been seated against the wall on the other

side of the fire, partially hid by the shadows. She had my
leather belt, with the revolver in its case, and my hunting-knife

attached, and the few articles I had had in my pockets, on her
lap. Taking up the pouch, she handed it to him, and he clutched

it with a strange eagerness.
"I will give it back presently, Rima," he said. "Let me first

smoke a cigarette--and then another."
It seemed probable from this that the good old man had already

been casting covetous eyes on my property, and that his
granddaughter had taken care of it for me. But how the silent,

demure girl had kept it from him was a puzzle, so intensely did
he seem now to enjoy it, drawing the smoke vigorously into his

lungs and, after keeping it ten or fifteen seconds there, letting
it fly out again from mouth and nose in blue jets and clouds.

His face softened visibly, he became more and more genial and
loquacious, and asked me how I came to be in that solitary place.

I told him that I was staying with the Indian Runi, his
neighbour.

"But, senor," he said, "if it is not an impertinence, how is it
that a young man of so distinguished an appearance as yourself, a

Venezuelan, should be residing with these children of the devil?"
"You love not your neighbours, then?"

"I know them, sir--how should I love them?" He was rolling up
his second or third cigarette by this time, and I could not helD

noticing that he took a great deal more tobacco than he required
in his fingers, and that the surplus on each occasion was

conveyed to some secret receptacle among his rags. "Love them,
sir! They are infidels, and therefore the good Christian must

only hate them. They are thieves--they will steal from you before
your very face, so devoid are they of all shame. And also

murderers; gladly would they burn this poor thatch above my head,
and kill me and my poor grandchild, who shares this solitary life

with me, if they had the courage. But they are all arrant
cowards, and fear to approach me--fear even to come into this

wood. You would laugh to hear what they are afraid of--a child