Cover

"BRAWN ... DASHED ON TO THE RESCUE"

In Far Bolivia

A Story of a Strange Wild Land

BY

DR. GORDON STABLES, R.N.

Author of "'Twixt School and College" "The Hermit Hunter of the Wilds"

"The Naval Cadet" "Kidnapped by Cannibals" &c.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. FINNEMORE, R.I.

BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED

LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY

1901

TO

MARIE CONNOR LEIGHTON

(NOVELIST AND CRITIC)

THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED

EVERY KINDLY WISH

BY

THE AUTHOR

PREFACE

Every book should tell its own story without the aid of "preface" or "introduction". But as in this tale I have broken fresh ground, it is but right and just to my reader, as well as to myself, to mention prefatorially that, as far as descriptions go, both of the natives and the scenery of Bolivia and the mighty Amazon, my story is strictly accurate.

I trust that Chapter XXIII, giving facts about social life in La Paz and Bolivia, with an account of that most marvellous of all sheets of fresh water in the known world, Lake Titicaca, will be found of general interest.

But vast stretches of this strange wild land of Bolivia are a closed book to the world, for they have never yet been explored; nor do we know aught of the tribes of savages who dwell therein, as far removed from civilization and from the benign influence of Christianity as if they were inhabitants of another planet. I have ventured to send my heroes to this land of the great unknown, and have at the same time endeavoured to avoid everything that might border on sensationalism.

In conclusion, my boys, if spared I hope to take you out with me again to Bolivia in another book, and together we may have stranger adventures than any I have yet told.

THE AUTHOR.

————

CONTENTS

————

ILLUSTRATIONS

["Brawn ... dashed on to the rescue"] . . . . . . Frontispiece

["Brawn sprang at once upon his man"]

["She ... held her at arm's-length"]

["Fire low, lads ... don't waste a shot!"]

IN FAR BOLIVIA

[CHAPTER I--ON THE BANKS OF THE GREAT AMAZON]

Miles upon miles from the banks of the mighty river, had you wandered far away in the shade of the dark forest that clothed the valleys and struggled high over the mountain-tops themselves, you would have heard the roar and the boom of that great buzz-saw.

As early as six of a morning it would start, or soon after the sun, like a huge red-hot shot, had leapt up from his bed in the glowing east behind the greenery of the hills and woods primeval.

To a stranger coming from the south towards the Amazon--great queen of all the rivers on earth--and not knowing he was on the borders of civilization, the sound that the huge saw made would have been decidedly alarming.

He would have stopped and listened, and listening, wondered. No menagerie of wild beasts could have sent forth a noise so loud, so strange, so persistent! Harsh and low at times, as its great teeth tore through the planks of timber, it would change presently into a dull but dreadful basso profundo, such as might have been emitted by antediluvian monsters in the agonies of death or torture, rising anon into a shrill howl or shriek, then subsiding once again into a steady grating roar, that seemed to shake the very earth.

Wild beasts in this black forest heard the sounds, and crept stealthily away to hide themselves in their caves and dens; caymans or alligators heard them too, as they basked in the morning sunshine by lakelet or stream--heard them and crawled away into caves, or took to the water with a sullen plunge that caused the finny inhabitants to dart away in terror to every point of the compass.

"Up with the tree, lads. Feed him home," cried Jake Solomons loudly but cheerily. "Our pet is hungry this morning. I say, Bill, doesn't she look a beauty. Ever see such teeth, and how they shine, too, in the red sunlight. Guess you never did, Bill. I say, what chance would the biggest 'gator that ever crawled have with Betsy here. Why, if Betsy got one tooth in his hide she'd have fifty before you could say 'Jerusalem', and that 'gator'd be cut in two. Tear away, Betsy! Grind and groan and growl, my lass! Have your breakfast, my little pet; why, your voice is sweetest music to my ear. I say, Bill, don't the saw-dust fly a few? I should smile!

"But see," he continued, "yonder come the darkies with our matutinal. Girls and boys with baskets, and I can see the steam curling up under Chloe's arm from the great flagon she is carrying! Look how her white eyes roll, and her white teeth shine as she smiles her six-inch smile! Good girl is Chloe. She knows we're hungry, and that we'll welcome her. Wo, now, Betsy! Let the water off, Bill. Betsy has had her snack, and so we'll have ours."

There was quietness now o'er hill and dell and forest-land.

And this tall Yankee, Jake Solomons, who was fully arrayed in cotton shirt and trousers, his brown arms bare to the shoulder, stretched his splendidly knit but spare form with a sort of a yawn.

"Heigho, Bill!" he said. "I'm pining for breakfast. Aren't you?"

"That I am," replied Burly Bill with his broadest grin.

Jake ran to the open side of the great saw-mill. Three or four strides took him there.

"Ah! Good-morning, Chloe, darling! Morning, Keemo! Morning, Kimo!"

"Mawning, sah!" This was a chorus.

"All along dey blessed good-foh-nuffin boys I no come so queeck," said Chloe.

"Stay, stay, Chloe," cried Jake, "never let your angry passions rise. 'Sides, Chloe, I calculate such language ain't half-proper. But how glittering your cheeks are, Chloe, how white your teeth! There! you smile again. And that vermilion blouse sets off your dark complexion to a nicety, and seems just made for it. Chloe, I would kiss you, but the fear of making Bill jealous holds me back."

Burly Bill shook with laughter. Bill was well named the Burly. Though not so tall as Jake, his frame was immense, though perhaps there was a little more adipose tissue about it than was necessary in a climate like this. But Bill's strength was wonderful. See him, axe in hand, at the foot of a tree! How the chips fly! How set and determined the man's face, while the great beads of sweat stand like pearls on his brow!

Burly Bill was a white man turned black. You couldn't easily have guessed his age. Perhaps he was forty, but at twenty, when still in England, Bill was supple and lithe, and had a skin as white as a schoolboy's. But he had got stouter as the years rolled on, and his face tanned and tanned till it tired of tanning, and first grew purple, and latterly almost black. The same with those hirsute bare arms of his.

There was none of the wild "Ha! ha!" about Bill's laughter. It was a sort of suppressed chuckle, that agitated all his anatomy, the while his merry good-natured eyes sought shelter behind his cheeks' rotundity.

Under a great spreading tree the two men laid themselves down, and Chloe spread their breakfast on a white cloth between them, Jake keeping up his fire of chaff and sweet nothings while she did so. Keemo and Kimo, and the other "good-foh-nuffin boys" had brought their morning meal to the men who fed the great buzz-saw.

"Ah, Chloe!" said Jake, "the odour of that coffee would bring the dead to life, and the fish and the beef and the butter, Chloe! Did you do all this yourself?"

"All, sah, I do all. De boys jes' kick about de kitchen and do nuffin."

"Dear tender-eyed Chloe! How clever you are! Guess you won't be so kind to me when you and I get spliced, eh?"

"Ah sah! you no care to marry a poor black gal like Chloe! Dere is a sweet little white missie waiting somew'eres foh Massa Jake. I be your maid, and shine yo' boots till all de samee's Massa Bill's cheek foh true."

As soon as Chloe with her "good-foh-nuffin boys" had cleared away the breakfast things, and retired with a smile and saucy toss of her curly poll, the men lay back and lit their pipes.

"She's a bright intelligent girl that," said Jake. "I don't want a wife or--but I say, Bill, why don't you marry her? I guess she'd make ye a tip-topper."

"Me! Is it marry?"

Burly Bill held back his head and chuckled till he well-nigh choked.

Honest Bill's ordinary English showed that he came from the old country, and more particularly from the Midlands. But Bill could talk properly enough when he pleased, as will soon be seen.

He smoked quietly enough for a time, but every now and then he felt constrained to take his meerschaum from his mouth and give another chuckle or two.

"Tchoo-hoo-hoo!" he laughed. "Me marry! And marry Chloe! Tchoo-hoo-hoo!"

"To change the subject, William," said Jake, "seein' as how you've pretty nearly chuckled yourself silly, or darned near it, how long have you left England?"

"W'y, I coom over with Mr. St. Clair hisse'f, and Roland w'y he weren't more'n seven. Look at 'e now, and dear little Peggy, 'is sister by adoption as ever was, weren't a month over four. Now Rolly 'e bees nigh onto fifteen, and Peggy--the jewel o' the plantation--she's goin' on for twelve, and main tall for that. W'y time do fly! Don't she, Jake?"

"Well, I guess I've been here five years, and durn me if I want to leave. Could we have a better home? I'd like to see it. I'd smile a few odd ones. But listen, why here comes the young 'uns!"

There was the clatter of ponies' feet, and next minute as handsome a boy as ever sat in saddle, and as pretty and bright a lassie as you could wish to meet, galloped into the clearing, and reined up their spirited little steeds close to the spot where the men were lounging.

Burly Bill stuck his thumb into the bowl of his meerschaum to put it out, and Jake threw his pipe on the bank.

Roland was tall for his age, like Peggy. But while a mass of fair and irrepressible hair curled around the boy's sun-burned brow, Peggy's hair was straight and black. When she rode fast it streamed out behind her like pennons in the breeze. What a bright and sunny face was hers too! There was ever a happy smile about her red lips and dark eyes.

"You've got to begin to smoke again immediately," said the boy.

"No, no, Master Roland, not in the presence of your sister."

"But," cried Peggy, with a pretty show of pomposity, "I command you!"

"Ah, then, indeed!" said Jake; and soon both men were blowing clouds that made the very mosquitoes change their quarters.

"Father'll be up soon, riding on Glancer. This nag threw Father, coming home last night. Mind, Glancer is seventeen hands and over."

"He threw him?"

"That he did, in the moonlight. Scared at a 'gator. Father says he heard the 'gator's great teeth snapping and thought he was booked. But lo! Jake, at that very moment Glancer struck out with both hind-legs--you know how he is shod. He smashed the 'gator's skull, and the beast turned up his yellow belly to the moon."

"Bravo!"

"Then Father mounted mighty Glancer and rode quietly home.

"Peggy and I," he continued, "have ridden along the bank to the battlefield to hold a coroner's inquest on the 'gator, but he's been hauled away by his relations. I suppose they'll make potato soup of him."

Burly Bill chuckled.

"Well, Peggy and I are off. See you in the evening, Jake. By-by!"

And away they rode, like a couple of wild Indians, followed by a huge Irish wolf-hound, as faithful a dog to his mistress--for he was Peggy's own pet--as ever dog could be.

They were going to have a day in the forest, and each carried a short six-chambered rifle at the saddle.

A country like the wild one in which they dwelt soon makes anyone brave and fearless. They meant to ride quite a long way to-day and not return till the sun began to decline in the far and wooded west. So, being already quite an old campaigner, Roland had not forgotten to bring luncheon with him, and some for bold Brawn also.

Into the forest they dashed, leaving the mighty river, which was there about fifteen miles broad probably, in their rear.

They knew every pathway of that primeval woodland, and it mattered but little to them that most of these had been worn by the feet of wild beasts. Such tracks wind out and in, and in and out, and meet others in the most puzzling and labyrinthine manner.

Roland carried a compass, and knew how to use it, but the day was unusually fine and sunny, so there was little chance of their getting lost.

The country in which they lived might well have been called the land of perpetual summer.

But at some spots the forest was so pitchy dark, owing to the overhanging trees and wild flowering creepers, that they had to rein up and allow Coz and Boz, as their ponies were named, to cautiously feel the way for themselves.

How far away they might have ridden they could not themselves tell, had they not suddenly entered a kind of fairy glade. At one side it was bounded by a crescentic formation of rock, from the very centre of which spouted a tiny clear crystal waterfall. Beneath was a deep pool, the bottom of which was sand and yellow shingle, with here and there a patch of snow-white quartz. And away from this a little stream went meandering slowly through the glade, keeping it green.

On the other side were the lordly forest trees, bedraped with flowering orchids and ferns.

Flowers and ferns grew here and there in the rockface itself. No wonder the young folks gazed around them in delighted wonder.

Brawn was more practical. He cared nothing for the flowers, but enjoyed to the fullest extent the clear cool water of the crystal pool.

"Oh, isn't it lovely?" said Roland.

"And oh, I am so hungry, Rolly!"

Rolly took the hint.

The ponies were let loose to graze, Brawn being told to head them off if they attempted to take to the woods.

"I understand," said Brawn, with an intelligent glance of his brown eyes and wag of his tail.

Then down the boy and girl squatted with the noble wolf-hound beside them, and Roland speedily spread the banquet on the moss.

I dare say that hunger and romance seldom tread the same platform--at the same time, that is. It is usually one down, the other up; and notwithstanding the extraordinary beauty of their surroundings, for some time both boy and girl applied themselves assiduously to the discussion of the good things before them; that meat-pie disappearing as if by magic. Then the hard-boiled eggs, the well-buttered and flouriest of floury scones, received their attention, and the whole was washed down with vinum bovis, as Roland called it, cow's wine, or good milk.

Needless to say, Brawn, whose eyes sparkled like diamonds, and whose ears were conveniently erect, came in for a good share.

Well, but the ponies, Boz and Coz, had not the remotest idea of running away. In fact they soon drew near to the banqueting-table. Coz laid his nose affectionately on his little mistress's shoulder and heaved an equine sigh, and Boz began to nibble at Roland's ears in a very winning way.

And the nibbling and the sigh brought them cakes galore.

Roland offered Boz a bit of pie.

The pony drew back, as if to say, "Vegetarians, weren't you aware?"

But Brawn cocked his bonnie head to one side, knowingly.

"Pitch it this way, master," he said. "I've got a crop for any kind of corn, and a bag for peas."

A strange little rodent creature, much bigger than any rat, however, with beautiful sad-looking eyes, came from the bush, and stood on its hind-legs begging, not a yard away. Its breast was as white as snow.

Probably it had no experience of the genus homo, and all the cruelties he is guilty of, under the title of sport.

Roland pitched several pieces of pie towards the innocent. It just tasted a morsel, then back it ran towards the wood with wondrous speed.

If they thought they had seen the last of it, they were much mistaken, for the innocent returned in two minutes time, accompanied not only by another of his own size, but by half a dozen of the funniest little fairies ever seen inside a forest.

"My wife and children," said innocent No. 1.

"My services to you," bobbed innocent No. 2.

But the young ones squawked and squealed, and tumbled and leapt over each other as they fed in a manner so droll that boy and girl had to laugh till the woods rang.

Innocent No. 1 looked on most lovingly, but took not a morsel to himself.

Then all disappeared as suddenly as they had come.

Truly the student of Nature who betakes himself to lonely woods sees many wonders!

It was time now to lie back in the moss and enjoy the dolce far niente.

The sky was as blue as blue could be, all between the rifts of slowly-moving clouds. The whisper of the wind among the forest trees, and the murmur of the falling water, came like softest music to Roland's ears. Small wonder, therefore, that his eyes closed, and he was soon in the land of sweet forgetfulness.

But Peggy had a tiny book, from which she read passages to Brawn, who seemed all attention, but kept one eye on the ponies at the same time.

It was a copy of the "Song of Hiawatha", a poem which Peggy thought ineffably lovely. Hark to her sweet girl voice as she reads:

"These songs so wild and wayward,

These legends and traditions".

They appealed to her simple soul, for dearly did she love the haunts of Nature.

"Loved the sunshine of the meadow,

Loved the shadow of the forest,

Loved the wind among the branches,

The rushing of great rivers

Through their palisades of pine-trees."

She believed, too:

"That even in savage bosoms

There are longings, yearnings, strivings

For the good they comprehend not;

That feeble hands and helpless,

Groping blindly in the darkness,

Touch God's right hand...

And are lifted up and strengthened".

————

Roland slumbered quietly, and the day went on apace.

He slept so peacefully that she hardly liked to arouse him.

The little red book dropped from her hand and fell on the moss, and her thoughts now went far, far away adown the mighty river that flows so sadly, so solemnly onwards to the great Atlantic Ocean, fed on its way by a hundred rapid streams that melt in its dark bosom and are seen nevermore.

But it was not the river itself the little maiden's thoughts were dwelling on; not the strange wild birds that sailed along its surface on snow-white wings; not the birds of prey--the eagle and the hawk--that hovered high in air, or with eldritch screams darted on their prey like bolts from the blue, and bore their bleeding quarries away to the silent forest; not even the wealth of wild flowers that nodded over the banks of the mighty stream.

Her thoughts were on board a tall and darksome raft that was slowly making its way seaward to distant Pará, or in the boats that towed it. For there was someone on the raft or in those boats who even then might be fondly thinking of the dark-haired maiden he had left behind.

But Peggy's awakening from her dream of romance, and Roland's from his slumber, was indeed a terrible one.

[CHAPTER II--STRANGE ADVENTURES IN THE FOREST--LOST!]

Fierce eyes had been watching the little camp for an hour and more, glaring out on the sunny glade from the dark depths of a forest tree not far off; out from under a cloudland of waving foliage that rustled in the balmy wind. Watching, and watching unwaveringly, Peggy, while she read; watching the sleeping Roland; the great wolf-hound, Brawn; and watching the ponies too.

Ever and anon these last would come closer to the tree, as they nibbled grass or moss, then those fierce eyes burned more fiercely, and the cat-like tail of a monster jaguar moved uneasily as if the wild beast meditated a spring.

But the ponies, sniffing danger in the air, perhaps--who can tell?--would toss their manes and retreat to the shadow of the rocks.

Had the dog not been there the beast would have dared all, and sprung at once on one of those nimble steeds.

But he waited and watched, watched and waited, and at long last his time came. With a coughing roar he now launched himself into the air, the elasticity of the branch giving greater force to his spring.

Straight on the shoulders or back of poor Boz he alighted. His talons were well driven home, his white teeth were preparing to tear the flesh from the pony's neck.

Both little steeds yelled wildly, and in nightmarish terror.

Up sprang Brawn, the wolf-hound, and dashed on to the rescue.

Peggy seized her loaded rifle and hurried after him.

Thoroughly awake now, and fully cognizant of the terrible danger, Roland too was quickly on the scene of action.

To fire at a distance were madness. He might have missed the struggling lion and shot poor Boz, or even faithful Brawn.

This enormous dog had seized the beast by one hock, and with his paws against the pony was endeavouring to tear the monster off.

The noise, the movement, the terror, caused poor Roland's head to whirl.

He felt dazed, and almost stupid.

Ah! but Peggy was clear-headed, and a brave and fearless child was she.

Her feet seemed hardly to touch the moss, so lightly did she spring along.

Her little rifle was cocked and ready, and, taking advantage of a few seconds' lull in the fearful scrimmage, she fired at five yards' distance.

The bullet found billet behind the monster's ear, his grip relaxed, and now Brawn tore him easily from his perch and finished him off on the ground, with awful din and habbering.

Then, with blood-dripping jaws he came with his ears lower, half apologetically, to receive the praise and caresses of his master and mistress.

But though the adventure ended thus happily, frightened beyond measure, the ponies, Coz and Boz, had taken to the bush and disappeared.

Knowing well the danger of the situation, Roland and Peggy, with Brawn, tried to follow them. But Irish wolf-hounds have but little scent, and so they searched and searched in vain, and returned at last to the sun-kissed glade.

It was now well on towards three o'clock, and as they had a long forest stretch of at least ten miles before them ere they could touch the banks of the great queen of waters, Roland determined, with the aid of his compass, to strike at once into the beast-trodden pathway by which they had come, and make all haste homewards before the sun should set and darkness envelop the gloomy forest.

"Keep up your heart, Peggy; if your courage and your feet hold out we shall reach the river before dusk."

"I'm not so frightened now," said Peggy; but her lips were very tremulous, and tears stood in her eyes.

"Come, come," she cried, "let us hurry on! Come, Brawn, good dog!"

Brawn leapt up to lick her ear, and taking no thought for the skin of the jaguar, which in more favourable circumstances would have been borne away as a trophy, and proof of Peggy's valour, they now took to the bush in earnest.

Roland looked at his watch.

"Three hours of light and more. Ah! we can do it, if we do not lose our way."

So off they set.

Roland took the lead, rifle in hand, Peggy came next, and brave Brawn brought up the rear.

They were compelled to walk in single file, for the pathways were so narrow in places that two could not have gone abreast.

Roland made constant reference to his little compass, always assuring his companion that they were still heading directly for the river.

They had hurried on for nearly an hour, when Roland suddenly paused.

A huge dark monster had leapt clear and clean across the pathway some distance ahead, and taken refuge in a tree.

It was, no doubt, another jaguar, and to advance unannounced might mean certain death to one of the three.

"Are you all loaded, Peggy?" said Roland.

"Every chamber!" replied the girl.

There was no tremor about her now; and no backwoods Indian could have acted more coolly and courageously.

"Blaze away at that tree then, Peg."

Peggy opened fire, throwing in three or four shots in rapid succession.

The beast, with a terrible cry, darted out of the tree and came rushing along to meet and fight the little party.

"Down, Brawn, down! To heel, sir!"

Next moment Roland fired, and with a terrible shriek the jaguar took to the bush, wounded and bleeding, and was seen no more.

But his yells had awakened the echoes of the forest, and for more than five minutes the din of roaring, growling, and shrieking was fearful.

Wild birds, no doubt, helped to swell the pandemonium.

After a time, however, all was still once more, and the journey was continued in silence.

Even Peggy, usually the first to commence a conversation, felt in no mood for talking now.

She was very tired. Her feet ached, her brow was hot, and her eyes felt as if boiling in their sockets.

Roland had filled his large flask at the little waterfall before leaving the glade, and he now made her drink.

The draught seemed to renew her strength, and she struggled on as bravely as ever.

————

Just two and a half hours after they had left the forest clearing, and when Roland was holding out hopes that they should soon reach the road by the banks of the river, much to their astonishment they found themselves in a strange clearing which they had never seen before.

The very pathway ended here, and though the boy went round and round the circle, he could find no exit.

To retrace his steps and try to find out the right path was the first thought that occurred to Roland.

This plan was tried, but tried in vain, and so--weary and hopeless now beyond measure--they returned to the centre of the glade and threw themselves down on the soft green moss.

Lost! Lost!

The words kept repeating themselves in poor Roland's brain, but Peggy's fatigue was so complete that she preferred rest even in the midst of danger to going farther.

Brawn, heaving a great sigh, laid himself down beside them.

The warm day wore rapidly to a close, and at last the sun shimmered red through the forest trees.

Then it sank.

The briefest of twilight, and the stars shone out.

Two hours of starlight, then solemnly uprose the round moon and flooded all the glade, draping the whispering trees in a blue glare, beautifully etherealizing them.

Sorrow bringeth sleep.

"Good-night, Rolly! Say your prayers," murmured Peggy.

There were stars in the sky. There were stars too that flitted from bush to bush, while the winds made murmuring music among the lofty branches.

Peggy was repeating to herself lines that she had read that very day:

..."the firefly Wah-wah-tay-see,

Flitting through the dusk of evening,

With the twinkle of its candle,

Lighting up the brakes and bushes.

* * * * *

Wah-wah-tay-see, little firefly,

Little, flitting, white-fire insect,

Little dancing, white-fire creature,

Light me with your little candle.

Ere upon my bed I lay me,

Ere in sleep I close my eyelids."

————

The forest was unusually silent to-night, but ever and anon might be heard some distant growl showing that the woods sheltered the wildest beasts. Or an owl with mournful cry would flap its silent wings as it flew across the clearing.

But nothing waked those tired and weary sleepers.

So the night wore on and on. The moon had reached the zenith, and was shining now with a lustre that almost rivalled daylight itself.

It must have been well on towards two o'clock in the morning when Brawn emitted a low and threatening growl.

This aroused both Roland and Peggy, and the former at once seized his rifle.

Standing there in the pale moonlight, not twenty yards away, was a tall, dark-skinned, and powerful-looking Indian. In his right hand he held a spear or something resembling one; in his left a huge catapult or sling. He was dressed for comfort--certainly not for ornament. Leggings or galligaskins covered his lower extremities, while his body was wrapped in a blanket. He had no head-covering, save a matted mass of hair, in which were stuck a few feathers.

Roland took all this in at a glance as he seized his rifle and prepared for eventualities. According to the traditional painter of Indian life and customs the proper thing for this savage to have said is "Ugh!" He said nothing of the sort. Nor did he give vent to a whoop and yell that would have awakened the wild birds and beasts of the forest and every echo far and near.

"Who goes there?" cried Roland, raising his gun.

"No shootee. No shootee poor Indian man. I friendee you. Plenty friendee."

Probably there was a little romance about Roland, for, instead of saying: "Come this way then, old chap, squat down and give us the news," he said sternly:

"Advance, friend!"

But the Indian stood like a statue.

"No undahstandee foh true."

And Roland had to climb down and say simply:

"Come here, friend, and speak."

Brawn rushed forward now, but he looked a terror, for his hair was all on end like a hyena's, and he growled low but fiercely.

"Down, Brawn! It's a good man, Brawn."

Brawn smelt the Indian's hand, and, seeming satisfied, went back to the spot where Peggy sat wondering and frightened.

She gathered the great dog to her breast and hugged and kissed him.

"What foh you poh chillun sleepee all in de wood so? S'pose wild beas' come eatee you, w'at den you do?"

"But, friend," replied Roland, "we are far from Burnley Hall, our home, and we have lost everything. We have lost our ponies, lost our way, and lost ourselves."

"Poh chillun!" said this strange being. "But now go sleepee foh true. De Indian he lie on blanket. He watchee till de big sun rise."

"Can we trust him, Peggy?"

"Oh yes, yes!" returned Peggy. "He is a dear, good man; I know by his voice."

In ten minutes more the boy and girl were fast asleep.

The Indian watched.

And Brawn watched the Indian.

————

When the sun went down on the previous evening, and there were no signs of the young folks returning, both Mr. St. Clair and his wife became very uneasy indeed.

Then two long hours of darkness ensued before the moon sailed up, first reddening, then silvering, the wavelets and ripples on the great river.

"Surely some evil must have befallen them," moaned Mrs. St. Clair. "Oh, my Roland! my son! I may never see you more. Is there nothing can be done? Tell me! Tell me!"

"We must trust in Providence, Mary; and it is wrong to mourn. I doubt not the children are safe, although perhaps they have lost their way in the woods."

Hours of anxious waiting went by, and it was nearly midnight. The house was very quiet and still, for the servants were asleep.

Burly Bill and Jake had mounted strong horses at moonrise, and gone off to try to find a clue. But they knew it was in vain, nay, 'twould have been sheer madness to enter the forest now. They coo-eed over and over again, but their only answer was the echoing shriek of the wild birds.

They were just about to return after giving their last shrill coo-ee-ee, when out from the moonlit forest, with a fond whinny, sprang Coz and Boz.

Jake sprang out of his saddle, throwing his bridle to Bill.

In the bright moonlight, Jake could see at once that there was something wrong. He placed his hand on Boz's shoulder. He staggered back as he withdrew it.

"Oh, Bill," he cried, "here is blood, and the pony is torn and bleeding! Only a jaguar could have done this. This is terrible."

"Let us return at once," said Bill, who had a right soft heart of his own behind his burly chest.

"But oh!" he added, "how can we break the news to Roland's parents?"

"We'll give them hope. Mrs. St. Clair must know nothing yet, but at early dawn all the ranch must be aroused, and we shall search the forest for miles and miles."

————

Jake, after seeing the ponies safe in their stable, left Bill to look to Boz's wounds, while with St. Clair's leave he himself set off at a round gallop to get assistance from a neighbouring ranch.

Day had not yet broken ere forty good men and true were on the bridle-path and tearing along the river's banks. St. Clair himself was at their head.

I must leave the reader to imagine the joy of all the party when soon after sunrise there emerged from the forest, guided by the strange Indian, Roland, Peggy, and noble Brawn, all looking as fresh as the dew on the tender-eyed hibiscus bloom or the wild flowers that nodded by the river's brim.

"Wirr--rr--r--wouff, wouff, wouff!" barked Brawn, as he bounded forward with joy in every feature of his noble face, and I declare to you there seemed to be a lump in his throat, and the sound of his barking was half-hysterical.

St. Clair could not utter a word as he fondly embraced the children. He pretended to scold a little, but this was all bluff, and simply a ruse to keep back the tears.

But soft-hearted Burly Bill was less successful. He just managed to drop a little to the rear, and it was not once only that he was fain to draw the sleeve of his rough jacket across his eyes.

————

But now they are mounted, and the horses' heads are turned homewards. Peggy is seated in front of Burly Bill, of whom she is very fond, and Roland is saddled with Jake. The Indian and Brawn ran.

Poor Mrs. St. Clair, at the big lawn gate, gazing westward, sees the cavalcade far away on the horizon.

Presently, borne along on the morning breeze come voices raised in a brave and joyous song:

"Down with them, down with the lords of the forest".

And she knows her boy and Peggy are safe.

"Thank God for all his mercies!" she says fervently, then, woman-like, bursts into tears.

[CHAPTER III--BURNLEY HALL, OLD AND NEW]

I have noticed more than once that although the life-story of some good old families in England may run long stagnant, still, when one important event does take place, strange thing after strange thing may happen, and the story rushes on with heedless speed, like rippling brooklets to the sea.

The St. Clairs may have been originally a Scottish family, or branch of some Highland clan, but they had been settled on a beautiful estate, far away in the wilds of Cornwall, for over one hundred and fifty years.

Stay, though, we are not going back so far as that. Old history, like old parchment, has a musty odour. Let us come down to more modern times.

When, then, young Roland's grandfather died, and died intestate, the whole of the large estate devolved upon his eldest son, with its fat rentals of fully four thousand a-year. Peggy St. Clair, our little heroine, was his only child, and said to be, even in her infancy, the very image of her dead-and-gone mother.

No wonder her father loved her.

But soon the first great event happened in the life-story of the St. Clairs. For, one sad day Peggy's father was borne home from the hunting-field grievously wounded.

All hope of recovery was abandoned by the doctor shortly after he had examined his patient.

Were Herbert to die intestate, as his father had done, his second brother John, according to the old law, could have stepped into his shoes and become lord of Burnley Hall and all its broad acres.

But, alive to the peril of his situation, which the surgeon with tears in his eyes pointed out to him, the dying man sent at once for his solicitor, and a will was drawn up and placed in this lawyer's hands, and moreover he was appointed one of the executors. This will was to be kept in a safe until Peggy should be seventeen years of age, when it was to be opened and read.

I must tell you that between the brothers Herbert and John there had long existed a sort of blood-feud, and it was as well they never met.

Thomas, however, was quickly at his wounded brother's bedside, and never left it until--

"Clay-cold Death had closed his eye".

The surgeon had never given any hopes, yet during the week that intervened between the terrible accident and Herbert's death there were many hours in which the doomed man appeared as well as ever, though scarce able to move hand or foot. His mind was clear at such times, and he talked much with Thomas about the dear old times when all were young.

Up till now this youngest son and brother, Thomas, had led rather an uneasy and eventful life. Nothing prospered with him, though he had tried most things.

He was married, and had the one child, Roland, to whom the reader has already been introduced.

"Now, dear Tom," said Herbert, one evening after he had lain still with closed eyes for quite a long time, and he placed a white cold hand in that of his brother as he spoke, "I am going to leave you. We have always been good friends and loved each other well. All I need tell you now, and I tell you in confidence, is that Peggy, at the age of seventeen, will be my heir, with you, dear Tom, as her guardian."

Tom could not reply for the gathering tears. He just pressed Herbert's hand in silence.

"Well," continued the latter, "things have not gone over well with you, I know, but I have often heard you say you could do capitally if you emigrated to an almost new land--a land you said figuratively 'flowing with milk and honey'. I confess I made no attempt to assist you to go to the great valley of the Amazon. It was for a selfish reason I detained you. My brother John being nobody to me, my desire was to have you near."

He paused, almost exhausted, and Tom held a little cup of wine to his lips.

Presently he spoke again.

"My little Peggy!" he moaned. "Oh, it is hard, hard to leave my darling!

"Tom, listen. You are to take Peggy to your home. You are to care for her as the apple of your eye. You must be her father, your wife her mother."

"I will! I will! Oh, brother, can you doubt me!"

"No, no, Tom. And now you may emigrate. I leave you thirty thousand pounds, all my deposit account at Messrs. Bullion & Co.'s bank. This is for Peggy and you. My real will is a secret at present, and that which will be read after--I go, is a mere epitome. But in future it will be found that I have not forgotten even John."

Poor Peggy had run in just then, and perched upon the bed, wondering much that her father should lie there so pale and still, and make no attempt to romp with her. At this time her hair was as yellow as the first approach of dawn in the eastern sky.

————

That very week poor Squire St. Clair breathed his last.

John came to the funeral with a long face and a crape-covered hat, looking more like a mute than anything else.

He sipped his wine while the epitomized will was read; but a wicked light flashed from his eyes, and he ground out an oath at its conclusion.

All the information anyone received was that though sums varying from five hundred pounds to a thousand were left as little legacies to distant relations and to John, as well as douceurs to the servants, the whole of the estates were willed in a way that could not be divulged for many a long year.

John seized his hat, tore from it the crape, and dashed it on the floor. The crape on his arm followed suit. He trampled on both and strode away slamming the door behind him.

Years had flown away.

Tom and his wife had emigrated to the banks of the Amazon. They settled but a short time at or near one of its mouths, and then Tom, who had no lack of enterprise, determined to journey far, far into the interior, where the land was not so level, where mountains nodded to the moon, and giant forests stretched illimitably to the southward and west.

At first Tom and his men, with faithful Bill as overseer, were mere squatters, but squatters by the banks of the queen of waters, and in a far more lovely place than dreams of elfinland. Labour was very cheap here, and the Indians soon learned from the white men how to work.

Tom St. Clair had imported carpenters and artificers of many sorts from the old country, to say nothing of steam plant and machinery, and that great resounding steel buzz-saw.

Now, although not really extravagant, he had an eye for the beautiful, and determined to build himself a house and home that, although not costing a deal, would be in reality a miniature Burnley Hall. And what a truly joyous time Peggy and her cousin, or adopted brother, had of it while the house was gradually being built by the busy hands of the trained Indians and their white brethren!

Not they alone, but also a boy called Dick Temple, whose uncle was Tom St. Clair's nearest neighbour, That is, he lived a trifle over seven miles higher up the river. Dick was about the same age and build as Roland.

There was a good road between Temple's ranch and Tom St. Clair's place, and when, after a time, Tom and Peggy had a tutor imported for their own especial benefit, the two families became very friendly indeed.

Dick Temple was a well-set-up and really brave and good-looking lad. Little Peggy averred that there never had been, or never could be, another boy half so nice as Dick.

But I may as well state here at once and be done with it--Dick was simply a reckless, wild dare-devil. Nothing else would suffice to describe young Dick's character even at this early age. And he soon taught Roland to be as reckless as himself.

————

Time rolled on, and the new Burnley Hall was a fait accompli.

The site chosen by Tom for his home by the river was a rounded and wooded hill about a quarter of a mile back from the immediate bank of the stream. But all the land between the hill and the Amazon was cultivated, and not only this, but up and down the river as well for over a mile, for St. Clair wanted to avoid too close contact with unfriendly alligators, and these scaly reptiles avoid land on which crops are growing.

The tall trees were first and foremost cleared off the hill; not all though. Many of the most beautiful were left for effect, not to say shade, and it was pleasant indeed to hear the wind whispering through their foliage, and the bees murmuring in their branches, in this flowery land of eternal summer.

Nor was the undergrowth of splendid shrubs and bushes and fruit-trees cleared away. They were thinned, however, and beautiful broad winding walks led up through them towards the mansion.

The house was one of many gables; altogether English, built of quartz for the most part, and having a tower to it of great height.

From this tower one could catch glimpses of the most charming scenery, up and down the river, and far away on the other shore, where forests swam in the liquid air and giant hills raised their blue tops far into the sky.

So well had Tom St. Clair flourished since taking up his quarters here that his capital was returning him at least one hundred per cent, after allowing for wear and tear of plant.

I could not say for certain how many white men he had with him. The number must have been close on fifty, to say nothing of the scores and scores of Indians.

Jake Solomons and Burly Bill were his overseers, but they delighted in hard work themselves, as we have already seen. So, too, did Roland's father himself, and as visitors to the district were few, you may be certain he never wore a London hat nor evening dress.

Like those of Jake and Bill, his sleeves were always rolled up, and his muscular arms and brave square face showed that he was fit for anything. No, a London hat would have been sadly out of place; but the broad-brimmed Buffalo Bill he wore became him admirably.

That big buzz-saw was a triumph. The clearing of the forest commenced from close under the hill where stood the mansion, and strong horses and bullocks were used to drag the gigantic trees towards the mill.

Splendid timber it was!

No one could have guessed the age of these trees until they were cut down and sawn into lengths, when their concentric rings might be counted.

The saw-mill itself was a long way from the mansion-house, with the villages for the whites and Indians between, but quite separate from each other.

The habitations of the whites were raised on piles well above the somewhat damp ground, and steps led up to them. Two-roomed most of them were, but that of Jake was of a more pretentious character. So, too, was Burly Bill's hut.

It would have been difficult to say what the Indians lived on. Cakes, fruit, fish, and meat of any kind might form the best answer to the question. They ate roasted snakes with great relish, and many of these were of the deadly-poisonous class. The heads were cut off and buried first, however, and thus all danger was prevented. Young alligators were frequently caught, too, and made into a stew.

The huts these faithful creatures lived in were chiefly composed of bamboo, timber, and leaves. Sometimes they caught fire. That did not trouble the savages much, and certainly did not keep them awake at night. For, had the whole village been burned down, they could have built another in a surprisingly short time.

When our hero and heroine got lost in the great primeval forest, Burnley Hall was in the most perfect and beautiful order, and its walks, its flower-garden, and shrubberies were a most pleasing sight. All was under the superintendence of a Scotch gardener, whom St. Clair had imported for the purpose.

By this time, too, a very large portion of the adjoining forest had been cut down, and the land on which those lofty trees had grown was under cultivation.

If the country which St. Clair had made his home was not in reality a land flowing with milk and honey, it yielded many commodities equally valuable. Every now and then--especially when the river was more or less in flood--immense rafts were sent down stream to distant Pará, where the valuable timber found ready market.

Several white men in boats always went in charge of these, and the boats served to assist in steering, and towing as well.

These rafts used often to be built close to the river before an expected rising of the stream, which, when it did come, floated them off and away.

But timber was not the only commodity that St. Clair sent down from his great estate. There were splendid quinine-trees. There was coca and cocoa, too.

There was a sugar plantation which yielded the best results, to say nothing of coffee and tobacco, Brazil-nuts and many other kinds of nuts, and last, but not least, there was gold.

This latter was invariably sent in charge of a reliable white man, and St. Clair lived in hope that he would yet manage to position a really paying gold-mine.

More than once St. Clair had permitted Roland and Peggy to journey down to Pará on a great raft. But only at the season when no storms blew. They had an old Indian servant to cook and "do" for them, and the centre of the raft was hollowed out into a kind of cabin roofed over with bamboo and leaves. Steps led up from this on to a railed platform, which was called the deck.

Burly Bill would be in charge of boats and all, and in the evenings he would enter the children's cabin to sing them songs and tell them strange, weird tales of forest life.

He had a banjo, and right sweetly could he play. Old Beeboo the Indian, would invariably light his meerschaum for him, smoking it herself for a good five minutes first and foremost, under pretence of getting it well alight.

Beeboo, indeed, was altogether a character. Both Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair liked her very much, however, for she had been in the family, and nursed both Peggy and Roland, from the day they had first come to the country. As for her age, she might have been any age between five-and-twenty and one hundred and ten. She was dark in skin--oh, no! not black, but more of copper colour, and showed a few wrinkles at early morn. But when Beeboo was figged out in her nicest white frock and her deep-blue or crimson blouse, with her hair hanging down in two huge plaits, then, with the smile that always hovered around her lips and went dancing away up her face till it flickered about her eyes, she was very pleasant indeed. The wrinkles had all flown up to the moon or somewhere, and Beeboo was five-and-twenty once again.

I must tell you something, however, regarding her, and that is the worst. Beeboo came from a race of cannibals who inhabit one of the wildest and almost inaccessible regions of Bolivia, and her teeth had been filed by flints into a triangular shape, the form best adapted for tearing flesh. She had been brought thence, along with a couple of wonderful monkeys and several parrots, when only sixteen, by an English traveller who had intended to make her a present to his wife.

Beeboo never got as far as England, however. She had watched her chance, and one day escaped to the woods, taking with her one of the monkeys, who was an especial favourite with this strange, wild girl.

She was frequently seen for many years after this. It was supposed she had lived on roots and rats--I'm not joking--and slept at night in trees. She managed to clothe herself, too, with the inner rind of the bark of certain shrubs. But how she had escaped death from the talons of jaguars and other wild beasts no one could imagine.

Well, one day, shortly after the arrival of St. Clair, hunters found the jaguar queen, as they called her, lying in the jungle at the foot of a tree.

There was a jaguar not far off, and a huge piece of sodden flesh lay near Beeboo's cheek, undoubtedly placed there by this strange, wild pet, while close beside her stood a tapir.

Beeboo was carried to the nearest village, and the tapir followed as gently as a lamb. My informant does not know what became of the tapir, but Beeboo was tamed, turned a Christian too, and never evinced any inclination to return to the woods.

Yet, strangely enough, no puma nor jaguar would ever even growl or snarl at Beeboo.

These statements can all be verified.

[CHAPTER IV--AWAY DOWN THE RIVER]

Before we start on this adventurous cruise, let us take a peep at an upland region to the south of the Amazon. It was entirely surrounded by caoutchouc or india-rubber trees, and it was while wandering through this dense forest with Jake, and making arrangements for the tapping of those trees, the juice of which was bound to bring the St. Clairs much money, that they came upon the rocky table-land where they found the gold.

This was some months after the strange Indian had found the "babes in the wood", as Jake sometimes called Roland and Peggy.

"I say, sir, do you see the quartz showing white everywhere through the bloom of those beautiful flowers?"

"Ugh!" cried St. Clair, as a splendidly-coloured but hideous large snake hissed and glided away from between his feet. "Ugh! had I tramped on that fellow my prospecting would have been all ended."

"True, sir," said Jake; "but about the quartz?"

"Well, Jake."

"Well, Mr. St. Clair, there is gold here. I do not say that we've struck an El Dorado, but I am certain there is something worth digging for in this region."

"Shall we try? You've been in Australia. What say you to a shaft?"

"Good! But a horizontal shaft carried into the base of this hill or hummock will, I think, do for the present. It is only for samples, you know."

And these samples had turned out so well that St. Clair, after claiming the whole hill, determined to send Jake on a special message to Pará to establish a company for working it.

He could take no more labour on his own head, for really he had more than enough to do with his estate.

No white men were allowed to work at the shaft. Only Indians, and these were housed on the spot. So that the secret was well kept.

And now the voyage down the river was to be undertaken, and a most romantic cruise it turned out to be.

St. Clair had ordered a steamer to be built for him in England and sent out in pieces. She was called The Peggy, after our heroine. Not very large--but little over the dimensions of a large steam-launch, in fact--but big enough for the purpose of towing along the immense raft with the aid of the current.

Jake was to go with his samples of golden sand and his nuggets; Burly Bill, also, who was captain of the Peggy; and Beeboo, to attend to the youngsters in their raft saloon. Brawn was not to be denied; and last, but not least, went wild Dick Temple.

The latter was to sleep on board the steamer, but he would spend most of his time by day on the raft.

All was ready at last. The great raft was floated and towed out far from the shore. All the plantation hands, both whites and Indians, were gathered on the banks, and gave many a lusty cheer as the steamer and raft got under way.

The last thing that those on shore heard was the sonorous barking of the great wolf-hound, Brawn.

There was a ring of joy in it, however, that brought hope to the heart of both Tom St. Clair and his winsome wife.

Well, to our two heroes and to Peggy, not to mention Brawn and Burly Bill, the cruise promised to be all one joyous picnic, and they set themselves to make the most of it.

But to Jake Solomons it presented a more serious side. He was St. Clair's representative and trusted man, and his business was of the highest importance, and would need both tact and skill.

However, there was a long time to think about all this, for the river does not run more than three miles an hour, and although the little steamer could hurry the raft along at probably thrice that speed, still long weeks must elapse before they could reach their destination.

As far as the raft was concerned, this would not be Pará. She would be grounded near to a town far higher up stream, and the timber, nuts, spices, and rubber taken seaward by train.

In less than two days everyone had settled down to the voyage.

The river was very wide and getting wider, and soon scarcely could they see the opposite shore, except as a long low green cloud on the northern horizon.

Life on board the raft was for a whole week a most uneventful dreamy sort of existence. One day was remarkably like another. There was the blue of the sky above, the blue on the river's great breast, broken, however, by thousands of lines of rippling silver.

There were strangely beautiful birds flying tack and half-tack around the steamer and raft, waving trees flower-bedraped--the flowers trailing and creeping and climbing everywhere, and even dipping their sweet faces in the water,--flowers of every hue of the rainbow.

Dreamy though the atmosphere was, I would not have you believe that our young folks relapsed into a state of drowsy apathy. Far from it. They were very happy indeed. Dick told Peggy that their life, or his, felt just like some beautiful song-waltz, and that he was altogether so happy and jolly that he had sometimes to turn out in the middle watch to laugh.

Peggy had not to do that.

In her little state-room on one side of the cabin, and in a hammock, she slept as soundly as the traditional top, and on a grass mat on the deck, with a footstool for a pillow, slumbered Beeboo.

Roland slept on the other side, and Brawn guarded the doorway at the foot of the steps.

Long before Peggy was awake, and every morning of their aquatic lives, the dinghy boat took the boys a little way out into mid-stream, and they stripped and dived, enjoyed a two-minutes' splash, and got quickly on board again.

The men always stood by with rifles to shoot any alligator that might be seen hovering nigh, and more than once reckless Dick had a narrow escape.

"But," he said one day in his comical way, "one has only once to die, you know, and you might as well die doing a good turn as any other way."

"Doing a good turn?" said Roland enquiringly.

"Certainly. Do you not impart infinite joy to a cayman if you permit him to eat you?"

The boys were always delightfully hungry half an hour before breakfast was served.

And it was a breakfast too!

Beeboo would be dressed betimes, and have the cloth laid in the saloon. The great raft rose and fell with a gentle motion, but there was nothing to hurt, so that the dishes stuck on the cloth without any guard.

Beeboo could bake the most delicious of scones and cakes, and these, served up hot in a clean white towel, were most tempting; the butter was of the best and sweetest. Ham there was, and eggs of the gull, with fresh fried fish every morning, and fragrant coffee.

Was it not quite idyllic?

The forenoon would be spent on deck under the awning; there was plenty to talk about, and books to read, and there was the ever-varying panorama to gaze upon, as the raft went smoothly gliding on, and on, and on.

Sometimes they were in very deep water close to the bank, for men were always in the chains taking soundings from the steamer's bows.

Close enough to admire the flowers that draped the forest trees; close enough to hear the wild lilt of birds or the chattering of monkeys and parrots; close enough to see tapirs moving among the trees, watched, often enough, by the fierce sly eyes of ghastly alligators, that flattened themselves against rocks or bits of clay soil, looking like a portion of the ground, but warily waiting until they should see a chance to attack.

There cannot be too many tapirs, and there cannot be too few alligators. So our young heroes thought it no crime to shoot these squalid horrors wherever seen.

But one forenoon clouds banked rapidly up in the southern sky, and soon the sun was hidden in sulphurous rolling banks of cumulus.

No one who has ever witnessed a thunderstorm in these regions can live long enough to forget it.

For some time before it came on the wind had gone down completely. In yonder great forest there could not have been breeze or breath enough to stir the pollen on the trailing flowers. The sun, too, seemed shorn of its beams, the sky was no longer blue, but of a pale saffron or sulphur colour.

It was then that giant clouds, like evil beasts bent on havoc and destruction, began to show head above the horizon. Rapidly they rose, battalion on battalion, phalanx on phalanx.

There were low mutterings even now, and flashes of fire in the far distance. But it was not until the sky was entirely overcast that the storm came on in dread and fearful earnest. At this time it was so dark, that down in the raft saloon an open book was barely visible. Then peal after peal, and vivid flash after flash, of blue and crimson fire lit up forest and stream, striking our heroes and heroine blind, or causing their eyes for a time to overrun with purple light.

So terrific was the thunder that the raft seemed to rock and shiver in the sound.

This lasted for fully half an hour, the whole world seeming to be in flames.

Peggy stood by Dick on the little deck, and he held her arm in his; held her hand too, for it was cold and trembling.

"Are you afraid?" he whispered, during a momentary lull.

"No, Dick, not afraid, only cold, so cold; take me below."

He did so.

He made her lie down on the little sofa, and covered her with a rug.

All just in time, for now down came the awful rain. It was as if a water-spout had broken over the seemingly doomed raft, and was sinking it below the dark waters of the river.

Luckily the boys managed to batten down in time, or the little saloon would have been flooded.

They lit the lamp, too.

But with the rain the storm seemed to increase in violence, and a strong wind had arisen and added greatly to the terror of the situation. Hail came down as large as marbles, and the roaring and din was now deafening and terrible.

Then, the wind ceased to blow almost instantaneously. It did not die away. It simply dropped all of a sudden. Hail and rain ceased shortly after.

Dick ventured to peep on deck.

It was still dark, but far away and low down on the horizon a streak of the brightest blue sky that ever he had seen had made its appearance. It broadened and broadened as the dark canopy of clouds, curtain-like, was lifted.

"Come up, Peggy. Come up, Rol. The storm is going. The storm has almost gone," cried Dick; and soon all three stood once more on the deck.

Away, far away over the northern woods rolled the last bank of clouds, still giving voice, however, still spitting fire.

But now the sun was out and shining brightly down with a heat that was fierce, and the raft was all enveloped in mist.

So dense, indeed, was the fog that rose from the rain-soaked raft, that all the scenery was entirely obscured. It was a hot vapour, too, and far from pleasant, so no one was sorry when Burly Bill suddenly appeared from the lower part of the raft.

"My dear boys," he said heartily, "why, you'll be parboiled if you stop here. Come with me, Miss Peggy, and you, Brawn; I'll come back for you, lads. Don't want to upset the dinghy all among the 'gators, see?"

Bill was back again in a quarter of an hour, and the boys were also taken on board the boat.

"She's a right smart little boat as ever was," said Bill; "but if we was agoin' to get 'er lip on to the water, blow me tight, boys, if the 'gators wouldn't board us. They'm mebbe very nice sociable kind o' animals, but bust my buttons if I'd like to enter the next world down a 'gator's gullet."

Beeboo did not mind the steam a bit, and by two o'clock she had as nice a dinner laid in the raft saloon as ever boy or girl sat down to.

But by this time the timbers were dry once more, and although white clouds of fog still lay over the low woods, all was now bright and cheerful. Yet not more so than the hearts of our brave youngsters.

Courage and sprightliness are all a matter of strength of heart, and you cannot make yourself brave if your system is below par. The coward is really more to be pitied than blamed.

Well, it was very delightful, indeed, to sit on deck and talk, build castles in the air, and dream daydreams.

The air was cool and bracing now, and the sun felt warm, but by no means too hot.

The awning was prettily lined with green cloth, the work of Mrs. St. Clair's own hands, assisted by the indefatigable Beeboo, and there was not anything worth doing that she could not put willing, artful hands to.

The awning was scalloped, too, if that be the woman's word for the flaps that hung down a whole foot all round. "Vandyked" is perhaps more correct, but then, you see, the sharp corners of the vandyking were all rounded off. So I think scalloped must stand, though the word reminds me strangely of oysters.

But peeping out from under the scalloped awning, and gazing northwards across the sea-like river, boats under steam could be noticed. Passengers on board too, both ladies and gentlemen, the former all rigged out in summer attire.

"Would you like to be on board yonder?" said Dick to Peggy, as the girl handed him back the lorgnettes.

"No, indeed, I shouldn't," she replied, with a saucy toss of her pretty head.

"Well," she added, "if you were there, little Dickie, I mightn't mind it so much."

"Little Dick! Eh?" Dick laughed right heartily now.

"Yes, little Dickie. Mind, I am nearly twelve; and after I'm twelve I'm in my teens, quite an old girl. A child no longer anyhow. And after I'm in my teens I'll soon be sixteen, and then I suppose I shall marry."

"Who will marry you, Peggy?"

This was not very good grammar, but Dick was in downright earnest anyhow, and his young voice had softened wonderfully.

"Me?" he added, as she remained silent, with her eyes seeming to follow the rolling tide.

"You, Dick! Why, you're only a child!"

"Why, Peggy, I'm fifteen--nearly, and if I live I'm bound to get older and bigger."

"No, no, Dick, you can marry Beeboo, and I shall get spliced, as the sailors call it, to Burly Bill."

The afternoon wore away, and Beeboo came up to summon "the chillun" to tea.

Up they started, forgetting all about budding love, flirtation, and future marriages, and made a rush for the companion-ladder.

"Wowff--wowff!" barked Brawn, and the 'gators on shore and the tapirs in the woods lifted heads to listen, while parrots shrieked and monkeys chattered and scolded among the lordly forest trees.

"Wowff--wowff!" he barked. "Who says cakes and butter?"

The night fell, and Burly Bill came on board with his banjo, and his great bass voice, which was as sweet as the tone of a 'cello.

Bill was funnier than usual to-night, and when Beeboo brought him a big tumbler of rosy rum punch, made by herself and sweetened with honey, he was merrier still.

Then to complete his happiness Beeboo lit his pipe.

She puffed away at it for some time as usual, by way of getting it in working order.

"'Spose," she said, "Beeboo not warm de bowl ob de big pipe plenty proper, den de dear chile Bill take a chill."

"You're a dear old soul, Beeb," said Bill.

Then the dear old soul carefully wiped the amber mouth-piece with her apron, and handed Burly Bill his comforter.

The great raft swayed and swung gently to and fro, so Bill sang his pet sea-song, "The Rose of Allandale". He was finishing that bonnie verse--

"My life had been a wilderness,

Unblest by fortune's gale,

Had fate not linked my lot to hers,

The Rose of Allandale",

when all at once an ominous grating was heard coming from beneath the raft, and motion ceased as suddenly as did Bill's song.

"Save us from evil!" cried Bill. "The raft is aground!"

[CHAPTER V--A DAY IN THE FOREST WILDS]

Burly Bill laid down his banjo. Then he pushed his great extinguisher of a thumb into the bowl of his big meerschaum, and arose.

"De good Lawd ha' mussy on our souls, chillun!" cried Beeboo, twisting her apron into a calico rope. "We soon be all at de bottom ob de deep, and de 'gators a-pickin' de bones ob us!"

"Keep quiet, Beeb, there's a dear soul! Never a 'gator'll get near you. W'y, look 'ow calm Miss Peggy is. It be'ant much as'll frighten she."

Burly Bill could speak good English when he took time, but invariably reverted to Berkshire when in the least degree excited.

He was soon on board the little steamer.

"What cheer, Jake?" he said.

"Not much o' that. A deuced unlucky business. May lose the whole voyage if it comes on to blow!"

"W'y, Jake, lad, let's 'ope for the best. No use givin' up; be there? I wouldn't let the men go to prayers yet awhile, Jake. Not to make a bizness on't like, I means."

Well, the night wore away, but the raft never budged, unless it was to get a firmer hold of the mud and sand.

A low wind had sprung up too, and if it increased to a gale she would soon begin to break up.

It was a dreary night and a long one, and few on board the steamer slept a wink.

But day broke at last, and the sun's crimson light changed the ripples on the river from leaden gray to dazzling ruby.

Then the wind fell.

"There are plenty of river-boats, Bill," said Jake. "What say you to intercept one and ask assistance?"

"Bust my buttons if I would cringe to ne'er a one on 'em! They'd charge salvage, and sponge enormous. I knows the beggars as sails these puffin' Jimmies well."

"Guess you're about right, Bill, and you know the river better'n I."

"Listen, Jake. The bloomin' river got low all at once, like, after the storm, and so you got kind o' befoozled, and struck. I'd a-kept further out. But Burly Bill ain't the man to bully his mate. On'y listen again. The river'll rise in a day or two, and if the wind keeps in its sack, w'y we'll float like a thousand o' bricks on an old Thames lumper! Bust my buttons, Jake, if we don't!"

"Well, Bill, I don't know anything about the bursting of your buttons, but you give me hope. So I'll go to breakfast. Tell the engineer to keep the fires banked."

Two days went past, and never a move made the raft.

It was a wearisome time for all. The "chillun", as Beeboo called them, tried to beguile it in the best way they could with reading, talking, and deck games.

Dick and Roland were "dons" at leap-frog, and it mattered not which of them was giving the back, but as soon as the other leapt over Brawn followed suit, greatly to the delight of Peggy. He jumped in such a business-like way that everybody was forced to laugh, especially when the noble dog took a leap that would have cleared a five-barred gate.

But things were getting slow on the third morning, when up sprang Burly Bill with his cartridge-belt on and his rifle under his arm.

"Cap'n Jake," he said, touching his cap in Royal Navy fashion, "presents his compliments to the crew of this durned old stack o' timber, and begs to say that Master Rolly and Master Dick can come on shore with me for a run among the 'gators, but that Miss Peggy had better stop on board with Beeboo. Her life is too precious to risk!"

"Precious or not precious," pouted the girl, "Miss Peggy's going, and Brawn too; so you may tell Captain Jake that."

"Bravo, Miss Peggy! you're a real St. Clair. Well, Beeboo, hurry up, and get the nicest bit of cold luncheon ready for us ever you made in your life."

"Beeboo do dat foh true. Plenty quick, too; but oh, Massa Bill, 'spose you let any ebil ting befall de poh chillun, I hopes de 'gators'll eat you up!"

"More likely, Beeb, that we'll eat them; and really, come to think of it, a slice off a young 'gator's tail aint 'arf bad tackle, Beeboo."

An hour after this the boat was dancing over the rippling river. It was not the dinghy, but a gig. Burly Bill himself was stroke, and three Indians handled the other bits of timber, while Roland took the tiller.

The redskins sang a curious but happy boat-lilt as they rowed, and Bill joined in with his 'cello voice:

"Ober de watter and ober de sea--ee--ee,

De big black boat am rowing so free,

Eee--Eee--O--ay--O!

De big black boat, is it nuffin' to me--ee--ee,

We're rowing so free?

"Oh yes, de black boat am some-dings to me

As she rolls o'er de watter and swings o'er de sea,

Foh de light ob my life, she sits in de stern,

An' sweet am de glance o' Peggy's dark e'e,

Ee--ee--O--ay--O--O!"

"Well steered!" said Burly Bill, as Roland ran the gig on the sandy beach of a sweet little backwater.

Very soon all were landed. Bill went first as guide, and the Indians brought up the rear, carrying the basket and a spare gun or two.

Great caution and care were required in venturing far into this wild, tropical forest, not so much on account of the beasts that infested it as the fear of getting lost.

It was very still and quiet here, however, and Bill had taken the precaution to leave a man in the boat, with orders to keep his weather ear "lifting", and if he heard four shots fired in rapid succession late in the afternoon to fire in reply at once.

It was now the heat of the day, however, and the hairy inhabitants of this sylvan wilderness were all sound asleep, jaguars and pumas among the trees, and the tapirs in small herds wherever the jungle was densest.

There was no chance, therefore, of getting a shot at anything. Nevertheless, the boys and Peggy were not idle. They had brought butterfly-nets with them, and the specimens they caught when about five miles inland, where the forest opened out into a shrub-clad moorland, were large and glorious in the extreme.

Indeed, some of them would fetch gold galore in the London markets.

But though these butterflies had an immense spread of quaintly-shaped and exquisitely-coloured wings, the smaller ones were even more brilliant.

Strange it is that Nature paints these creatures in colours which no sunshine can fade. All the tints that man ever invented grow pale in the sun; these never do, and the same may be said concerning the tropical birds that they saw so many of to-day.

But no one had the heart to shoot any of these. Why should they soil such beautiful plumage with blood, and so bring grief and woe into this love-lit wilderness?

This is not a book on natural history, else gladly would I describe the beauties in shape and colour of the birds, and their strange manners, the wary ways adopted in nest-building, and their songs and queer ways of love-making.

Suffice it to say here that the boys were delighted with all the tropical wonders and all the picturesque gorgeousness they saw everywhere around them.

But their journey was not without a spice of real danger and at times of discomfort. The discomfort we may dismiss at once. It was borne, as Beeboo would say, with Christian "forty-tood", and was due partly to the clouds of mosquitoes they encountered wherever the soil was damp and marshy, and partly to the attacks of tiny, almost invisible, insects of the jigger species that came from the grass and ferns and heaths to attack their legs.

Burly Bill was an old forester, and carried with him an infallible remedy for mosquito and jigger bites, which acted like a charm.

In the higher ground--where tropical heath and heather painted the surface with hues of crimson, pink, and purple--snakes wriggled and darted about everywhere.

One cannot help wondering why Nature has taken the pains to paint many of the most deadly of these in colours that rival the hues of the humming-birds that yonder flit from bush to bush, from flower to flower.

Perhaps it is that they may the more easily seek their prey, their gaudy coats matching well with the shrubs and blossoms that they wriggle amongst, while gliding on and up to seize helpless birds in their nests or to devour the eggs.

Parrots here, and birds of that ilk, have an easy way of repelling such invaders, for as soon as they see them they utter a scream that paralyses the intruders, and causes them to fall helplessly to the ground.

To all creatures Nature grants protection, and clothes them in a manner that shall enable them to gain a subsistence; but, moreover, every creature in the world has received from the same great power the means of defending or protecting itself against the attacks of enemies.

On both sides, then, is Nature just, for though she does her best to keep living species extant until evolved into higher forms of life, she permits each species to prey on the overgrowth or overplus of others that it may live.

Knocking over a heap of soft dry mould with the butt end of his rifle, Dick started back in terror to see crawl out from the heap a score or more of the most gigantic beetles anyone could imagine. These were mostly black, or of a beautiful bronze, with streaks of metallic blue and crimson.

They are called harlequins, and live on carrion. Nothing that dies comes wrong to these monsters, and a few of them will seize and carry away a dead snake five or six hundred times their own weight. My readers will see by this that it is not so much muscle that is needed for feats of strength as indomitable will and nerve force. But health must be at the bottom of all. Were a man, comparatively speaking, as strong as one of these beetles, he could lift on his back and walk off with a weight of thirty tons!

Our heroes had to stop every now and then to marvel at the huge working ants, and all the wondrous proofs of reason they evinced.

It was well to stand off, however, if, with snapping horizontal mandibles and on business intent, any of these fellows approached. For their bites are as poisonous as those of the green scorpions or centipedes themselves.

What with one thing or another, all hands were attacked by healthy hunger at last, and sought the shade of a great spreading tree to satisfy Nature's demands.

When the big basket was opened it was found that Beeboo had quite excelled herself. So glorious a luncheon made every eye sparkle to look at it. And the odour thereof caused Brawn's mouth to water and his eyes to sparkle with expectancy.

The Indians had disappeared for a time. They were only just round the shoulder of a hill, however, where they, too, were enjoying a good feed.

But just as Burly Bill was having a taste from a clear bottle, which, as far as the look of it went, would have passed for cold tea, two Indian boys appeared, bringing with them the most delicious of fruits as well as fresh ripe nuts.

The luncheon after that merged into a banquet.

Burly Bill took many sips of his cold tea. When I come to think over it, however, I conclude there was more rum than cold tea in that brown mixture, or Bill would hardly have smacked his lips and sighed with such satisfaction after every taste.

The fruit done, and even Brawn satisfied, the whole crew gave themselves up to rest and meditation. The boys talked low, because Peggy's meditations had led to gentle slumber. An Indian very thoughtfully brought a huge plantain leaf which quite covered her, and protected her from the chequered rays of sunshine that found their way through the tree. Brawn edged in below the leaf also, and enjoyed a good sleep beside his little mistress.

Not a gun had been fired all day long, yet a more enjoyable picnic in a tropical forest it would be difficult to imagine.

Perhaps the number of the Indians scared the jaguars away, for none appeared.

Yet the day was not to end without an adventure.

Darkness in this country follows the short twilight so speedily, that Burly Bill did well to get clear of the forest's gloom while the sun was still well above the horizon.

He trusted to the compass and his own good sense as a forester to come out close to the spot where he had left the boat. But he was deceived. He struck the river a good mile and a half above the place where the steamer lay at anchor and the raft aground on the shoals.

Lower and lower sank the sun. The ground was wet and marshy, and the 'gators very much in evidence indeed.

Now the tapirs--and droll pig-bodied creatures they look, though in South America nearly as big as donkeys--are of a very retiring disposition, but not really solitary animals as cheap books on natural history would have us believe. They frequent low woods, where their long snouts enable them to pull down the tender twigs and foliage on which, with roots, which they can speedily unearth, they manage to exist--yes, and to wax fat and happy.

But they are strict believers in the doctrine of cleanliness, and are never found very far from water. They bathe every night.

Just when the returning picnic was within about half a mile of the boat, Burly Bill carrying Peggy on his shoulder because the ground was damp, a terrible scrimmage suddenly took place a few yards round a backwater.

There was grunting, squeaking, the splashing of water, and cries of pain.

"Hurry on, boys; hurry on; two of you are enough! It's your show, lads."

The boys needed no second bidding, and no sooner had they opened out the curve than a strange sight met their gaze.

[CHAPTER VI--"NOT ONE SINGLE DROP OF BLOOD SHED"]

A gigantic and horribly fierce alligator had seized upon a strong young tapir, and was trying to drag it into the water.

The poor creature had both its feet set well in front, and was resisting with all its might, while two other larger animals, probably the parents, were clawing the cayman desperately with their fore-feet.

But ill, indeed, would it have fared with all three had not our heroes appeared just in the nick of time.

For several more of these scaly and fearsome reptiles were hurrying to the scene of action.

Dick's first shot was a splendid one. It struck the offending cayman in the eye, and went crashing through his brain.

The brute gasped, the blood flowed freely, and as he fell on his side, turning up his yellow belly, the young tapir got free, and was hurried speedily away to the woods.

Volley after volley was poured in on the enraged 'gators, but the boys had to retreat as they fought. Had they not done so, my story would have stopped short just here.

It was not altogether the sun's parting rays that so encrimsoned the water, but the blood of those old-world caymans.

Three in all were killed in addition to the one first shot. So that it is no wonder the boys felt elated.

Beeboo had supper waiting and there was nothing talked about that evening except their strange adventures in the beautiful forest.

————

Probably no one could sleep more soundly than did our heroes and heroine that night.

Next day, and next, they went on shore again, and on the third a huge jaguar, who fancied he would like to dine off Brawn's shoulder, fell a victim to Dick Temple's unerring aim.

But the raft never stirred nor moved for a whole week.

Said Bill to Jake one morning, as he took his meerschaum from his mouth:

"I think, Jake, and w'at I thinks be's this like. There ain't ne'er a morsel o' good smokin' and on'y just lookin' at that fine and valuable pile o' timber. It strikes me conclusive like that something 'ad better be done."

"And what would you propose, Bill?" said Jake.

"Well, Jake, you're captain like, and my proposition is subject to your disposition as it were. But I'd lighten her, and lighten her till she floats; then tow her off, and build up the odd timbers again."

"Good! You have a better head than I have, Bill; and it's you that should have been skipper, not me."

Nothing was done that day, however, except making a few more attempts with the steamer at full speed to tow her off. She did shift and slue round a little, but that was all.

Next morning dawned as beautifully as any that had gone before it.

There were fleecy clouds, however, hurrying across the sky as if on business bent, and the blue between them was bluer than ever our young folks had seen it.

Dick Temple, with Roland and Peggy, had made up their minds to go on shore for another day while the work of dismantling the raft went on.

But a fierce south wind began to blow, driving heavy black clouds before it, and lashing the river into foam.

One of those terrible tropic storms was evidently on the cards, and come it did right soon.

The darkest blackness was away to the west, and here, though no thunder could be heard, the lightning was very vivid. It was evident that this was the vortex of the hurricane, for only a few drops of rain fell around the raft.

The picnic scheme was of course abandoned, and all waited anxiously enough for something to come.

That something did come in less than an hour--the descent of the mighty Amazon in flood. Its tributaries had no doubt been swollen by the awful rain and water-spouts, and poured into the great queen of rivers double their usual discharge.

A bore is a curling wave like a shore breaker that rushes down the smaller rivers, and is terribly destructive to boating or to shipping.

The Amazon, however, did not rise like this. It came rushing almost silently down in a broad tall wave that appeared to stretch right across it, from the forest-clad bank where the raft lay to the far-off green horizon in the north.

But Burly Bill was quite prepared for eventualities.

Steam had been got up, the vessel's bows were headed for up stream, and the hawser betwixt raft and boat tautened.

On and on rushed the huge wave. It towered above the raft, even when fifty yards away, in the most threatening manner, as if about to sweep all things to destruction.

But on its nearer approach it glided in under the raft, and steamer as well--like some huge submarine monster such as we read of in fairy books of the long-long-ago--glided in under them, and seemed to lift them sky-high.

"Go ahead at full speed!"

It was the sonorous voice of Burly Bill shouting to the engineer.

"Ay, ay, sir!" came the cheery reply.

The screw went round with a rush.

It churned up a wake of foaming water as the Peggy began to forge ahead, and next minute, driven along on the breeze, the monster raft began to follow and was soon out and away beyond danger from rock or shoal.

Then arose to heaven a prayer of thankfulness, and a cheer so loud and long that even the parrots and monkeys in the forest depths heard it, and yelled and chattered till they frightened both 'gators and jaguars.

Just two weeks after these adventures, the little Peggy was at anchor, and the great raft safely beached.

Burly Bill was left in charge with his white men and his Indians, with Dick Temple to act as supercargo, and Jake Solomons with Roland and Peggy, not to mention the dog, started off for Pará.

In due course, but after many discomforts, they arrived there, and Jake, after taking rooms in a hotel, hurried off to secure his despatches from the post-office.

"No letters!" cried Jake, as his big brown fist came down with a bang on the counter. "Why, I see the very documents I came for in the pigeon-hole behind you!"

The clerk, somewhat alarmed at the attitude of this tall Yankee backwoodsman, pulled them out and looked at them.

"They cannot be delivered," he said.

"And why?" thundered Jake, "Inasmuch as to wherefore, you greasy-faced little whipper-snapper!"

"Not sufficient postage."

Jake thrust one hand into a front pocket, and one behind him. Then on the counter he dashed down a bag of cash and a six-chambered revolver.

"I'm Jake Solomons," he said. "There before you lies peace or war. Hand over the letters, and you'll have the rhino. Refuse, and I guess and calculate I'll blow the whole top of your head off."

The clerk preferred peace, and Jake strode away triumphant.

When he returned to the hotel and told the boys the story, they laughed heartily. In their eyes, Jake was more a hero than ever.

"Ah!" said the giant quietly, "there's nothing brings these long-shore chaps sooner to their senses than letting 'em have a squint down the barrel of a six-shooter."

The letters were all from Mr. St. Clair, and had been lying at the post-office for over a week. They all related to business, to the sale of the timber and the other commodities, the best markets, and so on and so forth, with hints as to the gold-mine.

But the last one was much more bulky than the others, and so soon as he had glanced at the first lines, Jake lit his meerschaum, then threw himself back in his rocker to quietly discuss it.

It was a plain, outspoken letter, such as one man of the world writes to another. Here is one extract:--

Our business is increasing at a rapid rate, Jake Solomon. I have too much to do and so have you; therefore, although I did not think it necessary to inform you before, I have been in communication with my brother John, and he is sending me out a shrewd, splendid man of business. He will have arrived before your return.

I can trust John thoroughly, and this Don Pedro Salvador, over and above his excellent business capabilities, can talk Spanish, French, and Portuguese.

I do not quite like the name, Jake, so he must be content to be called plain Mr. Peter.

————

About the very time that Jake Solomons was reading this letter, there sat close to the sky-light of an outward-bound steamer at Liverpool, two men holding low but earnest conversation. Their faces were partly obscured, for it was night, and the only light a glimmer from the ship's lamp.

Steam was up and roaring through the pipes.

A casual observer might have noted that one was a slim, swarthy, but wiry, smart-looking man of about thirty. His companion was a man considerably over forty.

"I shall go now," said the latter. "You have my instructions, and I believe I can trust you."

"Have I not already given you reason to?" was the rejoinder. "At the risk of penal servitude did I not steal my employer's keys, break into his room at night, and copy that will for you? It was but a copy of a copy, it is true, and I could not discover the original, else the quickest and simplest plan would have been--fire:"

"True, you did so, but"--the older man laughed lightly--"you were well paid for the duty you performed."

"Duty, eh?" sneered the other. "Well," he added, "thank God nothing has been discovered. My employer has bidden me an almost affectionate farewell, and given me excellent certificates."

The other started up as a loud voice hailed the deck:

"Any more for the shore!"

"I am going now," he said. "Good-bye, old man, and remember my last words: not one single drop of blood shed!"

"I understand, and will obey to the letter. Obedience pays."

"True; and you shall find it so. Good-bye!"

"A Dios!" said the other.

The last bell was struck, and the gangway was hauled on shore.

The great ship Benedict was that night rolling and tossing about on the waves of the Irish Channel.

————

Jake Solomons acquainted Roland and Peggy with the contents of this last letter, and greatly did the latter wonder what the new overseer would be like, and if she should love him or not.

For Peggy had a soft little heart of her own, and was always prepared to be friendly with anyone who, according to her idea, was nice.

Jake took his charges all round the city next day and showed them the sights of what is now one of the most beautiful towns in South America.

The gardens, the fountains, the churches and palaces, the flowers and fruit, and feathery palm-trees, all things indeed spoke of delightfulness, and calm, and peace.

And far beyond and behind all this was the boundless forest primeval.

This was not their last drive through the city, and this good fellow Jake, though his business took him from home most of the day, delighted to take the children to every place of amusement he could think of. But despite all this, these children of the forest wilds began to long for home, and very much rejoiced were they when one evening, after dinner, Jake told them they should start on the morrow for Bona Vista, near to which town the little steamer lay, and so up the great river and home.

Jake had done all his business, and done it satisfactorily, and could return to the old plantation and Burnley Hall with a light and cheerful heart.

He had even sold the mine, although it was not to be worked for some time to come.

[CHAPTER VII--"A COLD HAND SEEMED TO CLUTCH HER HEART"]

Many months passed away pleasantly and happily enough on the old plantation. The children--Roland, by the way, would hardly have liked to be called a child now--were, of course, under the able tuition of Mr. Simons, but in addition Peggy had a governess, imported directly from Pará.

This was a dark-eyed Spanish girl, very piquant and pretty, who talked French well, and played on both the guitar and piano.

Tom St. Clair had not only his boy's welfare, but his niece's, or adopted daughter's, also at heart.

It would be some years yet before she arrived at the age of sweet seventeen, but when she did, her uncle determined to sell off or realize on his plantation, his goods and chattels, and sail across the seas once more to dear old Cornwall and the real Burnley Hall.

He looked forward to that time as the weary worker in stuffy towns or cities does to a summer holiday.

There is excitement enough in money-making, it is like an exhilarating game of billiards or whist, but it is apt to become tiresome.

And Tom St. Clair was often overtired and weary. He was always glad when he reached home at night to his rocking-chair and a good dinner, after toiling all day in the recently-started india-rubber-forest works.

But Mr. Peter took a vast deal of labour off his hands.

Mr. Peter, or Don Pedro, ingratiated himself with nearly everyone from the first, and seemed to take to the work as if to the manner born.

There were three individuals, however, who could not like him, strange to say; these were Peggy herself, Benee the Indian who had guided them through the forest when lost, and who had remained on the estate ever since, while the third was Brawn, the Irish wolf-hound.

The dog showed his teeth if Peter tried even to caress him.

Both Roland and Dick--the latter was a very frequent visitor--got on very well with Peter--trusted him thoroughly.

"How is it, Benee," said Roland one day to the Indian, "that you do not love Don Pedro?"

Benee spat on the ground and stamped his foot.

"I watch he eye," the semi-savage replied. "He one very bad man. Some day you know plenty moochee foh true."

"Well," said Tom one evening as he and his wife sat alone in the verandah together, "I do long to get back to England. I am tired, dear wife--my heart is weak why should we remain here over two years more? We are wealthy enough, and I promise myself and you, dear, many long years of health and happiness yet in the old country."

He paused and smoked a little; then, after watching for a few moments the fireflies that flitted from bush to bush, he stretched his left arm out and rested his hand on his wife's lap.

Some impulse seized her. She took it and pressed it to her lips. But a tear trickled down her cheek as she did so.

Lovers still this couple were, though nearly twenty years had elapsed since he led her, a bonnie, buxom, blushing lassie, to the altar.

But now in a sweet, low, but somewhat sad voice he sang a verse of that dear old song--"We have lived and loved together":--

"We have lived and loved together

Through many changing years,

We have shared each other's gladness

And dried each other's tears.

I have never known a sorrow

That was long unsoothed by thee,

For thy smile can make a summer

Where darkness else would be.

Mrs. St. Clair would never forget that evening on the star-lit lawn, nor the flitting, little fire-insects, nor her husband's voice.

————

Is it not just when we expect it least that sorrow sometimes falls suddenly upon us, hiding or eclipsing all our promised happiness and joy?

I have now to write a pitiful part of my too true story, but it must be done.

Next evening St. Clair rode home an hour earlier.

He complained of feeling more tired than usual, and said he would lie down on the drawing-room sofa until dinner was ready.

Peggy went singing along the hall to call him at the appointed time.

She went singing into the room.

"Pa, dear," she cried merrily; "Uncle-pa, dinner is all beautifully ready!"

"Come, Unky-pa. How sound you sleep!"

Then a terror crept up from the earth, as it were, and a cold hand seemed to clutch her heart.

She ran out of the room.

"Oh, Auntie-ma!" she cried, "come, come quickly, pa won't wake, nor speak!"

Heigho! the summons had come, and dear "Uncle-pa" would never, never wake again.

This is a short chapter, but it is too sad to continue.

So falls the curtain on the first act of this life-drama.

[CHAPTER VIII--FIERCELY AND WILDLY BOTH SIDES FOUGHT]

The gloomy event related in last chapter must not be allowed to cast a damper over our story.

Of course death is always and everywhere hovering near, but why should boys like you and me, reader, permit that truth to cloud our days or stand between us and happiness?

Two years, then, have elapsed since poor, brave Tom St. Clair's death.

He is buried near the edge of the forest in a beautiful enclosure where rare shrubs grow, and where flowers trail and climb far more beautiful than any we ever see in England.

At first Mrs. St. Clair had determined to sell all off and go back to the old country, but her overseer Jake Solomons and Mr. Peter persuaded her not to, or it seemed that it was their advice which kept her from carrying out her first intentions. But she had another reason, she found she could not leave that lonesome grave yet awhile.

So the years passed on.

The estate continued to thrive.

Roland was now a handsome young fellow in his eighteenth year, and Peggy, now beautiful beyond compare, was nearly fifteen.

Dick Temple, the bold and reckless huntsman and horseman, was quieter now in his attentions towards her. She was no longer the child that he could lift on to his broad young shoulders and carry, neighing and galloping like a frightened colt, round and round the lawn.

And Roland felt himself a man. He was more sober and sedate, and had taken over all his father's work and his father's responsibilities. But for all that, lightly enough lay the burden on his heart.

For he had youth on his side, and

"In the lexicon of youth which fate reserves

For a bright manhood there is no such word

As fail".

————

I do not, however, wish to be misunderstood. It must not be supposed that Roland had no difficulties to contend with, that all his business life was as fair and serene as a bright summer's day. On the contrary, he had many losses owing to the fluctuations of the markets and the failures of great firms, owing to fearful storms, and more than once owing to strikes or revolts among his Indians in the great india-rubber forest.

But Roland was light-hearted and young, and difficulties in life, I have often said, are just like nine-pins, they are put up to be bowled over.

Besides, be it remembered that if it were all plain sailing with us in this world we should not be able to appreciate how really happy our lives are. The sky is always bluest 'twixt the darkest clouds.

On the whole, Roland, who took stock, and, with honest Bill and Jake Solomons, went over the books every quarter, had but little reason to complain. This stock-taking consumed most of their spare time for the greater part of a week, and when it was finished Roland invariably gave a dinner-party, at which I need hardly say his dear friend Dick Temple was present. And this was always the happiest of happy nights to Dick, because the girl he loved more than all things on earth put together was here, and looked so innocent and beautiful in her simple dresses of white and blue.

There was no such thing as flirtation here, but Dick was fully and completely in earnest when he told himself that if he lived till he was three- or four-and-twenty he would ask Peggy to be his wife.

Ah! there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.

Dick, I might, could, would, or should have told you before, lived with a bachelor uncle, who, being rather old and infirm, seldom came out. He had good earnest men under him, however, as overseers, and his plantations were thriving, especially that in which tobacco was cultivated.

The old man was exceedingly fond of Dick, and Dick would be his heir.

Probably it was for his uncle's sake that Dick stayed in the country--and of course for Peggy's and Roland's--for, despite its grand field for sport and adventure, the lad had a strange longing to go to England and play cricket or football.

He had been born in Britain just as Roland was, and had visited his childhood's home more than once during his short life.

Now just about this time Don Pedro, or Mr. Peter as all called him, had asked for and obtained a holiday. He was going to Pará for a change, he said, and to meet a friend from England.

That he did meet a friend from England there was little doubt, but their interview was a very short one. Where he spent the rest of his time was best known to himself.

In three months or a little less he turned up smiling again, and most effusive.

About a fortnight after his arrival he came to Jake one morning pretty early.

Jake was preparing to start on horseback for the great forest.

"I'm on the horns of a dilemma, Mr. Solomons," he said, laughing his best laugh. "During the night about twenty Bolivian Indians have encamped near to the forest. They ask for work on the india-rubber trees. They are well armed, and all sturdy warriors. They look as if fighting was more in their line than honest labour."

"Well, Mr. Peter, what is their excuse for being here anyhow?"

"They are bound for the sea-shore at the mouths of the river, and want to earn a few dollars to help them on."

"Well, where is the other horn of the dilemma?"

"Oh! if I give them work they may corrupt our fellows."

"Then, Mr. Peter, I'd give the whole blessed lot the boot and the sack."

"Ah! now, Mr. Solomons, you've got to the other horn. These savages, for they are little else, are revengeful."

"We're not afraid."

"No, we needn't be were they to make war openly, but they are sly, and as dangerous as sly. They would in all probability burn us down some dark night."

Jake mused for a minute. Then he said abruptly:

"Let the poor devils earn a few dollars, Mr. Peter, if they are stony-broke, and then send them on their way rejoicing."

"That's what I say, too," said Burly Bill, who had just come up. "I've been over yonder in the starlight. They look deuced uncouth and nasty. So does a bull-dog, Jake, but is there a softer-hearted, more kindly dog in all creation?"

So that very day the Indians set to work with the other squads.

The labour connected with the collecting of india-rubber is by no means very hard, but it requires a little skill, and is irksome to those not used to such toil.

But labour is scarce and Indians are often lazy, so on the whole Jake was not sorry to have the new hands, or "serinqueiros" as they are called.

The india-rubber trees are indigenous and grow in greatest profusion on that great tributary of the Amazon called the Madeira. But when poor Tom St. Clair came to the country he had an eye to business. He knew that india-rubber would always command a good market, and so he visited the distant forests, studied the growth and culture of the trees as conducted by Nature, and ventured to believe that he could improve upon her methods.

He was successful, and it was not a great many years before he had a splendid plantation of young trees in his forest, to say nothing of the older ones that had stood the brunt of many a wild tropical storm.

It will do no harm if I briefly describe the method of obtaining the india-rubber. Tiny pots of tin, holding about half a pint, are hung under an incision in the bark of the tree, and these are filled and emptied every day, the contents being delivered by the Indian labourers at the house or hut of an under-overseer.

The sap is all emptied into larger utensils, and a large smoking fire, made of the nuts of a curious kind of palm called the Motokoo, being built, the operators dip wooden shovels into the sap, twirling these round quickly and holding them in the smoke. Coagulation takes place very quickly. Again the shovel is dipped in the sap, and the same process is repeated until the coagulated rubber is about two inches thick, when it is cooled, cut, or sliced off, and is ready for the distant market.

Now, from the very day of their arrival, there was no love lost between the old and steady hands and this new band of independent and flighty ones.

The latter were willing enough to slice the bark and to hang up their pannikins, and they would even empty them when filled, and condescend to carry their contents to the preparing-house. But they were lazy in the extreme at gathering the nuts, and positively refused to smoke the sap and coagulate it.

It made them weep, they explained, and it was much more comfortable to lie and wait for the sap while they smoked and talked in their own strange language.

After a few days the permanent hands refused to work at the same trees, or even in the same part of the estrados or roads that led through the plantation of rubber-trees.

A storm was brewing, that was evident. Nor was it very long before it burst.

All unconscious that anything was wrong, Peggy, with Brawn, was romping about one day enjoying the busy scene, Peggy often entering into conversation with some of her old favourites, when one of the strange Indians, returning from the tub with an empty tin, happened to tread on Brawn's tail.

The dog snarled, but made no attempt to bite. Afraid, however, that he would spring upon the fellow, Peggy threw herself on the ground, encircling her arms around Brawn's shoulders, and it was she who received the blow that was meant for the dog.

It cut her across the arm, and she fainted with pain.

Brawn sprang at once upon his man and brought him down.

"BRAWN SPRANG AT ONCE UPON HIS MAN"

He shook the wretch as if he had been but a rat, and blood flowed freely.

Burly Bill was not far off, and just as the great hound had all but fixed the savage by the windpipe, which he would undoubtedly have torn out, Bill pulled him off by the collar and pacified him.

The blood-stained Indian started to his legs to make good his retreat, but as his back was turned in flight, Bill rushed after him and dealt him a kick that laid him prone on his face.

This was the signal for a general mêlée, and a terrible one it was!

Bill got Peggy pulled to one side, and gave her in charge to Dick, who had come thundering across on his huge horse towards the scene of conflict.

Under the shelter of a spreading tree Dick lifted his precious charge. But she speedily revived when he laid her flat on the ground. She smiled feebly and held out her hand, which Dick took and kissed, the tears positively trickling over his cheeks.

Perhaps it was a kind of boyish impulse that caused him to say what he now said:

"Oh, Peggy, my darling, how I love you! Whereever you are, dear, wherever I am--oh, always think of me a little!"

That was all.

A faint colour suffused Peggy's cheek for just a moment. Then she sat up, and the noble hound anxiously licked her face.

But she had made no reply.

Meanwhile the mêlée went merrily on, as a Donnybrook Irishman might remark.

Fiercely and wildly both sides fought, using as weapons whatsoever came handiest.

But soon the savages were beaten and discomfited with, sad to tell, the loss of one life--that of a savage.

Not only Jake himself, but Roland and Mr. Peter were now on the scene of the recent conflict. Close to Peter's side, watching every movement of his lips and eyes, stood Benee, the Indian who had saved the children.

Several times Peter looked as if he felt uneasy, and once he turned towards Benee as if about to speak.

He said nothing, and the man continued his watchful scrutiny.

After consulting for a short time together, Jake and Roland, with Burly Bill, determined to hold a court of inquiry on the spot.

But, strange to say, Peter kept aloof. He continued to walk to and fro, and Benee still hung in his rear. But this ex-savage was soon called upon to act as interpreter if his services should be needed, which they presently were.

Every one of the civilized Indians had the same story to tell of the laziness and insolence of the Bolivians, and now Jake ordered the chief of the other party to come forward.

They sulked for a short time.

But Jake drew his pistols, and, one in each hand, stepped out and ordered all to the front.

They made no verbal response to the questions put to them through Benee. Their only reply was scowling.

"Well, Mr. St. Clair," said Jake, "my advice is to pay these rascals and send them off."

"Good!" said Roland. "I have money."

The chief was ordered to draw nearer, and the dollars were counted into his claw-like fist.

The fellow drew up his men in a line and gave to each his pay, reserving his own.

Then at a signal, given by the chief, there was raised a terrible war-whoop and howl.

The chief spat on his dollars and dashed them into a neighbouring pool. Every man did the same.

Roland was looking curiously on. He was wondering what would happen next.

He had not very long to wait, for with his foot the chief turned the dead man on his back, and the blood from his death-stab poured out afresh.

He dipped his palm in the red stream and held it up on high. His men followed his example.

Then all turned to the sun, and in one voice uttered just one word, which, being interpreted by Benee, was understood to mean--REVENGE!

They licked the blood from their hands, and, turning round, marched in silence and in single file out and away from the forest and were seen no more.

[CHAPTER IX--THAT TREE IN THE FOREST GLADE]

The things, the happenings, I have now to tell you of in this chapter form the turning-point in our story.

Weeks passed by after the departure of that mysterious band of savages, and things went on in the same old groove on the plantation.

Whence the savages had come, or whither they had gone, none could tell. But all were relieved at their exit, dramatic and threatening though it had been.

The hands were all very busy now everywhere, and one day, it being the quarter's end, after taking stock Roland gave his usual dinner-party, and a ball to his natives. These were all dressed out as gaily as gaily could be. The ladies wore the most tawdry of finery, most of which they had bought, or rather had had brought them by their brothers and lovers from Pará, and nothing but the most pronounced evening dress did any "lady of colour" deign to wear.

Why should they not ape the quality, and "poh deah Miss Peggy".

Peggy was very happy that evening, and so I need hardly say was Dick Temple. Though he never had dared to speak of love again, no one could have looked at those dark daring eyes of his and said it was not there.

It must have been about eleven by the clock and a bright moonlight night when Dick started to ride home. He knew the track well, he said, and could not be prevailed upon to stay all night. Besides, his uncle expected him.

The dinner and ball given to the plantation hands had commenced at sunset, or six o'clock, and after singing hymns--a queer finish to a most hilarious dance--all retired, and by twelve of the clock not a sound was to be heard over all the plantation save now and then the mournful cry of the shriek-owl or a plash in the river, showing that the 'gators preferred a moonshiny night to daylight itself.

The night wore on, one o'clock, two o'clock chimed from the turret on Burnley Hall, and soon after this, had anyone been in the vicinity he would have seen a tall figure, wrapped in cloak and hood, steal away from the house adown the walks that led from the flowery lawns. The face was quite hidden, but several times the figure paused, as if to listen and glance around, then hurried on once more, and finally disappeared in the direction of the forest.

Peggy's bedroom was probably the most tastefully-arranged and daintily-draped in the house, and when she lay down to-night and fell gently asleep, very sweet indeed were the dreams that visited her pillow. The room was on a level with the river lawn, on to which it opened by a French or casement window. Three o'clock!

The moon shone on the bed, and even on the girl's face, but did not awaken her.

A few minutes after this, and the casement window was quietly opened, and the same cloaked figure, which stole away from the mansion an hour before, softly entered.

It stood for more than half a minute erect and listening, then, bending low beside the bed, listened a moment there.

Did no spectral dream cross the sleeping girl's vision to warn her of the dreadful fate in store for her?

Had she shrieked even now, assistance would have been speedily forthcoming, and she might have been saved!

But she quietly slumbered on.

Then the dark figure retreated as it had come, and presently another and more terrible took its place--a burly savage carrying a blanket or rug.

First the girl's clothing and shoes, her watch and all her trinkets, were gathered up and handed to someone on the lawn.

Then the savage, approaching the bed with stealthy footsteps, at once enveloped poor Peggy in the rug and bore her off.

For a moment she uttered a muffled moan or two, like a nightmare scream, then all was still as the grave.

————

"Missie Peggy! Missie Peggy," cried Beeboo next morning at eight as she entered the room. "What for you sleep so long? Ah!" she added sympathizingly, still holding the door-knob in her hand. "Ah! but den the poh chile very tired. Dance plenty mooch las' night, and--"

She stopped suddenly.

Something unusual in the appearance of the bed attire attracted her attention and she speedily rushed towards it.

She gave vent at once to a loud yell, and Roland himself, who was passing near, ran in immediately.

He stood like one in a state of catalepsy, with his eyes fixed on the empty bed. But he recovered shortly.

"Oh, this is a fearful day!" he cried, and hastened out to acquaint Jake and Bill, both of whom, as well as Mr. Peter, slept in the east wing of the mansion.

He ran from door to door knocking very loud and shouting: "Awake, awake, Peggy has gone! She has been kidnapped, and the accursed savages have had their revenge!"

In their pyjamas only, Jake and Bill appeared, and after a while Mr. Peter, fully dressed.

He looked sleepy.

"I had too much wine last night," he said, with a yawn, "and slept very heavily all night. But what is the matter?"

He was quietly and quickly informed.

"This is indeed a fearful blow, but surely we can trace the scoundrels!"

"Boys, hurry through with your breakfast," said Roland. "Jake, I will be back in a few minutes."

He whistled shrilly and Brawn came rushing to his side.

"Follow me, Brawn."

His object was to find out in which direction the savages had gone.

Had Brawn been a blood-hound he could soon have picked up the scent.

As it was, however, his keen eyes discovered the trail on the lawn, and led him to the gate. He howled impatiently to have it opened, then bounded out and away towards the forest in a westerly and southerly direction, which, if pursued far enough, would lead towards Bolivia, along the wild rocky banks of the Madeira River.

It was a whole hour before Brawn returned. He carried something in his mouth. He soon found his master, and laid the something gently down at his feet, stretching himself--grief-stricken--beside it.

It was one of Peggy's boots, with a white silk stocking in it, drenched in blood.

The white men and Indians were now fully aroused, and, leaving Jake in charge of the estate, Roland picked out thirty of the best men, armed them with guns, and placed them under the command of Burly Bill. Then they started off in silence, Roland and Burly mounted, the armed whites and Indians on foot.

Brawn went galloping on in front in a very excited manner, often returning and barking wildly at the horses as if to hurry them on.

Throughout that forenoon they journeyed by the trail, which was now distinct enough, and led through the jungle and forest.

They came out on to a clearing about one o'clock. Here was water in abundance, and as they were all thoroughly exhausted, they threw themselves down by the spring to quench their thirst and rest.

Bill made haste now to deal out the provisions, and after an hour, during which time most of them slept, they resumed their journey.

A mile or two farther on they came to a sight which almost froze their blood.

In the middle of a clearing or glade stood a great tree. It was hollowed out at one side, and against this was still a heap of half-charred wood, evidently the remains of a fierce fire, though every ember had died black out.

Here was poor Peggy's other shoe. That too was bloody.

And here was a pool of coagulated blood, with huge rhinoceros beetles busy at their work of excavation. Portions or rags of dress also!

It was truly an awful sight!

Roland reined up his horse, and placed his right hand over his eyes.

"Bill," he managed to articulate, "can you have the branches removed, and let us know the fearful worst?"

Burly Bill gave the order, and the Indians tossed the half-burned wood aside.

Then they pulled out bone after bone of limbs, of arms, of ribs. But all were charred almost into cinders!

Roland now seemed to rise to the occasion.

He held his right arm on high.

"Bill," he cried; "here, under the blazing sun and above the remains, the dust of my dead sister, I register a vow to follow up these fiends to their distant homes, if Providence shall but lead us aright, and to slay and burn every wretch who has aided or abetted this terrible deed!"

"I too register that vow," said Bill solemnly.

"And I, and I!" shouted the white men, and even the Indians.

They went on again once more, after burying the charred bones and dust.

But the trail took them to a ford, and beyond the stream there was not the imprint of even a single footstep.

The retiring savages must either have doubled back on their tracks or waded for miles up or down the rocky stream before landing.

Nothing more could be done to-day, for the sun was already declining, and they must find their way out of the gloom of the forest before darkness. So the return journey was made, and just as the sun's red beams were crimsoning the waters of the western river, they arrived once more at the plantation and Burnley Hall.

The first to meet them was Peter himself. He seemed all anxiety.

"What have you found?" he gasped.

It was a moment or two before Roland could reply.

"Only the charred remains of my poor sister!" he said at last, then compressed his mouth in an effort to keep back the tears.

The Indian who took so lively an interest in Mr. Peter was not far away, and was watching his man as usual.

None noticed, save Benee himself, that Mr. Peter heaved something very like a sigh of relief as Roland's words fell on his ears.

Burnley Hall was now indeed a castle of gloom; but although poor Mrs. St. Clair was greatly cast down, the eager way in which Roland and Dick were making their preparations to follow up the savage Indians, even to the confines or interior, if necessary, of their own domains, gave her hope.

Luckily they had already found a clue to their whereabouts, for one of the civilized Bolivians knew that very chief, and indeed had come from the same far-off country. He described the people as a race of implacable savages and cannibals, into whose territory no white man had ever ventured and returned alive.

Were they a large tribe? No, not large, not over three or four thousand, counting women and children. Their arms? These were spears and broad two-bladed knives, with great slings, from which they could hurl large stones and pieces of flint with unerring accuracy, and bows and arrows. And no number of white men could stand against these unless they sheltered themselves in trenches or behind rocks and trees.

This ex-cannibal told them also that the land of this terrible tribe abounded in mineral wealth, in silver ore and even in gold.

For this information Roland cared little; all he wished to do was to avenge poor Peggy's death. If his men, after the fighting, chose to lay out claims he would permit a certain number of them to do so, their names to be drawn by ballot. The rest must accompany the expedition back.

Dick's uncle needed but little persuasion to give forty white men, fully armed and equipped, to swell Roland's little army of sixty whites. Besides these, they would have with them carriers and ammunition-bearers--Indians from the plantations.

Dick was all life and fire. If they were successful, he himself, he said, would shoot the murderous chief, or stab him to the heart.

A brave show indeed did the little army make, when all mustered and drilled, and every man there was most enthusiastic, for all had loved poor lost Peggy.

"I shall remain at my post here, I suppose," said Mr. Peter.

"If I do not alter my mind I shall leave you and Jake, with Mr. Roberts, the tutor, to manage the estate in my absence," said Roland.

He did alter his mind, and, as the following will show, he had good occasion to do so.

One evening the strange Indian Benee, between whom and Peter there existed so much hatred, sought Roland out when alone.

"Can I speakee you, all quiet foh true?"

"Certainly, my good fellow. Come into my study. Now, what is it you would say?"

"Dat Don Pedro no true man! I tinkee much, and I tinkee dat."

"Well, I know you don't love each other, Benee; but can you give me any proofs of his villainy?"

"You letee me go to-night all myse'f alone to de bush. I tinkee I bring you someding strange. Some good news. Ha! it may be so!"

"I give you leave, and believe you to be a faithful fellow."

Benee seized his master's hand and bent down his head till his brow touched it.

Next moment he was gone.

Next morning he was missed.

"Your pretty Indian," said Mr. Peter, with an ill-concealed sneer, "is a traitor, then, after all, and a spy, and it was no doubt he who instigated the abduction and the murder, for the sake of revenge, of your poor little sister."

"That remains to be seen, Mr. Peter. If he, or anyone else on the plantation, is a traitor, he shall hang as high as Haman."

Peter cowered visibly, but smiled his agitation off.

And that same night about twelve, while Roland sat smoking on the lawn with Dick, all in the moonlight, everyone else having retired--smoking and talking of the happy past--suddenly the gate hinges creaked, and with a low growl Brawn sprang forward. But he returned almost immediately, wagging his tail and being caressed by Benee himself.

Silently stood the Indian before them, silently as a statue, but in his left hand he carried a small bundle bound up in grass. It was not his place to speak first, and both young men were a little startled at his sudden appearance.

"What, Benee! and back so soon from the forest?"

"Benee did run plenty quickee. Plenty jaguar want eat Benee, but no can catchee."

"Well?"

"I would speekee you bof boys in de room."

The two started up together.

Here was some mystery that must be unravelled.

[CHAPTER X--BENEE MAKES A STRANGE DISCOVERY]

Benee followed them into Roland's quiet study, and placed his strange grass-girt bundle on a cane chair.

Roland gave him a goblet of wine-and-water, which he drank eagerly, for he was faint and tired.

"Now, let us hear quickly what you have to say, Benee."

The Indian came forward, and his words, though uttered with some vehemence, and accompanied by much gesticulation, were delivered in almost a whisper.

It would have been impossible for any eavesdropper in the hall to have heard.

"Wat I tellee you 'bout dat Peter?" he began.

"My good friend," said Roland, "Peter accuses you of being a spy and traitor."

"I killee he!"

"No, you will not; if Peter is guilty, I will see that justice overtakes him."

"Well, 'fore I go, sah, I speakee you and say I bringee you de good news."

"Tell us quickly!" said Dick in a state of great excitement.

"Dis, den, is de good news: Missie Peggy not dead! No, no!"

"Explain, Benee, and do not raise false hopes in our breasts."

"De cannibals make believe she murder; dat all is."

"But have we not found portions of her raiment, her blood-dripping stockings, and also her charred remains?"

"Listen, sah. Dese cannibals not fools. Dey beat you plenty of trail, so you can easily find de clearing where de fire was. Dey wis' you to go to dat tree to see de blood, de shoe, and all. But when you seekee de trail after, where is she? Tellee me dat. Missie Peggy no murder. No, no. She am carried away, far away, as one prisint to de queen ob de cannibals."

"What were the bones, my good Benee?"

Then Benee opened his strange bundle, and there fell on the floor the half-burned skull and jaws of a gigantic baboon.

"I find dat hid beside de tree. Ha, ha!"

"It is all clear now," said Roland. "My dear, faithful Benee," he continued, "can you guide us to the country of the cannibals? You will meet your reward, both here and hereafter."

"I not care. I lub Missie Peggy. Ah, she come backee once moh, foh true!"

And now Dick Temple, the impulsive, must step forward and seize Benee by the hand. "God bless you!" he said; and indeed it was all he could say.

When the Indian had gone, Roland and Dick drew closer together.

"The mystery," said the former, "seems to me, Dick, to be as dark and intricate as ever. I can understand the savages carrying poor Peggy away, but why the tricky deceit, the dropped shoe that poor, noble Brawn picked up, the pool of blood, the rent and torn garments, and the half-charred bones?"

"Well, I think I can see through that, Roland. I believe it was done to prevent your further pursuit; for, as Benee observes, the trail is left plainly enough for even a white man to see as far as the 'fire-tree' and on to the brook. But farther there is none."

"Well, granting all this; think you, Dick, that no one instigated them, probably even suggested the crime and the infernal deceit they have practised?"

"Now you are thinking of, if not actually accusing, Mr. Peter?"

"I am, Dick. I have had my suspicions of him ever since a month after he came. It was strange how Benee hated him from the beginning, to say nothing of Brawn, the dog, and our dear lost Peggy."

"Cheer up!" said Dick. "Give Peter a show, though things look dark against him."

"Yes," said Roland sternly, "and with us and our expedition he must and shall go. We can watch his every move, and if I find that he is a villain, may God have mercy on his soul! His body shall feed the eagles."

Dick Temple was a wild and reckless boy, it is true, and always first, if possible, in any adventure which included a spice of danger, but he had a good deal of common sense notwithstanding.

He mused a little, and rolled himself a fresh cigarette before he replied.

"Your Mr. Peter," he said, "may or may not be guilty of duplicity, though I do not see the raison d'être for any such conduct, and I confess to you that I look upon lynching as a wild kind of justice. At the same time I must again beg of you, Roland, to give the man a decent show."

"Here is my hand on that, Dick. He shall have justice, even should that just finish with his dangling at a rope's end."

The two shortly after this parted for the night, each going to his own room, but I do not think that either of them slept till long past midnight.

They were up in good time, however, for the bath, and felt invigorated and hungry after the dip.

They were not over-merry certainly, but Mrs. St. Clair was quite changed, and just a little hysterically hilarious. For as soon as he had tubbed, Roland had gone to her bedroom and broken the news to her which Benee had brought.

That same forenoon Dick and Roland rode out to the forest.

They could hear the boom and shriek and roar of the great buzz-saw long before they came near the white-men's quarters.

They saw Jake,--and busy enough he was too,--and told him that they had some reason to doubt the honesty or sincerity of Mr. Peter, and that they would take him along with them.

"Thank God!" said Jake most fervently. "I myself cannot trust a man whom a dog like Brawn and a savage like Benee have come to hate."

By themselves that day the young fellows completed their plans, and all would now be ready to advance in a week's time.

That same day, however, on parade and in presence of Mr. Peter, Roland made a little speech.

"We are going," he said, "my good fellows, on a very long and adventurous journey. Poor Miss Peggy is, as we all know" (this was surely a fib that would be forgiven) "dead and gone, but we mean to follow these savages up to their own country, and deal them such a blow as will paralyse them for years. Yellow Charlie yonder is himself one of their number, but he has proved himself faithful, and has offered to be our guide as soon as we enter unknown regions.

"I have," he added, "perfect faith in my white men, faith in Mr. Peter, whom I am taking with me--"

Peter took a step forward as if to speak, but Roland waved him back.

"And I know my working Indians will prove themselves good men and true.

"After saying this, it is hardly necessary to add that if anyone is found attempting to desert our column, even should it be Burly Bill himself" (Burly Bill laughed outright), "he will be shot down as we would shoot a puma or alligator."

There was a wild cheer after Roland stepped down from the balcony, and in this Mr. Peter seemed to join so heartily that Roland's heart smote him.

For perhaps, after all, he had been unkind in thought to this man.

Time alone would tell.

The boys determined to leave nothing to chance, but ammunition was of even more importance than food. They hoped to find water everywhere, and the biscuits carried, with the roots they should dig, would serve to keep the expedition alive and healthy, with the aid of their good guns.

Medicine was not forgotten, nor medical comforts.

For three whole days Roland trained fast-running Indians to pick up a trail. A man would be allowed to have three miles' start, and then, when he was quite invisible, those human sleuth-hounds would be let loose, and they never failed to bring back their prisoner after a time.

One man at least was much impressed by these trials of skill.

Just a week before the start, and late in the evening, Benee once more presented himself before our young heroes.

"I would speakee you!"

"Well, Benee, say what you please, but all have not yet retired. Dick, get out into the hall, and warn us if anyone approaches."

Dick jumped up, threw his cigarette away, and did as he was told.

"Thus I speakee you and say," said Benee. "You trustee I?"

"Assuredly!"

"Den you let me go?"

"How and where?"

"I go fast as de wind, fleeter dan de rain-squall, far ober de mountains ob Madeira, far froo' de wild, dark forest. I heed noting, I fear noting. No wil' beas' makee Benee 'fraid. I follow de cannibals. I reach de country longee time 'foh you. I creepee like one snake to de hut ob poh deah Peggy. She no can fly wid me, but I 'sure her dat you come soon, in two moon p'laps, or free. I make de chile happy. Den I creep and glide away again all samee one black snake, and come back to find you. I go?"

Roland took the man's hand. Savage though he was, there was kindness and there was undoubted sincerity in those dark, expressive eyes, and our hero at once gave the permission asked.

"But," he said, "the way is long and dangerous, my good Benee, so here I give you two long-range six-shooters, a repeating-rifle, and a box of cartridges. May God speed your journey, and bring you safely back with news that shall inspire our hearts! Go!"

Benee glided away as silently as he had come, and next morning his place was found empty. But would their trust in this man reap its reward, or--awful doubt--was Benee false?

Next night but one something very strange happened.

All was silent in and around Burnley Hall, and the silvery tones of the great tower clock had chimed the hour of three, when the window of Mr. Peter's room was silently opened, and out into the moonlight glided the man himself.

He carried in his hand a heavy grip-sack, and commenced at once taking the path that led downwards to the river.

Here lay the dinghy boat drawn up on the beach. She was secured with padlock and chain, but all Roland's officers carried keys.

It was about a quarter of a mile to the river-side, and Peter was proceeding at a fairly rapid rate, considering the weight of his grip-sack.

He had a habit of talking to himself. He was doing so now.

"I have only to drop well down the river and intercept a steamer. It is this very day they pass, and--"

Two figures suddenly glided from the bush and stood before him.

One sprang up behind, whom he could not see.

"Good-morning, Mr. Peter! Going for a walk early, aren't you? It's going to turn out a delightful day, I think."

They were white men.

"Here!" cried Peter, "advance but one step, or dare to impede my progress, and you are both dead men! I am a good shot, and happen, as you see, to have the draw on you."

Next moment his right arm was seized from behind, the men in front ducked, and the first shot went off in the air.

"Here, none o' that, guv'nor!" said a set, determined voice.

The revolver was wrenched from his grasp, and he found himself on his back in the pathway.

"It is murder you'd be after! Eh?"

"Not so, my good fellow," said Peter. "I will explain."

"Explain, then."

"My duties are ended with Mr. Roland St. Clair. He owes me one month's wages. I have forfeited that and given warning, and am going. That is all."

"You are going, are you? Well, we shall see about that."

"Yes, you may, and now let me pass on my peaceful way."

"He! he! he! But tell us, Mr. Peter, why this speedy departure? Hast aught upon thy conscience, or hast got a conscience?"

Peter had risen to his feet.

"Merely this. I claim the privilege of every working man, that of giving leave. I am not strong, and I dread the long journey Mr. St. Clair and his little band are to take."

"But," said the other, "you came in such a questionable shape, and we were here to watch for stragglers, not of course thinking for a moment, Mr. Peter, that your French window would be opened, and that you yourself would attempt to take French leave.

"Now you really must get back to your bedroom, guv'nor, and see Mr. St. Clair in the morning. My mates will do sentry-go at your window, and I shall be by your door in case you need anything. It is a mere matter of form, Mr. Peter, but of course we have to obey orders. Got ere a drop of brandy in your flask?"

Peter quickly produced quite a large bottle. He drank heavily himself first, and then passed it round.

But the men took but little, and Mr. Peter, half-intoxicated, allowed himself to be conducted to bed.

When these sentries gave in their report next morning to Roland, Mr. Peter did not rise a deal in the young fellow's estimation.

"It only proves one thing," he said to Dick. "If Peter is so anxious to give us the slip, we must watch him well until we are far on the road towards the cannibals' land."

"That's so," returned Dick Temple.

Not a word was said to Peter regarding his attempted flight when he sat down to breakfast with the boys, and naturally enough he believed it had not been reported. Indeed he had some hazy remembrance of having offered the sentries a bribe to keep dark.

Mr. Peter ate very sparingly, and looked sadly fishy about the eyes.

But he made no more attempts to escape just then.

[CHAPTER XI--ALL ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS]

That Benee was a good man and true we have little reason to doubt, up to the present time at all events.

Yet Dick Temple was, curiously enough, loth to believe that Mr. Peter was other than a friend. And nothing yet had been proved against him.

"Is it not natural enough," said he to Roland, "that he should funk--to put it in fine English--the terrible expedition you and I are about to embark upon? And knowing that you have commanded him to accompany us would, in my opinion, be sufficient to account for his attempt to escape and drop down the river to Pará, and so home to his own country. Roland, I repeat, we must give the man a show."

"True," said Roland, "and poor Benee is having his show. Time alone can prove who the traitor is. If it be Benee he will not return. On the contrary, he will join the savage captors of poor Peggy, and do all in his power to frustrate our schemes."

No more was said.

But the preparations were soon almost completed, and in a day or two after this, farewells being said, the brave little army began by forced marches to find its way across country and through dense forests and damp marshes, and over rocks and plains, to the Madeira river, high above its junction with the great Amazon.

————

Meanwhile let us follow the lonely Indian in his terrible journey to the distant and unexplored lands of Bolivia.

Like all true savages, he despised the ordinary routes of traffic or trade; his track must be a bee-line, guiding himself by the sun by day, but more particularly by the stars by night.

Benee knew the difference betwixt stars and planets. The latter were always shifting, but certain stars--most to him were like lighthouses to mariners who are approaching land--shone over the country of the cannibals, and he could tell from their very altitude how much progress he was making night after night.

So lonesome, so long, was his thrice dreary journey, that had it been undertaken by a white man, in all probability he would soon have been a raving maniac.

But Benee had all the cunning, all the daring, and all the wisdom of a true savage, and for weeks he felt a proud exhilaration, a glorious sense of freedom and happiness, at being once more his own master, no work to do, and hope ever pointing him onwards to his goal.

What was that goal? it may well be asked. Was Benee disinterested? Did he really feel love for the white man and the white man's children? Can aught save selfishness dwell in the breast of a savage? In brief, was it he who had been the spy, he who was the guilty man; or was it Peter who was the villain? Look at it in any light we please, one thing is certain, this strange Indian was making his way back to his own country and to his own friends, and Indians are surely not less fond of each other than are the wild beasts who herd together in the forest, on the mountain-side, or on the ice in the far-off land of the frozen north. And well we know that these creatures will die for each other.

If there was a mystery about Peter, there was something approaching to one about Benee also.

But then it must be remembered that since his residence on the St. Clair plantation, Benee had been taught the truths of that glorious religion of ours, the religion of love that smoothes the rugged paths of life for us, that gives a silver lining to every cloud of grief and sorrow, and gilds even the dark portals of death itself.

Benee believed even as little children do. And little Peggy in her quiet moods used to tell him the story of life by redemption in her almost infantile way.

For all that, it is hard and difficult to vanquish old superstitions, and this man was only a savage at heart after all, though, nevertheless, there seemed to be much good in his rough, rude nature, and you may ofttimes see the sweetest and most lovely little flowers growing on the blackest and ruggedest of rocks.

Well, this journey of Benee's was certainly no sinecure. Apart even from all the dangers attached to it, from wild beasts and wilder men, it was one that would have tried the hardest constitution, if only for the simple reason that it was all a series of forced marches.

There was something in him that was hurrying him on and encouraging him to greater and greater exertions every hour. His daily record depended to a great extent on the kind of country he had to negotiate. He began with forty miles, but after a time, when he grew harder, he increased this to fifty and often to sixty. It was at times difficult for him to force his way through deep, dark forest and jungle, along the winding wild-beast tracks, past the beasts themselves, who hid in trees ready to spring had he paused but a second; through marshes and bogs, with here and there a reedy lake, on which aquatic birds of brightest colours slept as they floated in the sunshine, but among the long reeds of which lay the ever-watchful and awful cayman.

In such places as these, I think Benee owed his safety to his utter fearlessness and sang-froid, and to the speed at which he travelled.

It was not a walk by any means, but a strange kind of swinging trot. Such a gait may still be seen in far-off outlying districts of the Scottish Highlands, where it is adopted by postal "runners", who consider it not only faster but less tiresome than walking.

For the first hundred miles, or more, the lonely traveller found himself in a comparatively civilized country. This was not very much to his liking, and as a rule he endeavoured to give towns and villages, and even rubber forests, where Indians worked under white men overseers, a wide berth.

Yet sometimes, hidden in a tree, he would watch the work going on; watch the men walking hither and thither with their pannikins, or deftly whirling the shovels they had dipped in the sap-tub and holding them in the dark smoke of the palm-tree nuts, or he would listen to their songs. But it was with no feeling of envy; it was quite the reverse.

For Benee was free! Oh what a halo of happiness and glory surrounds that one little word "Free"!

Then this lonely wanderer would hug himself, as it were, and, dropping down from his perch, start off once more at his swinging trot.

Even as the crow flies, or the bee wings its flight, the length of Benee's journey would be over six hundred miles. But it was impossible for anyone to keep a bee-line, owing to the roughness of the country and the difficulties of every kind to be overcome, so that it is indeed impossible to estimate the magnitude of this lone Indian's exploit.

His way, roughly speaking, lay between the Madeira River and the Great Snake River called Puras (vide map); latterly it would lead him to the lofty regions and plateaux of the head-waters of Maya-tata, called by the Peruvians the Madre de Dios, or Holy Virgin River.

But hardly a day now passed that he had not a stream of some kind to cross, and wandering by its banks seeking for a ford delayed him considerably.

He was journeying thus one morning when the sound of human voices not far off made him creep quickly into the jungle.

The men did not take long to put in an appearance.

A portion of some wandering, hunting, or looting tribe they were, and cut-throat looking scoundrels everyone of them--five in all.

They were armed with bows and arrows and with spears. Their arrows, Benee could see, were tipped with flint, and the flint was doubtless poisoned. They carried also slings and broad knives in their belts of skin. The slings are used in warfare, but they are also used by shepherds--monsters who, like many in this country, know not the meaning of the words "mercy to dumb animals"--on their poor sheep.

These fellows, who now lay down to rest and to eat, much to Benee's disgust, not to say dismay, were probably a party of llama (pronounced yahmah) herds or shepherds who had, after cutting their master's throat, banded together and taken to this roving life.

So thought Benee, at all events, for he could see many articles of European dress, such as dainty scarves of silk, lace handkerchiefs, &c., as well as brooches, huddled over their own clothing, and one fierce-looking fellow pulled out a gold watch and pretended to look at the time.

So angry was Benee that his savage nature got uppermost, and he handled his huge revolvers in a nervous way that showed his anxiety to open fire and spoil the cut-throats' dinner. But he restrained himself for the time being.

In addition to the two revolvers, Benee carried the repeating rifle. It was the fear of spoiling his ammunition that led to his being in this dreadful fix. But for his cartridges he could have swum the river with the speed of a gar-fish.

What a long, long time they stayed, and how very leisurely they munched and fed!

A slight sound on his left flank caused Benee to gaze hastily round. To his horror, he found himself face to face with a puma.

Here was indeed a dilemma!

If he fired he would make his presence known, and small mercy could he expect from the cut-throats. At all hazards he determined to keep still.

The yellow eyes of this American lion flared and glanced in a streak of sunshine shot downwards through the bush, and it was this probably which dimmed his vision, for he made no attempt to spring forward.

Benee dared scarcely to breathe; he could hear the beating of his own heart, and could not help wondering if the puma heard it too.

At last the brute backed slowly astern, with a wriggling motion.

But Benee gained courage now.

During the long hours that followed, several great snakes passed him so closely that he could have touched their scaly backs. Some of these were lithe and long, others very thick and slow in motion, but nearly all were beautifully coloured in metallic tints of crimson, orange, green, and bronze, and all were poisonous.

The true Bolivian, however, has but little fear of snakes, knowing that unless trodden upon, or otherwise actively interfered with, they care not to waste their venom by striking.

At long, long last the cut-throats got up to leave. They would before midnight no doubt reach some lonely outpost and demand entertainment at the point of the knife, and if strange travellers were there, sad indeed would be their fate.

Benee now crawled, stiff and cramped, out from his damp and dangerous hiding-place. He found a ford not far off, and after crossing, he set off once more at his swinging trot, and was soon supple and happy enough.

On and on he went all that day, to make up for lost time, and far into the starry night.

The hills were getting higher now, the valleys deeper and damper between, and stream after stream had to be forded.

It must have been long past eight o'clock when, just as Benee was beginning to long for food and rest, his eyes fell on a glimmering light at the foot of a high and dark precipice.

He warily ventured forward and found it proceeded from a shepherd's hut; inside sat the man himself, quietly eating a kind of thick soup, the basin flanked by a huge flagon of milk, with roasted yams. Great, indeed, was the innocent fellow's surprise when Benee presented himself in the doorway. A few words in Bolivian, kindly uttered by our wayfarer, immediately put the man at ease, however, and before long Benee was enjoying a hearty supper, followed by a brew of excellent maté.

He was a very simple son of the desert, this shepherd, but a desultory kind of conversation was maintained, nevertheless, until far into the night.

For months and months, he told Benee, he had lived all alone with his sheep in these grassy uplands, having only the companionship of his half-wild, but faithful dog. But he was contented and happy, and had plenty to eat and drink.

It was just sunrise when Benee awoke from a long refreshing sleep on his bed of skins. There was the odour of smoke all about, and presently the shepherd himself bustled in and bade him "Good-morning!", or "Heaven's blessing!" which is much the same.

A breakfast of rough, black cake, with butter, fried fish, and maté, made Benee as happy as a king and as fresh as a mountain trout, and soon after he said farewell and started once more on his weary road. The only regret he experienced rose from the fact that he had nothing wherewith to reward this kindly shepherd for his hospitality.

Much against his will, our wanderer had now to make a long detour, for not even a goat could have scaled the ramparts of rock in front of him.