The night we reached the Burity it rained heavily, and next day the rain continued.  In the morning the mules were ferried over, while the oxen were swum across.  Half a dozen of our men—­whites, Indians, and negroes, all stark naked and uttering wild cries, drove the oxen into the river and then, with powerful overhand strokes, swam behind and alongside them as they crossed, half breasting the swift current.  It was a fine sight to see the big, long-horned, staring beasts swimming strongly, while the sinewy naked men urged them forward, utterly at ease in the rushing water.  We made only a short day’s journey, for, owing to the lack of grass, the mules had to be driven off nearly three miles from our line of march, in order to get them feed.  We camped at the headwaters of a little brook called Huatsui, which is Parecis for “monkey.”

Accompanying us on this march was a soldier bound for one of the remoter posts.  With him trudged his wife.  They made the whole journey on foot.  There were two children.  One was so young that it had to be carried alternately by the father and mother.  The other, a small boy of eight, and much the best of the party, was already a competent wilderness worker.  He bore his share of the belongings on the march, and when camp was reached sometimes himself put up the family shelter.  They were mainly of negro blood.  Struck by the woman’s uncomplaining endurance of fatigue, we offered to take her and the baby in the automobile, while it accompanied us.  But, alas! this proved to be one of those melancholy cases where the effort to relieve hardship well endured results only in showing that those who endure the adversity cannot stand even a slight prosperity.  The woman proved a querulous traveller in the auto, complaining that she was not made as comfortable as apparently she had expected; and after one day the husband declared he was not willing to have her go unless he went too; and the family resumed their walk.

In this neighborhood there were multitudes of the big, gregarious, crepuscular or nocturnal spiders which I have before mentioned.  On arriving in camp, at about four in the afternoon, I ran into a number of remains of their webs, and saw a very few of the spiders themselves sitting in the webs midway between trees.  I then strolled a couple of miles up the road ahead of us under the line of telegraph-poles.  It was still bright sunlight and no spiders were out; in fact, I did not suspect their presence along the line of telegraph-poles, although I ought to have done so, for I continually ran into long strings of tough fine web, which got across my face or hands or rifle barrel.  I returned just at sunset and the spiders were out in force.  I saw dozens of colonies, each of scores or hundreds of individuals.  Many were among the small trees alongside the broad, cleared trail.  But most were dependent from the wire itself.  Their webs had all been made or repaired since I had passed.  Each was sitting in the middle