Miller told how once on the Orinoco he saw on the bank a small anaconda, some ten feet long, killing one of the iguanas, big, active, truculent, carnivorous lizards, equally at home on the land and in the water.  Evidently the iguanas were digging out holes in the bank in which to lay their eggs; for there were several such holes, and iguanas working at them.  The snake had crushed its prey to a pulp; and not more than a couple of feet away another iguana was still busily, and with entire unconcern, engaged in making its burrow.  At Miller’s approach the anaconda left the dead iguana and rushed into the water, and the live iguana promptly followed it.  Miller also told of the stone gods and altars and temples he had seen in the great Colombian forests, monuments of strange civilizations which flourished and died out ages ago, and of which all memory has vanished.  He and Cherrie told of giant rivers and waterfalls, and of forests never penetrated, and mountains never ascended by civilized man; and of bloody revolutions that devastated the settled regions.  Listening to them I felt that they could write “Tales of Two Naturalists” that would be worth reading.

They were short of literature, by the way—­a party such as ours always needs books—­and as Kermit’s reading-matter consisted chiefly of Camoens and other Portuguese, or else Brazilian, writers, I strove to supply the deficiency with spare volumes of Gibbon.  At the end of our march we were usually far ahead of the mule-train, and the rain was also usually falling.  Accordingly we would sit about under trees, or under a shed or lean-to, if there was one, each solemnly reading a volume of Gibbon—­and no better reading can be found.  In my own case, as I had been having rather a steady course of Gibbon, I varied him now and then with a volume of Arsene Lupin lent me by Kermit.

There were many swollen rivers to cross at this point of our journey.  Some we waded at fords.  Some we crossed by rude bridges.  The larger ones, such as the Juina, we crossed by ferry, and when the approaches were swampy, and the river broad and swift, many hours might be consumed in getting the mule-train, the loose bullocks, and the ox-cart over.  We had few accidents, although we once lost a ferry-load of provisions, which was quite a misfortune in a country where they could not be replaced.  The pasturage was poor, and it was impossible to make long marches with our weakened animals.

At one camp three Nhambiquaras paid us a visit at breakfast time.  They left their weapons behind them before they appeared, and shouted loudly while they were still hid by the forest, and it was only after repeated answering calls of welcome that they approached.  Always in the wilderness friends proclaim their presence; a silent advance marks a foe.  Our visitors were men, and stark naked, as usual.  One seemed sick; he was thin, and his back was scarred with marks of the grub of the loathsome berni fly.  Indeed, all of them showed scars, chiefly