the astonished Indian by the hand. “That was my Uncle Robert. How pleased I am. Sit down. Here Tootu, Taoh, Oko—wind, fire, and water,—where are you? Sit down on my mat, Samaro.”

So loudly had Tom shouted, that Wind, Fire, and Water rushed into the toldo like a first-class hurricane, almost upsetting each other in their eagerness.

“Bring coffee and food, and be smart about it.”

“Samaro,” he continued, “this is delightful! How glad I am to have met you. There, look, even my friend, the cat, is getting fond of you.”

Samaro stroked Black Tom somewhat dubiously. Then he looked up.

“Señor,” he said.

“Yes, Samaro.”

“This is not your private debil, is it?”

“No, no. I assure you it is not. I do not keep a private debil. I shouldn’t know what to do with one.”

“Then, señor,” said Samaro in a low voice, and with one rapid glance towards the toldo entrance, “we will say so. We will tell the boys it is your evil spirit.”

“But why, Samaro?”

“Why, señor, it may save your life many times during your stay in the wilds.”

Black Tom was meanwhile walking back and fore betwixt his master and Samaro, with his tail very erect indeed, singing loudly, and evidently doing his best to cement a friendship thus strangely begun.

“Samaro, do you remember all my dear uncle’s adventures?”

“Yes, and all he said. Is the dear señor alive?”

“I trust so. Well, we will oftentimes talk of him. I think, Samaro, you are a good man.”

Samaro laughed aloud, but not disrespectfully.

“I am clever,” he said; “but not good. He! he! O, no; goodness does not pay. I am a thorough blackguard.”

“Samaro, you astonish me! And I don’t believe you.”

“But I have been told so. I have fought plenty, I have scalped my enemies, I have revelled in bloodshed.”

“But you never have betrayed a friend?”

“No, no, no; sooner would Samaro die.”

“And you speak the truth, do you not?”

“Yes. Because one lie told requires five more to shore it up.”

“Shore it up?” said Tom. “That is a sailor’s expression. Where did you acquire it?”

“From your good uncle. But I have much been to sea.”

“You have been to Callao?”

“I know every one there. I have been all over the world too.”

“Do you know that my uncle’s ship was seized by mutineers, with one Roderigo at their head?”

“I know all the story.”

“Samaro, do you know the reason why I am going all alone to the wilds—I mean without a white companion?”

“Like your uncle, you go to hunt.”

“No, that is not my chief reason. Samaro, listen. The captain of that unhappy ship had a son—a boy—who was stolen from his parents, and carried into the interior—”

“No, no,” interrupted Samaro. “He was carried no farther than here at first. He was sold here at Riobamba as a slave, and by Indians taken away across the terrible mountains. Roderigo is a foul fiend! See here,” he continued, his dark eyes blazing with excitement. “Roderigo had a brother, a fierce Spaniard, likewise a fiend; I killed him. Here hangs his brother’s scalp, and I have sworn that Roderigo’s shall hang beside it.”

“Samaro, Roderigo is dead.”

Samaro laughed, a grim and ghastly laugh.

“I know the story. I too have a brother. It was my brother who slew Roderigo. He has his scalp by this time. The grave could not hide his foe long from my brother’s gaze.”

“Samaro,” said Tom, “you almost make me shudder. Surely this villain Roderigo has done you and your brother some irreparable injury?”

Samaro’s face grew dark as night.

“Had Roderigo a thousand lives,” he said, “he should yield them slowly up one by one before he could atone for the injury he did to me and mine. We will say no more now. Believe only this, he—this fiend Roderigo—slew my mother, burned our huts, and stole my brother’s wife and child.”

“So terrible a subject,” said Tom, “is best allowed to rest. But richly indeed did the wretch deserve his fate.”

Samaro sat in silence sipping his coffee for some time after this. But gradually the troubled look that had crept over his face left it, and soon he was talking again cheerfully enough.

“And so,” said Samaro, “I am henceforth to be your guide.”

“You are to be my chief guide, my steward, my counsellor, and my head man in every way.”

Samaro smiled in a pleased way.

“We will begin to get ready at once—to-morrow morning at sunrise,” he said, “if it so please you, señor.”

“That will do, Samaro. I long to be on the road. But one other question I wish to ask you before you retire. Have you any guess as to where Bernard Herbert is or what is his condition?”

“Absolutely none as to his condition, but he was taken away by the Jivaros.”

“Just what the dying Roderigo told me.”

“There was a lady, too,” continued Samaro, “a delicate young girl, sold at the same time. She came from the far east in your uncle’s ship, and had been nurse to Mr. Herbert’s child.”

“Yes, yes; that was the ayah. Did they ill-treat her?”

“No; they were afraid of her. They looked upon her as a being from another world.”

“Did she go with the boy?”

“She did.”

“Then we may find both?”

“I fear neither.”

“What?”

“I give you no hope of finding either. But we may.”

“Ah! yes, Samaro, we may. Good-night. I’ll sleep and dream on that hope.”

“Good-night.”

CHAPTER VIII.

“NEVER BEFORE HAD TOM EXPERIENCED SUCH A FEELING OF AWFUL DANGER.”

SAMARO had been exceedingly well recommended to Tom as a perfect guide for the wilds, but the very fact that he had been with his uncle would in itself have been the best of testimony in the man’s favour.

He proved himself most active and energetic from the first.

And there was quite a deal to be seen to. All stores of every kind had been brought from the ship and from Guayaquil, and shortly after sunrise Samaro proceeded to muster his forces and take stock of everything.

The stores were a medley; but the heaviest packages were those that contained articles for barter with the Indians of the interior, and these consisted chiefly of light cloth, thread, needles, pins, beads, axes, knives, spear-heads, looking-glasses, an African tom-tom, and a couple of German concertinas. Many of these things would be given away as presents, and there was even a gun or two that might also change hands.

The stores for the use of Tom himself and his Indian followers consisted for the most part of the tent, a grass hammock, a few blankets, with plenty of rifles, revolvers, and ammunition. Fishing gear had not been forgotten, nor useful tools of various sorts, to say nothing of preserved meats and a few simple medicines.

Such was the outfit of the Hermit Hunter of the Wilds. A hermit of the old school might have been content with far less, but your modern wanderers do not despise anything which science may suggest as likely to add to their comfort. The horses were wiry, useful, willing beasts; strong too, and as sure-footed as mules even. The dogs were probably better than they looked. Mongrel greyhounds they were—not unlike a breed we find in Australia under the name of kangaroo-hounds.

The packages were carried by the horses in light, wicker baskets saddle fashion, and all were covered with waterproof canvas.

Tom had already enjoyed some of the delights of Ecuador travelling—if, indeed, there was very much delight in it—and his adventures as far as Riobamba would be worth relating were it not that those which followed were far more thrilling. But there had been rivers to cross, over tumble-down bridges, mountains to climb along tracks called roads which sheep in England would disdain, deep forests to force through, and long stretches of sandy plains to struggle over by paths that seemed interminable.

But although the rainy season was scarcely past the weather had been comparatively fine; and the scenery, ever varying, according to the altitude above the sea-level, was at times beautiful in the extreme, or grand even to awesome sublimity.

Tom was fond of nature in all her varied aspects, and all through his journeyings he had the pleasant companionship of birds and flowers and ferns, to say nothing of many a little forest friend in fur, that hardly thought of running away, so unused were the creatures of the wilds to the presence of man.

The greater part of the population of Riobamba turned out to see Tom start.

In addition to the pack-horses he had brought two others to ride—one for himself and the other for Samaro. This guide went on first, then Tom and the others followed in Indian file.

It was a delightful morning, with a breeze blowing from the distant mountain slopes of Chimborazo; and the throng of Indians spear-armed and clad in their gay-coloured ponchos, the huts and houses, the cattle, horses, and strange-looking llamas, the greenery of the shrubs and bushes, the jagged hills and blue sky above, flecked with many a fleecy cloud, made up a scene that was both beautiful and picturesque.

But all was soon left behind, and solitude reigned supreme.

The pack-horses and men were lagging behind. Samaro was a long way ahead, and when Tom pulled rein and looked about him, hearing nothing but the rustling of the wind through the wild corn and dark-leaved aloe bushes, he realized for the first time that he was really on his way to the wilderness.

All the year round the sun sets about six o’clock in the land of Ecuador, and a full hour before that time Tom gave orders for the halt; and not far from the banks of a river the tent or toldo was erected, and supper prepared. It would have been easy to have pushed on a few miles farther to the village of Penipe, but for the time-being at all events Tom was independent of villages of any kind. Nor did he have a very high opinion of the cooking and accommodation to be obtained therein. Certainly in a town a greater amount of so-called civilization was to be met with; but there the insects were more civilized too. That is how Tom Talisker argued. Out in the open country, even in the bush, although these plagues were to be met with in every shape and form—flying beetles, gigantic mosquitoes, cockroaches, earwigs, scorpions, centipeds, and winged bugs, to say nothing of a host of other creepie-creepies,—they were wild; while, on the other hand, those that dwelt in houses were tame, disgustingly so, and au fait in all the ways of the world. Besides, there was in the open the blessings obtainable from fresh air.

I have already said that hermit hunter though he was Tom did not despise his comforts. On my honour now, I think he would have been a fool if he had. What good would it have done himself or anybody else had he dressed in sackcloth and ashes? He could have gotten plenty of both in Ecuador had his fancy led him to adopt so sad a costume. But it did not. He preferred alpaca and fine linen, and he actually carried an excellent hunting watch. Every night, too, while in the wilderness he had his tent erected, his hammock slung, and the whole of the latter neatly surrounded by a mosquito curtain. If ever, dear reader, you go to the wilds, I advise you to adopt the same plan.

Well then, after Samaro had tucked his master in, as you might say, he threw up one side of the tent, and lo! the sweet pure air of heaven swept in. The creepies came too—some of them at all events. The scorpions and centipeds had not a chance, and the flying “ferlies” could only grind their mandibles outside the curtain. Mosquitoes are very insinuating though, and if there had been a hole in the curtain big enough to admit the end of a pencil some enterprising mosquito would have found it out and forthwith started a limited liability company, thousands would have joined, and before morning Tom’s face would have been a sight to see in the looking-glass—that is, if seeing was any longer a possibility.

“Stay and talk with me to-night,” said Tom, after Samaro had tucked him in. “Throw up the tent that I may see the stars. That’s right. Now smoke.”

“Is this going to be the order of our evenings?” said Samaro.

It will be observed that this man talked excellent English, and well he might: he had lived in every country under the sun.

“Yes,” replied Tom, “if you don’t mind. You see, it is too soon to go to sleep, and if I have the lamp lit we will have more flying things about us than I care for.”

To keep stray pumas, or a wandering and inquisitive jaguar—the American tiger, at a respectable distance, a fire of wood was lit every evening, and near this lay talking low, and sometimes singing strange uncouth lilts of love and war, Tom’s five men. There was one drawback to their pleasure—the snakes. But it was a very slight one; for as a rule snakes do not bite unless you tread on their tails. They take good care you never tread on their heads; they glide away quickly enough to save the front portions of their anatomy. It is the after-part of the procession that cannot be got away in time to save itself, and when the unhappy man’s foot comes down the snake strikes at once, and there is but little chance of life after that.

Well, when one goes first to the wilderness, if he be a green hand, or tender-foot as the Yankees call a novice, he keeps thinking about snakes all day long, and they even follow him into his dreams, fevering body as well as mind, and destroying all chance of perfect happiness. But a few weeks in the wilds harden even a tender-foot, and he finds out as his face gets browner that even snakes never bite except in self-defence, and that if he observes ordinary caution he is as safe on the plains as he would be in Hyde Park.

“O,” said Samaro, “I shall be very much pleased.”

“Well then, tell me a story, and sing me a song if you can. I want to feel perfectly at home.”

And Samaro not only this night but every night almost told Tom stories of his wild life and adventures, and sang him songs, just as if he had been a little boy at home in his own bed-room. And to tell the truth Tom used very often to go to sleep before Samaro had done singing.

Tom, the black cat, invariably retired to the hammock with his master. By day he rode on the saddle sometimes, or he might disappear altogether for half a day at a time. Black Tom was permitted to do precisely as he pleased, and that is the secret of his affection for White Tom.

Tom was never tired hearing Samaro tell all about Uncle Robert’s adventures, and, to a great extent, he determined to do very much as his uncle had done.

“It will be such a surprise, you know,” he told Samaro, “to collect precisely the same kind of curios, and skins of birds and beasts, and butterflies, and beetles as Uncle Robert did. Why, when I go home and show him all these, he will be as happy as the good little boys in the fairy-books.”

This was a happy thought, and Samaro entered into the scheme with great spirit and joy.

Between Riobamba, therefore, and Banyos they spent three whole weeks. But bird skins and butterflies were almost the sole objects that Tom collected in these regions. They had hardly yet come to lions and tigers. He gathered, however, specimens of ore, which Samaro assured him contained gold as well as other precious metals.

Sometimes they met wandering bands of Indians. They were quiet and civil as yet, but they were extremely curious to know what brought the white hunter to these regions. They were satisfied each and all of them with Samaro’s explanations. All Englishmen were mad, the guide told them, except a very few, and these were fools.

Seeing Tom pursuing bright-winged butterflies they naturally concluded he belonged to the latter section.

“It is well it should be thought so,” said Samaro. “Your fame and reputation will go before you into the wilds.”

“My reputation as a fool—eh?” said Tom laughing.

“Yes, as a fool. Then if your friend Bernard does indeed live among the Jivaros, you will be more likely to find and free him. They will not suspect a fool.”

They found the horses very handy at present; but by and by the country would be far too wild to make any use of them.

The dogs, however, were as yet of little service. However they occasionally caught a cavy or agouti, and these, roasted whole in gypsy fashion, formed occasionally a very appetizing supper.

Fruit was everywhere abundant here, and eggs of various kinds of birds added considerably to the contents of the larder.

The rain, however, spoiled many a good day’s sport, and always after a “spate” or downfall the streams became swollen.

They would have to ford these at times with considerable risk; while at other times they found bridges. But terrible bridges they were. It really makes me shudder a little to think of them, although I am not much given to shuddering as a general rule. The best of them were suspension bridges, and the method adopted in their construction was simplicity itself. Three or four chains were swung across the stream and tied to the tree trunks, and on these pieces of wood were fastened with withes, and lo! the bridge was complete, but fearfully unsafe. They were very high above the water to prevent their being washed away during floods, and as they were stretched over the narrowest gulleys, the water beneath rushed onward with such rapidity, that the strongest swimmer that ever lived would not have had the ghost of a chance for his life had he fallen off the bridge.

Imagine if you can horses having to cross such a bridge. But they often had to.

Tom had one adventure on a bridge that he is never likely to forget. He was all alone too; that is, no human being was within reach. About four miles down a stream he had found a ford in the morning, but on returning about an hour before sunset he came to this fearful bridge and determined to cross over. He tied his horse up first, then ventured on himself, and went backwards and forwards several times to test its strength. The bridge was not more than four feet wide, but felt firm enough, and it was all right with Tom so long as he did not let his eyes fall in the direction of the roaring, tumbling torrent far down beneath. If he did so for a moment he felt as if the whole structure were gliding from under him.

But now for the horse. It was not difficult to get the wise creature on, though he walked with excessive care and caution, feeling his way as it were step by step, with his eyes fixed steadfastly on the bank beyond.

Tom walked on before holding the bridle. The bridge bent as they neared the centre till it assumed almost the shape of a hammock, and Tom began to think it must break. He kept up his heart, however, and with gentle, encouraging words urged his beast to follow.

They had reached the middle when, without the slightest warning, a squall came suddenly roaring down the gulley, and the bridge began to sway and swing and creak and crack. Never in his lifetime before had Tom experienced such a feeling of awful danger. The horse stood still now, shaking with dread, and emitting a low, frightened kind of a whinny, while the sweat poured over his hoofs.

Tom crouched lower and lower to save himself from falling, but he still kept hold of the bridle; for even in the extremity of his own danger, he did not forget that the touch from man’s hand gives confidence to the brute, even when seemingly paralysed with terror.

The squall luckily did not last many minutes. Then it fell calm again, and in a very short time he and his faithful horse were safely across. But even then he dared scarcely look back and down into that frightful chasm that seemed to have been yawning hungrily for his life.

CHAPTER IX.

“THE WHOLE SEA OF MIST TURNED TO CLOUDS OF MINGLED GOLD AND CRIMSON.”

I have said that the horses were exceedingly sure-footed. So they needed to be; for the tracks in this mountain-land sometimes went winding alongside of frightful precipices, and the danger was quite as great in coming down as in going up.

But a horse occasionally got frightened, and lost for a time all his presence of mind.

One day Tom was riding on in front on just such a pathway as that I have mentioned. It was nowhere more than five feet wide; the mountain rising steep close on one side, the yawning gulf at the other, with bushes clinging to its edges. Stones occasionally came tumbling down from above with a hurtling noise; but when they rolled over the precipice they were heard no more, for they had fallen into space, and the sudden silence was awfully suggestive. Now and then came a sharp angle or curve in the pathway; and here the danger was at its height, for you could no longer see where the road led. You were riding right on to the cliff; and it was impossible to divest the mind of the idea that next moment the horse you bestrode would be pawing the air, as he and you were being hurled to destruction.

It was close to such an eeriesome and uncanny corner as this, and immediately after he had passed it, that Tom found himself face to face with a puma, coming along the narrow pathway with long, stealthy, lynx-like steps. The beast was as much startled as anyone. He emitted one low growl, then immediately turned to fly.

Nothing but instant action could have saved Tom’s life now, for the horse reared and swerved half over the cliff, as his rider threw himself off against the hill and clung to some rhododendron bushes. He had not quitted hold of the bridle, and slight though this support was it probably saved his horse. The beast’s hind-legs and thighs had almost disappeared. His nostrils were distended, and his eyes seemed to flash dark fire, as for a moment he hung ’twixt life and death. The shuddering, quivering groan the poor brute gave when he once more stood safe on the path was evidence of his appreciation of the terrible danger he had just escaped.

It will be easily seen, therefore, that travelling in Ecuador is fraught with many perils, and one may truly be said to take the road with his life in his hand. As far as our hero was concerned, however, this spice of danger certainly did not detract from the pleasures of the journey. He was nevertheless most careful before setting out of a morning to see that his horse and all the horses had been well fed and harnessed; for this concerned the safety of the poor brutes as well as his own. So simple an accident as the loosening of a belly-band has ere now in this wild land resulted in horse and rider being precipitated over a mountain-side, or swept from a ford into the rapids of some swollen river.

Dangers come when least looked for; nothing is certain when travelling except the unexpected, and it is always prudent to be prepared.

But I do not mean to hold my hero up as a paragon of prudence, or any other virtue for that matter; and I have to confess that his love of nature, and his search for the beautiful and the picturesque, often led him into difficulties he might otherwise have steered clear of.

“I say, Samaro,” he said one night to his major-domo, “I have a notion to climb one of these lofty mountains. Up into the region of perpetual snow. Do you understand?”

“I understand, señor; but—”

“Well, what?”

“Your uncle would not have dared to do so.”

“O, I shall dare more than my uncle ever dared. And whatever a man dares he can do.”

“Well, señor, I am ready. Will you start to-morrow?”

“Yes. The hill is at hand, or mountain rather; and it does not seem difficult to ascend. Looks quite near, indeed.”

“Excuse me, señor,” said Samaro, “if I take the liberty of laughing. The mountain certainly seems near, but so does the moon. The air is very clear, señor.”

“Well, all the better for us.”

Tom was early astir next morning; but early though it was he found Samaro busy enough. He was squatting under a bush, making for himself what looked to Tom something like a pair of leather breeches with feet attached.

“Ah! I see,” said Tom. “You expect it will be cold up yonder, so you are utilizing a puma’s skin.”

“I have been there before,” said Samaro, “with—”

“With whom?”

“A mad Englishman.”

“O! and now you will have to pilot a fool?”

“Si, señor.”

“Well, are you nearly ready, Mr. Guide?”

“I am ready,” replied Samaro; “and,” he added, pointing upward at the mighty Tinguragua, “the mountain is ready and waiting also.”

The journey and ascent, for it was both combined, were now commenced.

“There is no occasion to hurry,” said Tom; “we will take it easy.”

Well, mountain climbing does always seem easy at first; but, anyhow, Tom was now in grand form: his limbs were as hard and tough as hawsers, and it would have taken a good deal to make his heart palpitate. On they went, and soon leaving the river’s bank they penetrated into the depths of the primeval forest, and following a little track made by some wild animals in their nightly visits to the river, began to ascend.

The company consisted of Tom and his guide, with Tootu, Taoh, and Oko carrying ropes, axes, arms, provisions, and blankets. It was wonderful how well these three honest fellows agreed. As a rule wind, fire, and water do not pull well together when they meet, but in this case they did. Tootu was usually spokesman; but whatever he said, the other two, fire and water, were ready to chime in with, and swear to if need be.

Onwards and upwards they journeyed now for hours, the pathway sometimes so steep that they had to clamber on their hands and knees.

Onwards and upwards, then onwards and downwards. This was the worst of it. It was as trying to the nerves as the temper. It did seem a pity that, after they had reached a certain elevation, they should be confronted with a ravine into the very bottom of which the pathway led them before taking them onwards and upwards again. It was like having to do the ascent twice over. But there was no help for it.

Tom was amply rewarded, however, by the beauty of the tropical forest. I should search in vain through the tablets of my memory for words in which to express the charm and singularity of those woodlands. On the lower grounds, indeed, the vegetation was all a wild and lovely tangle, representing on an enormous scale the struggle for existence that has been going on here for ages. It was one great and continued fight for the sunlight, in which to some extent and for a time the largest and strongest trees gained the victory. But the smaller and weaker plants, the splendidly-flowered creepers, the mosses, the orchids, and lesser ferns were not to be denied. There was nowhere they would not go, no height to which they would not aspire and climb. They draped the tree-stems and branches with blossoms, it is true; but by and by that very wealth of trailing, hanging, waving beauty proved the downfall of the most lordly giants of the forest; and when winds swept through the woods they came down with a crash, and in a few weeks had disappeared off the face of the earth. For here a fallen trunk is seldom seen, in such teeming myriads do busy-footed insects work on the ground and beneath it.

Out at last came the wanderers upon a higher region still, and now they had to traverse for miles a kind of hilly plateau that looked altogether like the work of some wonderful landscape gardener. It was a plateau covered with innumerable little tree-clad, fern-clad, moss-clad, flower-covered hills, with rocks in the shape of gray needles, silvery boulders, square towers, domes, and minarets, peeping up through the foliage everywhere. Round and among these wound many a little footpath—the footpaths of wild beasts—but none, probably, more dangerous than the timid agouti, the cavy, or peccary. Occasionally they crossed small meandering streams that appeared here and there, popping out from banks of foliage or gushing and trickling from the hill-sides, and disappearing again soon in the same mysterious manner.

Add to this “garden wide and wild” birds that flutter from bough to bough, many silent but of rainbow radiance, others gray and brown and hardly seen, but trilling forth such melody as can be heard from no other feathered songsters on earth; add to it radiant butterflies and moths in clouds; bees also, some of enormous size and dangerous wrathful appearance; and snakes basking on the moss of rocks, gliding swiftly through the little glades, or hanging asleep on the bushes.

Close to a tiny stream of clear water Tom sat down; the weary carriers threw down their burdens, and a welcome meal was made of biscuits and fruit, and a long rest taken before resuming the ascent.

The great mountain was there before them still, looking as big and far steeper than when they started.

The foliage changed now, and some parts of the mountain over which they climbed were all ablaze with tree-rhododendrons, while the perfume of wild heliotrope filled the air. Heaths, too, were abundant, many of which put Tom in mind of those he had wandered among on the mountains of the Cape of Good Hope.

Climbing began in earnest soon after this; and no one spoke, but clambered on and up in silent earnestness. Just about sunset they found themselves once more on a vast plateau, on which grew only the scantiest herbage. After crossing this they found a small cave in the mountain-side, and here for the night the bivouac was made.

While dinner was being prepared Tom climbed higher up still and sat himself down on a rock; but the vastness and grandeur of the scene, and its indescribable silence and solemnity, must be left to the reader’s imagination.

He must have been fully ten thousand feet above the sea-level; and yet the snowy craters of Carhuairazo, just visible over the bluff bare brow of the mountain, still towered high above him.

Far below was an ocean of lesser hills, of woods and plains and smiling valleys, with streams that looked like trickling rills or silver threads among the green, and here and there a glassy lake.

The sun went down in a blaze of glory, and he now hastened below to enjoy repose and a well-earned dinner.

About nine o’clock, though the stars had been very bright before this, a storm-cloud passed over the mountain-side, with a roaring wind, heavy rain, and thunder and lightning. After this Tom went out to have one more look at the scene before turning in. Nothing was now visible beneath but a dim chaos of clouds, nothing on the horizon either, except, far away to the north, the giant cone of Cotopaxi. Its snow-girt crater was lit up every now and then by the gleams of the great fires within—gleams that darted in straight lines up through the rolling clouds of smoke that hung pall-like over it.

This is the loftiest and mightiest volcano in the world. Talk not of its height in feet or yards—speak of it in miles; and fancy, if you can, a burning mountain nearly five miles in height, the thunders of whose workings can be heard, and have been heard, six hundred miles away! It made Tom shiver to think of it. But O, the illimitable distance of the stars that shone above, and to think of God who made them all! What a mystery of mysteries! And the stars are voice-less, and these dread volcanoes speak only to us in thunders that we cannot understand, till we are fain to seek for refuge in the only refuge we have: our belief in the goodness of the Father, and the religion revealed to us in the Book of Books.

Tom sighed, he knew not why, and crept inside to the shelter of the cave, and wrapping himself in his blanket soon sank to sleep. But many times ere morning he was startled by the roar of falling debris of earth, rocks, and stone, loosened by the recent rain storm.

Samaro roused his young master early to see the sunrise. But when he went outside he stood for a few moments in silent wonder. Where had the world all gone to? It had disappeared, most assuredly—most of it at all events. Here was the mountain above and round him, but all the gorgeous scenery he had gazed on last night was swallowed up in an ocean of white mist or clouds. The word “ocean” is precisely the one to use. Beneath and as far as the eye could gaze all was a vast white sea, only it was bounded on the horizon by the jagged ridges and crater-cones of the mountains, and these looked like rocks and cliffs overhanging this ocean.

It was a marvellous sight; but when presently the red sun showed over the edge the scene was changed, and the whole sea of mist turned to clouds of mingled gold and crimson.

CHAPTER X.

“IN THE FORESTS STRANGE SHRIEKS AND SOUNDS WERE HEARD.”

Tootu and his companions were left behind at the cave, our hero going up alone with Samaro. He meant to reach the snow-line, and he did; and had the satisfaction of walking a mile or two over a region of glaciers unsurpassed anywhere else in the world.

Apart from the pleasure he felt in having gained his desires, and standing where no human foot had probably ever trodden before, there was little comfort at this sublime altitude. A high cutting wind was blowing, and the cold was intense and piercing. Poor Samaro looked blue and benumbed; and albeit he had donned those wonderful nether garments of his, he was a very pitiable spectacle indeed.

At last he stopped, and pointing to a cloud that seemed fast approaching—

“Has my young chief,” he said, “made his will? If we have to die, Samaro would prefer to be where the birds sing.”

So enchanted had Tom been with the desolalation and sublimity of the scene everywhere beneath, above, and around him, that he took no heed of anything else, and had hardly felt the cold.

But his eyes now followed the direction of Samaro’s finger, and to his surprise and alarm he noticed that the last shoulder of the mighty mountain was already hidden with a darkling cloud. It was as if this monarch of the Andes were himself feeling the effects of the bitter wind and drawing his mantle close around him.

“Come, sir, come; there is not a moment to lose.”

Tom looked now towards the point from which they had entered the plateau; it appeared very far away indeed.

“We can run,” he said.

“Nay, nay,” was the reply. “We will be exhausted soon enough. As well lie down and die as run.”

The guide going on in front at a moderately quick pace, with Tom in the rear, they now began to retrace their steps.

But soon the snow began to drive athwart the track in a blinding shower, the wind and cold also increased till the former gained all the awful strength of a blizzard. In less than five minutes their footprints in the soft snow were entirely obliterated. But Samaro held on unheeding, and now and then some hummock of ice dimly seen through the snow-cloud proved to Tom that they were still in the right track.

There was no talking now. Indeed had they shrieked even, their voices would hardly have been heard in the howling of that awful storm.

How long they had walked Tom never knew: it seemed hours and hours; but he was drowsy, stupid, and all but benumbed. He was aroused at length from his lethargy by the Indian violently shaking him, for he had almost sunk down with the terrible fatigue. Samaro, standing there by his side all clad in ice and snow, looked like the very spirit of the storm.

Tom pulled himself together once more and followed his guide.

At last, at long, long last they were descending.

Tom could breathe more freely now at every step. The terrible tightness across his chest had gone, and the fearful feeling of suffocation that had half-garrotted him.

Then the snow changed gradually to sleet, the sleet to rain, and the rain to mountain-mist. In half an hour the sun was shining brightly, though all around the terrible mountain-top the clouds still curled and mixed.

They were saved! Saved but by the merest chance; for Samaro now told Tom that had the wind changed by so much as two points of the compass, as it often does during these blizzards, they must both have sunk and perished.

“You were steering by the wind, then?” said Tom.

“Entirely by the wind, señor.”

. . . . . . .

In another week’s time a change was made in the method of travelling, for the party were now entering a region so terribly wild and trackless that horses would no longer be of any service to them. So well and faithfully, however, had these honest nags served them, that Tom determined not to part entirely with them; and as Samaro thought it would be possible to trust to the honesty of some of the people of the last village through which they passed before entering the wilderness proper, they were left there, and might or might not be awaiting them on the return journey, if ever such a journey should be permitted them.

Ten additional carriers had now to be hired, and, to his credit be it said, Samaro made the very best bargains possible for his young master.

Altogether, the crew all told, as we say at sea, of the little expedition now consisted of seventeen souls, not including the three dogs and Black Tom himself, who possibly had souls as well as the rest. Here what the poet Tupper says on this subject:—

Black Tom and the dogs, it may be added, were very friendly; though at the same time puss gave the dogs to understand that he was king of the castle, being his master’s chief pet and favourite, and sleeping in his arms every night.

One evening puss brought home a fine specimen of cavy which he had caught in the forest. He laid it dead at his master’s feet; and receiving the praise that was his due, went immediately forth and brought in another. His master offered those to Tootu; but Tootu said, “No sah, I not eat de food wot de debil catch.”

So the cavies were cooked for Tom himself, and his guide shared them, washing the excellent food down with a cup of yerba-maté, which Samaro assured his white chief came all the way from Patagonia. A most delightful beverage it made; and it turned out that the guide had quite a store of it. After drinking it a gentle feeling of comfort seems instilled through every vein and nerve in the body, far more pleasant than that produced by tea, but by no means approaching the stimulating effects of wine or beer.

Still acting on the advice of his clever guide and companion, Tom continued to figure as an eccentric Englishman, and made no hurry across country into the land of the Indians proper. They had seen but few of these even yet, so the packages of gifts had not been broached.

The life now led was quite of a gypsy character. Whenever Tom found a more comfortable bivouac than usual, “Here shall we stay for a day or two, Samaro,” he would say, and probably this day would be extended to a week or even more.

Tom fished as well as hunted.

In many of the lesser streams the fish were truly marvellously tame. Here hardly any science at all was required to catch them. A hook “busked” with a little white hair or cotton at the end of a strong line, and a short stout rod, was all that was required. Patience is one of the angler’s virtues in this country, but in the wilds out there it was not needed; for at times one might work two rods, leaving one line in the water while taking the fish from the other, and even thus he would have plenty of work to do.

Strange to say the cat always accompanied his master on a fishing expedition; but very seldom, indeed, when he went shooting. Cats, we all know, are fond of fish; but there are exceptions, and this particular puss could never be prevailed upon to eat fish raw or cooked. Nevertheless he would play with those his master threw out on the bank, and thus had no end of fun.

Black Tom came to the tent one evening with a huge snake in his mouth. He no doubt expected praise for this exploit also; but on being admonished about the matter he evidently made a resolve not to repeat the offence, at all events he never did.

One evening, on returning after dark, Tom found Samaro with the cat on his knee, and nearly all the men standing silently round him. He jumped up laughing as his master approached, and puss sprang on Tom’s shoulder with his usual fond cry of welcome.

“What were you doing with pussy?” asked Tom that same night.

“Hush, chief!” said Samaro. “I was keeping up their creed—the servants’ creed.”

“And that is—”

“That the cat is a debil. I was stroking his back, and the ’lectricity was crackling, and the sparks flying plentifully when you, señor, came up. They think the chief is a great man to have a private debil.”

Tom laughed, and the subject dropped.

In the forests of Ecuador, by day as well as by night, there are all kinds of strange shrieks and sounds to be heard; but returning about sunset one evening towards his little camp, and just before leaving the woods, Tom heard a plaintive scream that caused him at once to pause and listen. Again and again it was repeated, and he hastened in the direction from which it came.

None too soon, for there on the top of a large spreading tree was his favourite and pet, and not five yards away a gigantic puma preparing to spring.

Up came the rifle. He hardly took aim, but nevertheless one minute afterwards the puma was stretched lifeless on the ground, and the cat was singing a song of victory on his master’s shoulder.

About a week after this, our hero had a very narrow escape from death by drowning. His company were on the march, when they came to an extremely rapid river that had to be crossed acrobatically. It was well for Tom that he was a sailor, for the rope bridge is very common in these wilds. This one looked rather insecure, for it stretched with each man till his feet were almost touching the torrent beneath. Package after package had been swung over in the loop attached to the rope, and man after man, in somewhat the same way adopted in saving life by a line from a wrecked ship to the shore. The dogs had been taken over, and then it came to Tom’s own turn—the cat, as usual on such occasions, clinging to his shoulder. When about half-way across there was an ominous crack; but still the rope held, and it was not until he was nearly at bank that it gave way suddenly and entirely, and the white chief was plunged into the boiling whirling rapids.

He struck out bravely though blindly. He could see nothing and hear nothing save the roaring of the water in his ears. How long he struggled he could not have told. It seemed like an age. He was giving up at last, when all at once the surging sound of the rapids ceased, and he found himself near the bank and in calm water. He caught at a tree-trunk that was floating slowly down stream, and held on till rescued by the Indians.

But where was Black Tom? Gone undoubtedly.

They did not travel much farther that day before the white chief called a halt, although it still wanted three hours to sunset.

The tent was erected, and the men soon built themselves shelters of palm and plantain leaves. The camp fires were lit, and dinner cooked and eaten. Then the men settled down for their long forenight’s chat and smoke, and as usual Samaro threw himself down beside his chief.

But his chief was very sad to-night.

He cared not for the guide’s stories or conversation, nor would he partake of the fragrant yerba-maté.

All was silence and gloom for a time, but as it grew darker the forest seemed to suddenly awake to life—though a weird wild life it was. The low grumbling growl of the prowling jaguar, the strange medley of notes produced by flying or crawling insects, the plaintive wailings of the night-birds, and now and then these howlings and shriekings from the darkest depths of the woods that make one’s spine feel like ice to listen to, and cause the superstitious Indians themselves to place their fingers in their ears and cease for a time to talk.

“The señor is very sad to-night,” said Samaro.

“Very sad, my friend. Very sad.”

“And I too mourn the loss of your poor dark friend.”

“He has been with me so long, Samaro.”

“And he has come through so much, señor.”

“And was always so loving and faithful, Samaro.”

What Samaro was going to reply will never be known, for at that moment a wild and frightened yell burst from the lungs of the Indian servants. Something black had leapt over their heads.

Tom made a spring for his rifle, which lay loaded near him, thinking a jaguar had attacked the camp. But the mystery was speedily solved; for here was Black Tom himself, none the worse for his adventure, as dry as if he had never been half drowned, and in his mouth a plump little cavy. Tom could talk after that.

Samaro brewed an additional bowl of maté, and it was quite late that night before either thought of retiring.

CHAPTER XI.

“THE TREES WENT DOWN BEFORE IT LIKE HAY BEFORE THE MOWER’S SCYTHE.”

THE road next day led over a very lofty range of mountains. I say “road” for want of a better word; for, in the direction they took at the advice of Samaro, there was not even a path. The forest that they had to penetrate, half the distance towards the nearest ridge, was an almost impassible jungle. They had to fight almost every yard of the way against trees and creepers and rocks. There were pumas in this forest; they sighted and startled jaguars even, and snakes seemed to be everywhere, but they thought of nothing but how best to get onwards.

When they reached the mountain top at last, and lay down to rest—fully five thousand feet above the sea-level—every man in the company felt as tired as if a long day’s work had been done.

A cool breeze was blowing at this great altitude however, and having partaken of a moderate luncheon, everybody felt once more as active as Black Tom himself.

The view spread out before them here was wide, wonderful, and magnificent in the extreme. Probably in no country in the world is the scenery more grand and thrilling than in this land of Ecuador. Tom felt the influence of the situation in all its force, as he reclined on a moss-covered bank and gazed enraptured on the panorama that was spread out far below him—the wide and beautiful valley, the winding silvery river with its whirling rapids and waterfalls that sparkled in the sun, hills wooded to the top and forests everywhere, the distant sierras on the horizon, and the sky itself bluer in its rifts to-day than ever he had seen it, because there were ominous-looking rain clouds about.

“I think,” he said to himself, “I could be perfectly happy here if I had anyone to share my pleasure with me. Heigho!” he sighed. “Even the life of a hermit hunter has its drawbacks.”

Then his heart gave a big throb of joy-expectant, as he thought of the probability of soon having as a companion poor lost Bernard, ’Theena’s brother. ’Theena! Yes, dear little ’Theena. He wondered what she was doing just then. But she would not be so little now. ’Theena at thirteen would look and act differently from the ’Theena of nine years old, that had to be forced weeping from his arms when he left his native shore, long, long ago. Ay, indeed it seemed very long ago; for his young life had been so crowded with strange incidents and events, that the past appeared like an age.

And his uncle and dear mother, what would they be doing just then? Sitting by the fire perhaps, and talking of him; for though it was early forenoon here, it would be evening in Scotland. He began to reckon the time in his own mind. He was right, it would be about nine o’clock. His father would be in the corner with that studious face, and that everlasting long pipe of his; his mother and Alicia would be quietly knitting; uncle would be reading his paper with ’Theena by his side; and the great logs and the coal and peats would be merrily blazing on the hearth as they used to be in the dear old days when Jack and Dick used to tease and chaff him, and call him Cinderella. Then he remembered his dream.

“O,” he said, half aloud, “that dream will assuredly come true. I shall find and free poor Bernard if he be in the land of Ecuador.”

The very words suggested action, and he sprang to his feet. In five minutes more the expedition was once again on the move.

Were I to relate all Tom’s adventures during his memorable march into the land of the Ecuador Indians, what a very large book I could make! And what a very large price my readers would have to pay for it! It may not be; I must hurry on with my narrative, my main object being to give but the principle lines in the picture of the life a wanderer must lead in this wild country. One way or another Tom and his party spent nearly five months on the journey. It was a long time, but it passed away most pleasantly and quickly; and Tom could say what few travellers in Ecuador ever could—that he had the utmost faith in his servants, from Samaro, his major-domo, down to Rooph, the Indian boy, who did little else except shoot strange birds with his blow-gun, and whom no threats or punishment either could induce to carry a package of any sort. Tom’s servants all liked him too, and he felt confident they would fight for him if ever there should be any necessity. Well, the life these Indians now led under their white chief was a very enjoyable one, and as they were engaged to bring Tom back to Riobamba, they would each have a modest sum at their banker’s when they got there—if ever they did.

There were times when it really did not seem at all likely any one of the party should ever come up out of the wilderness again.

Once, for example, they were encamped by the banks of a beautiful river and close to the edge of the forest. It was a charming situation, and they had lain here for over a week. On this particular night Tom thought as he took his last look at the sky he had never noticed the stars shining more brightly nor looking more near. There were the usual sounds in the forest and all about, but otherwise the deep solitude was unbroken; for not a breath of wind was there to move the long grass that grew near the tent. It was unusually sultry and hot too. But for the creepies Tom would have laid himself down as the men were lying, on a bed of palm leaves, and slept sound till morning. He envied the poor fellows their sweet repose. The creepies did not appear to trouble them. Musquitoes might sing and buzz about their heads, drink their blood and go, but the men slept on. Centipeds—and in the forest the green-backed ones are quite as dangerous as snakes—might crawl over their hands, and cockroaches in scores pass over their faces, but they would not heed even if they felt them. Serpents even might take a short cut over their bodies without awaking them, while the mournful cries of the night-birds in the adjoining forest but lulled them to dreamless slumber. It was very different with Tom though; he dared no more sleep in the open than in a tiger’s den.

“Señor, señor, awake!” It was Samaro’s voice, and he was swinging Tom’s hammock to arouse him.

“What is it, Samaro?” cried Tom, raising himself on his elbow.

“We must strike camp at once, señor, or we will be swept away by the flood. Listen!”

There was little need to listen. That peal of thunder would have awakened Rip Van Winkle himself.

“Are the men astir?”

“Si, señor. Hurry, señor. Hurry, there is not a moment to lose!”

Tom was on his feet in an instant, and the men were soon busily engaged making up the tent. He was a good general, and never during all his long sojourn in the wilds did he retire for the night until he had seen everything ready for a start. There was never any telling what might occur. A sudden attack by hostile Indians, a flood, or a fire in the forest might necessitate instant movement, and if they were not ready for such a contingency, all would be loss and confusion.

“Now, Samaro, whither away? Shall we cross back into the plains, for we cannot get over the river?”

“We must get to yonder hill,” was the reply. “Come.”

The sky was black during the brief intervals in which the lightning did not play. But this was incessant, so that everything around was almost as bright as day, though the light was strangely confusing.

They had to go through the forest. This was the most dangerous part of the journey; for here the flashes played around every tree, while every now and then some branch or even tree-trunk would fall crashing across the track.

Luckily for our adventurers, it was along a path made by tapirs that the route lay, so it was broad and well beaten. These strange animals are about four feet high and fully six feet long, and are exceedingly numerous in the wilderness of the Andes, especially in the vicinity of a not too rapid river.

The rain now began to patter around them, the lightning became even more vivid, and the terrible thunder-cannonade was increased tenfold. The wind also began to rise; it came down with the storm from the north and west. It was this direction of the clouds that had caused the ever-watchful Samaro to expect a flood. Had the depression come up stream the danger would not have been so urgent.

They had still half a mile to go, as the crow flies; and as the pathway, like that of all wild beasts, was very winding, it would be at least half an hour before they could hope to reach a position of safety.

Samaro was here, there, and everywhere, hurrying and encouraging all hands, using a bamboo cane even to stimulate the flagging calves of a few of the men. Suddenly there was a wild and frightened yell from someone in front, a yell that was heard high over the hurtling of the thunder.

“Eemateena! Eemateena!” was the shout from the others. “The jaguar! the jaguar!” and for a few moments every man seemed panic-stricken. They even dropped their burdens, and hardly knowing what they were about would have hurried wildly back towards the river, had not Samaro and Tom, revolvers in hand, barred their progress. The terrible confusion that had ensued was fatal to the poor fellow, who had been attacked by the dreaded king of the wilderness. He might have been saved had Tom got to the front in time.

As it was, the beast dragged him at once into the depths of the forest. A few more piercing shrieks were heard, then it was evident that all was over. The jaguar, or tiger as he is generally called, must have been coming towards the river, and thus met the unhappy man in his path; for during a storm these animals will hardly ever go out of their way to attack either man or beast.

The storm ceased almost as suddenly as it had commenced, though the rain now came down in rushing torrents, and just an occasional flash of lightning shot athwart the inky gloom and served to reveal the pathway.

As soon as they reached the high ground or knoll they were safe. Here were a hundred pathways instead of one, and all led upwards. The top of the little hill was beaten hard with the feet of the tapirs, and probably peccaries, who for reasons best known to themselves must have assembled here at times. It was only a wonder none of these creatures were found here now; but their strange instincts had doubtless warned them to seek for higher grounds before the floods came down. It rained heavily for hours, then morning broke gray and uncertain over the hills, and about the same time down came the river “bore.”

Tom had never witnessed anything in life so appalling, and even Samaro himself confessed that such a quick and rapid “spate” was unusual. The roar of this immense wall of water could be heard for long minutes before it dashed round the bend of the stream, and came tumbling onwards carrying with it huge masses of rock and even soil that looked like islands in the midst of the murky flood. The bore must have been fully twenty feet in height, and the forest trees went down before it like hay before the mower’s scythe. The noise at first was deafening; but it gradually subsided, and before ten o’clock had entirely ceased. But at this time the whole valley looked like an immense inland sea or lake studded with little islands. One of these islands was the hill on which Tom and his men stood, and on which they were for a time as completely imprisoned and isolated as if the ground had been a rock in mid-ocean.

There were three days rain, and all this time the river, instead of going down, seemed gradually rising.

It rose, and rose, and rose, as slowly but as surely as fate itself, till the island was limited to little over the site of the tent.

Then the rain ceased for a time. But the clouds were very dark away towards the north, from which direction low muttering thunder was occasionally heard.

Was another storm brewing? If another bore came down the stream, though not even half as big as the last, the fate of the little expedition would be sealed, and its doom be swift indeed. All day long they watched the rising clouds. When the sun set at last, forked lightning darted here and there across the dark sky, with now and then streams of fire rushing downwards from zenith to nadir. These last were followed by tremendous peals of thunder, but still the rain kept off. No one thought of lying down to rest, and for hours and hours no one spoke.

All eyes were turned towards the north. They were like men waiting for death.

The clouds mounted higher and higher; they saw star after star and constellation after constellation blotted out, or swallowed up as it were in the gloom. Still they sat and silently watched.

The suspense was terrible; every flash was now like a message from an unseen world, every peal sounded like a knell of doom.

Tom was praying. He was trying hard, too, to yield himself to the will of heaven; but it seemed sad to die so young.

Probably he had fallen into a kind of uneasy doze at last, for suddenly he felt Samaro clutch at his arm.

“It is coming! It is coming!” he cried.

“The flood, Samaro? Is it coming at last?”

“No, no, señor. I would not wake you for that. Better you should die asleep. But look yonder! Look eastwards!”

Tom did as he was told, and saw in the sky a long line of glittering silver.

The moon was rising!

Up, up, up she sailed, the clouds changing from black to gauze and gold before her, and by and by she found a little rift of blue to shine in, and her radiance was reflected from the river beneath as if showers of diamonds were falling on it from the sky.

By next morning the flood had gone down considerably, but days must elapse before they could once more resume their journey.

What struck Tom now as remarkable was the deep impressive silence by night. Except in the river there was no life about—no beasts or birds of the forest, not even insect life itself. Never a whisper, never a hum, except the little sad lilt the river sang as it went rippling past the island shore.