We left our bivouac at daybreak, first ascending and then descending, sometimes making our way through thickets and other times through glades; suddenly a flock of vultures attracted our attention. A hideous spectacle was now presented to our eyes. A coyote—doubtless that which l'Encuerado had wounded the day before—lay half devoured on the ground, and more than fifty guests were coming in turn for their share, and to tear, in turn, a strip of flesh from the carcass.

"What frightful creatures!" cried Lucien. "I can't think why the nasty smell does not drive them away."

"It is just the reverse; it is the smell which attracts them," I replied. "Even when they are soaring high up in the sky, and scan the horizon with their yellow eyes, their subtle sense of smell enables them to catch the effluvia of the putrefied matter on which they feed."

In some of the towns of Mexico the black vultures are so numerous—living there, as they do, almost tame in the streets—that our young companion was well acquainted with these birds; but he had never been present at one of their joint meals. The sight of one of their bare, black, and wrinkled necks, plunged into the body of the animal, made him almost ill.

"Poh!—what disgusting birds!" he cried.

"You are wrong," I said; "the birds are only obeying the instinct implanted in them. Henceforward you will understand better the name of the 'rapacious order' or 'birds of prey,' which is given by naturalists to vultures, eagles, falcons, and owls. You are aware that the science which describes the habits of birds is called ornithology. Cuvier, the great classifier, divides the feathered tribe into six orders—birds of prey, passerines, climbers, gallinaceans, wading, and web-footed birds. In order to prevent confusion, the orders have been subdivided into families, the families into groups, the groups into genera, and the genera into species."

"How are they all to be recognized?"

"By the study of certain special characteristics, which serve as distinguishing marks. Birds of prey, for instance, have curved beaks and claws, legs feathered either to the knee or down to the foot, three toes in front, and one behind; also, the back and inside toe are stronger than the others. The vultures which you are looking at, the only birds of the order which live in flocks, belong to the Cathartus genus."[L]

"Look! there are some which keep at a distance. They look as if they were afraid."

"No; they have gorged themselves, and are now digesting their meal; unless danger compel them to take flight, they will remain motionless until sunset."

"Will they attack live creatures?"

"Very rarely; for they are dreadful cowards, and, besides, do not care much for fresh meat."

We had now left far behind us the miserable crew of carrion-eaters, when Lucien suddenly cried out—

"Oh, papa! look, there's a bleeding tree!"

"It is a pterocarpus; that is, a vegetable with membranes resembling the wing of a bird. The red sap which is trickling down from its bark is called dragon's blood, thus named by the Greeks, who ascribed to it a fabulous origin. The blood-tree, for so the Indians designate it, is allied to the asparagus and lily genera, and the gum which exudes from it is a good remedy for dysentery."

L'Encuerado picked off a few dry flakes of this invaluable production; and then, dipping his finger into some of the drops which were still liquid, he rubbed it all over Gringalet's legs and paws, who was thus provided with red top-boots. As a matter of fact, this operation must have had a good effect upon the animal; for this gum, being very rich in tannin, was certain to brace the tissues and muscles; but the first sensation of it seemed to distress the poor beast, who ran along lifting up his legs in a very comical fashion.

"Gringalet walks very much in the same way that l'Encuerado did the time he put on his beautiful blue slippers," remarked Lucien, in great glee.

"You don't mean to say," said Sumichrast, "that l'Encuerado ever wore blue slippers?"

"Yes; the other day there was a dinner-party, and mamma told him to dress himself as well as he could. He at once ran off to buy a pair of pumps he had seen in a shop, and, just at the moment they were all sitting down to dinner, he made his appearance in his new foot-coverings, and—a cravat!"

"A cravat!" repeated Sumichrast, more surprised than ever.

"Yes, a real cravat; but as he had never before worn any thing on his feet but sandals, he lifted them up when he walked just as Gringalet does now. Mamma advised him to put on his sandals again; but he would not obey her, so he was well punished, for he tripped up and broke a whole pile of plates. It was not until after this misfortune that he could be persuaded to take off his blue pumps; and even then he could not bear to part with them altogether, so he hung them round his neck, and kept on waiting at table, as proud as possible with his grand decoration."

This adventure was only too true, and Sumichrast listened to it with shouts of laughter.

"Why did you hang the shoes round your neck instead of putting them away in a corner?" asked Sumichrast of the Indian.

"I did it to let all the world know that I had bought them, and that they belonged to me," replied l'Encuerado.

Our encampment was established at the entrance of a fresh glade. L'Encuerado had killed five or six small birds; we were, therefore, certain of something for dinner. We had scarcely finished our building operations, when Lucien, who had been prowling about, lifting up stones and looking under stubs in order to find insects, loudly called out to me. When I got up to him, I saw at the bottom of a hole a coral-serpent, measuring about a yard in length. The reptile was coiled up, and remained motionless while we admired its beautiful red skin, divided at intervals with rings of shining black. L'Encuerado promptly cut a forked stick and pinned the animal down to the ground. The prisoner immediately tried to stand up on end; its jaws distended, and its head assumed a menacing aspect. Gringalet barked at it furiously, without, however, daring to go near. The Indian unsheathed his cutlass—the prospect of an unlooked-for addition to dinner quite delighted him.

The flesh of the serpent is a well-known Indian dish. Previous to the conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards, the rattlesnake itself found its place at their highest festivals. Dioscorides[M] prescribed the flesh of the viper as a tonic, and it formed one of the component parts of theriaca, the great panacea of our ancestors, which was one of the principal branches of Venetian commerce. In spite of all these precedents, the dish proposed by l'Encuerado was unanimously rejected.

Having cut off the serpent's head, we all went off to reconnoitre. Going in pursuit of a troop of squirrels, we were led to the edge of the glade without having been able to reach them. A little way in the forest, Sumichrast espied a small russet-colored owl, which suddenly disappeared in a hollow at the foot of an old tree. We all kept quiet for ten minutes, in order to observe the bird's way of hunting. At last it suddenly reappeared, and, standing motionless and upright upon its legs at the entrance of its place of refuge, it looked very like a sentinel on duty in his watch-box. Suddenly it started, and slightly bending its body, winked its great yellow eyes several times; then, skimming over the ground with the swiftness of an arrow, it darted into the high grass. It soon made its appearance again, with its feathers erect and flapping its wings. It held in its mouth a poor little mouse, which it carried off into its subterraneous retreat. It was the species of owl called Athene hypogÆa, which is often met with in the savannahs, and hunts in the day-time as well as in the night.

"What a comical-looking bird!" said Lucien; "and yet I'm half afraid of its brilliant eyes and hooked nose."

"Every one is frightened at him, Chanito," replied l'Encuerado; "and when he settles near a hut at night, and raises his dismal cry, he predicts the early death of some one of those who hear him."

"That can't be," replied Lucien, "for there was an owl in a hole in our garden wall, and papa would never have it disturbed; yet the owl made its cry every night."

"Your father knows how to avert the spell. Besides, the bird that lived in the wall was a common owl."

"Both in Europe and America," interposed Sumichrast, "screech owls, and their kinsmen, the common owls, barn owls, buzzards, and all nocturnal birds of prey, are looked upon by the ignorant as birds of ill omen. Their strange appearance and their mysterious habits give rise to a repugnance which often changes into fear. It is quite wrong to have any dread of them; as a matter of fact, the bird you have just seen is, like all its species, more useful than injurious to man, for it destroys a vast number of small mammals—jerboas, shrew-mice, dormice, and field-mice, which ravage the farmer's crops. You will recollect that the owl, among the ancient Greeks, was the bird of Minerva; with the Aztecs it represents the goddess of evil."

A little way from the spot where we lost sight of the mouse-eater, there were some enormous holes dug out by the tuzas,[N] the Mexican moles, so dreaded by agriculturists. This animal is about the size of a kitten; it lives in companies, and works underneath the surface of the soil in a way very dangerous to travellers, who suddenly find the ground sink under their feet. L'Encuerado, who was very fond of the flesh of the tuza, which used to be sold in the Indian markets, placed himself in ambush in the hopes of killing one. Five minutes had scarcely elapsed when we heard a gunshot, and the hunter made his appearance with a rather ugly little animal, having a dark-brown coat, short feet, ears and eyes almost imperceptible, a mouth furnished with formidable incisors, and on each side of its jaws a vast pouch filled with earth. Lucien declared that he would never consent to eat of this creature, and promised his share to l'Encuerado.

Our attention was again attracted towards the forest by the cries of five or six toucans, and again we set off in chase. These birds are extremely suspicious, and their capricious flight almost baffles pursuit. I succeeded, however, in killing one; the others flew off, raising cries of anger.

"How can they bear the weight of such an enormous beak?" asked Lucien, who had run to pick up the bird, and was struck with admiration at its beautiful green and yellow plumage.

"Nature has made provision for that: the enormous beak, which seems so heavy, is composed of a very light porous substance."

"Then it can not eat any thing hard?"

"No; its flexible beak could not crush any unyielding substance, and it feeds on nothing but soft fruits; and even these it breaks up awkwardly. If we could have got near them, you would have seen them plucking berries and tossing them in the air, so as to catch them in their immense jaws."

"What good is its great mouth?"

"I can't say; for the naturalists, who have been as much puzzled as you are by this peculiarity, have been unable to explain it."

"Then I am more learned than they are," said l'Encuerado, with a magisterial air.

"Do you know, then, why toucans have such exaggerated beaks?"

"Because they have been made by a wise Creator," replied the Indian.

"No doubt about that," remarked Sumichrast, smiling; "but the point is, why they were made so."

"Because their beak, calcined and reduced to powder, is the only efficacious remedy for epilepsy. Toucans are very scarce birds, and if their beaks were no larger than those of other birds of their size, this medicine could never be obtained in sufficient quantities."

L'Encuerado's explanation was perhaps as good as our uncertainty. I remember that the Indians do, in fact, make a great mystery of a powder against epilepsy, and that a toucan's head may often be noticed hanging up to the wall of a hut, as a preservative against St. Vitus' dance.

Instead of resting, Lucien prowled about in every direction, breaking away bark, and lifting stones with all the ardor of a neophyte in entomology. Since meeting with the coral-serpent, he took precautions which gave me confidence; for it is quite uncertain how a reptile or any other creature may behave when it is disturbed. The child suddenly called out to me; he had just discovered a nest of scolopendrÆ, commonly called centipedes, and he was afraid to touch them. The centipedes, surprised at being disturbed, rolled themselves up; their pale blue color somewhat diminishing the repugnance which their appearance generally excites. It was not without some hesitation that Lucien, encouraged by Sumichrast, ventured to place one on the palm of his hand; the insect gradually unrolled its articulations, each of which was provided with two pairs of feet ending in hooks, but its walk was so slow as rather to disappoint the young observer.

"What is the use of having forty-four feet," he cried, "if the centipede can not get on faster than a carabus, which only has six?"

L'Encuerado could alone explain this mystery; but still he kept silence.

"Are these creatures poisonous, M. Sumichrast?"

"It is said so; but some species—that, for instance, which you are examining—may be handled without danger."

"Here is a little centipede with only twelve legs."

"It has only just come out of the egg; their rings increase in number as they grow older, and this is one of their peculiarities."

"How hard the rings, are! they are almost like armor."

"It is armor, in fact; the scolopendrÆ form a line of demarkation, so to speak, separating insects from crustaceans; centipedes are not very distant relations of lobsters."

"Look, papa! I have just found a chocolate-colored worm, which looks like a centipede."

"That's not a worm; it is an iulus, first cousin to the centipede. Don't take it up in your hand, for it will impregnate your fingers with a sickening odor."

We resumed our progress towards our encampment, Lucien and l'Encuerado preceding us. The weather was warm without being suffocating; the slanting rays of the sun were moderated by the foliage, the birds were singing, and to-day, like yesterday, seemed as if it would be one of the least fatiguing in our journey. We were now in the midst of the Terre-TempÉrÉe, and were surrounded by white and black oaks. Ceibas, elm, cedars, and lignum-vitÆ trees only grew here and there; and the mosquitoes, so plentiful in the Terre-Chaude, did not trouble us here. The timber, growing widely apart, allowed us to pass easily; we were in a virgin-forest, but were still too high up above the plains to have to struggle against the inextricable net-work of tropical creepers.

The tuza made its appearance at our dinner, dressed with rice. Although the appearance of this animal is repulsive, its flesh has an exquisite flavor. I offered a piece of the thigh to Lucien; he found it so nice, that he soon held out his plate—or rather his calabash—for more. Sumichrast told him he was eating some of the mole, though not aware of it: he appeared confused at first, but soon boldly began on his second helping. After the meal, l'Encuerado took from an aloe-fibre bag a needle and bodkin, and set to work to mend Lucien's breeches, torn a day or two before. Two squirrels' skins were scarcely sufficient for the would-be tailor, who lined the knees also with this improvised cloth. Lucien was delighted at this patching, and wanted to try on his mended garment at once. He waddled about, ran, and stooped in every posture, quite fascinated with the rustling noise produced by the dry skins. Gringalet, who had been asleep, suddenly came up to his young master with visible surprise. With his neck stretched out, his eyes glittering, and his ears drooping, ready to retreat in case of need, the dog ventured to take a sniff at l'Encuerado's work, then shook his head energetically and sneezed. After repeating this operation two or three times he seemed to be lost in thought.

"He knows all about it, and can see at once that it is not badly sewn," said l'Encuerado, with evident satisfaction.

But all of a sudden, after a final and more conscientious examination, the animal began barking furiously, and seizing hold of the patches that had been so industriously sewn in, he tried to tear them away.

"The simpleton fancies the squirrel is still alive!" cried the Indian.

Although driven away at least twenty times, Gringalet kept on returning to the attack, and he assailed the trowsers with so much ardor that a fresh rent was made. Then l'Encuerado became angry, and the dog having been punished, went and crouched down by the fire; but he still continued to show his teeth at the strange lining which seemed so offensive to him.

The sun was setting; its golden rays, quivering among the branches, appeared one by one to get higher and higher until gloom began gradually to pervade the forest. We were assembled around our bivouac, when a rosy tint suddenly illumined the tops of the trees and penetrated through the foliage. As this marvellous effect of light appeared to last a considerable time, we again went into the open glade, so as to be better able to observe it. The sky appeared as if it was all in a blaze; vast glittering jets of light seemed as if darting from the setting sun; a few clouds, tinted with bright red color, flitted across the heavens. The bright gleam became more and more vivid, but without at all dazzling our eyes. A few birds might be heard uttering shrill cries; and the falcons, who were making their way to their aeries, stopped for a moment their rapid flight, and whirled round and round in space with an undecided air.

"The wind will blow tremendously to-morrow," said l'Encuerado; "only once before did I ever see the sky lighted up as it is to-night, and then two days after there was a frightful hurricane, which demolished most of the huts in our village."

"I think we shall get off with nothing but a south wind like that which worried us the day we set off," said Sumichrast.

Wrongly or rightly, I attributed this phenomenon of light to the position of the clouds. The intensity of the light decreased till it was nothing but a glimmer. Night resumed its empire, and there was naught to guide us back to our bivouac but the flame of our fire.