I was suddenly awakened by the report of a gun just as the day was breaking. L'Encuerado showed me an enormous squirrel, with a gray back and white belly—a species which never climbs, and is, for this reason, called by Indians amotli (ground-squirrel). This animal, which lives in a burrow, has all the grace and vivacity of its kind, but it can never be domesticated. It generally goes about in numerous bands, and, when near cultivation, will commit in a single night great destruction; the farmers, consequently, wage against it a war of extermination.

Just as we were setting out, l'Encuerado, whose arm was visibly healing up, again took charge of the basket. I allowed him to carry it, on the condition he should tell me as soon as he felt tired. I went in front, leading Lucien by the hand, and the rocky slope was descended without accident. The oaks were small and scattered, and left us an easy passage over ground covered with dry leaves, which rustled under our feet.

"We might almost fancy we were in Europe," said Sumichrast, suddenly halting.

"Yes," I replied; "it seems as if the yellow leaves had already felt the autumnal winds."

"There's a dead tree," said my friend; "I feel sure, if we examine its bark, we shall find some insects of our own country."

My friend's hopes were not realized, and the only result of his search was to disturb the rest of two mice with slender muzzles. One of them escaped, while the other tried its best to protect a litter of five little ones, buried in some fine vegetable dÉbris. Lucien examined the young ones with interest, and after replacing the bark, as far as possible, in its original position, rejoined us outside the wood. A descent so rapid that we could scarcely keep our balance brought us among a quantity of bushes covered with double thorns, which Lucien very justly compared to bulls' horns in miniature. At last the ground became more level, and, directing our course to the right, we turned into a plain, surrounded by woods.

"Both trees and plants seem larger here than on the mountains," said Lucien.

"You are quite right," answered Sumichrast; "the vegetation in the Terre-Chaude is more vigorous than that of the Terre-TempÉrÉe. As you advance farther into it, you will be able to judge."

"Did you see that great insect that flew buzzing past us?"

"Yes, Master Sunbeam; but it was a humming-bird, not an insect."

"A humming-bird!" cried the boy, at once unfolding his butterfly-net.

And off he went in pursuit of the fugitive. The agile bird made a thousand turns, and always kept out of reach of the young sportsman, who at last stopped suddenly in front of a shrub. When I joined him, he was contemplating three little nests, fixed in forked branches, and covered outside with green and yellow lichens.

"There's the bird!" said Lucien, in a low voice.

I lifted up the little naturalist; two hen-birds flew off, and at the bottom of each nest he could see a couple of eggs of a greenish color, and about the size of a pea.

"If you hold me a little closer, papa, I can take the eggs."

"What would be the good, my boy? Look at them as long as you like, but don't deprive the little birds of what is most dear to them."

"There's one bird which has not moved," observed Lucien.

"Then, no doubt, its little ones are hatched."

"The whole of its body seems to glitter; it looks as if it was blue, green, and gold color. It sees me, and is moving. Now it is perched upon the tree! Only look, papa! there are two young ones in the bottom of the nest."

I put Lucien down on the ground, so that he might go to l'Encuerado, who was calling him. The Indian had found a humming-bird's nest fixed on a branch, which he had cut off and was bringing us. The elegant little structure was a perfect marvel of architectural skill, lined inside with the silky down of some plant. Two young birds, still unfledged, and scarcely as big as nuts, opened their beaks as if to ask for food. I directed l'Encuerado to replace the branch on the tree from whence he had cut it, and to fasten it so that it could not fall down. I followed him, to make sure he did it rightly. As soon as we came near the shrub, the mother fluttered all round the Indian, and at last settled down, panting, on her young brood.

"You're a brave bird!" cried the Indian, "and I ask your pardon for having carried away your house. Don't be afraid, my name is l'Encuerado, and you may safely trust in me. Don't tremble! I would sooner be hurt myself than cause you the least harm. There, now you are all firmly fixed again, and you may live in peace. Your little ones can tell you that I have not teased them; I only wanted to show them to Chanito. Good-bye, SeÑor Huitzitzilin! you are a brave bird, and it's I, l'Encuerado, who tells you so!"

And the Indian went away, saluting the valiant mother with so many waves of his hat that the poor bird must have thought her last hour had come.

"What do these beautiful little birds feed upon, M. Sumichrast?"

"On the juices of flowers and small insects. Look! there is one hovering, and its wings are moving too fast for us to see them. Don't stir! I see a branch so covered with blue flowers that it can hardly fail to attract the bird. Now it is settled above one of the corollas, and plunges its head into it without ceasing to beat with its wings. Its cloven tongue soon sucks out the honey concealed in the flower, and its little ones will greet it when it gets back with open beaks to receive their share of the spoil."

"They are funny birds, those," said l'Encuerado to Lucien. "In three months—that is, in October—they will go to sleep, and will not wake up till April."

"Is that true, father?"

"I rather fancy that they migrate."

"Now don't teach Chanito wrongly," said l'Encuerado, repeating a common phrase of mine; "the huitzitzilins do not migrate; they go to sleep."

"This fact has been so often related to me by Indians living in the woods," said my friend, "that I feel almost disposed to believe it."

"Don't they say the same of the bats and swallows? and yet we know they change their habitat."

"Yes; but with regard to humming-birds, they assert that they have seen them asleep. At all events, it is certain that they disappear in the winter."

The clucking of a bird of the gallinaceous order, called the hocco—Crax alector—interrupted our discussion, and my two companions carefully proceeded towards a dark-foliaged tree, a little outside the edge of the forest. The clucking suddenly ceased; we heard the report of a gun, and I saw three of them fly away into the forest. L'Encuerado was climbing a tree when I came up, for the bird he had shot had lodged among the branches.

"Do you see the long pods which hang on that tree?" cried Lucien.

"It is a locust-tree covered with fruit," said my friend; "it is a relation of the bean and the pea."

"Are the pods eatable?" asked the child, as one fell at his feet.

"You may taste the dark pulp which surrounds the seeds—it is slightly sweet; but don't eat too much, for it is used in Europe as a medicine."

L'Encuerado dropped at our feet the great bird which Sumichrast had killed. It was larger in size than a fowl, with a crest upon its head. Its cry—a sort of clucking of which its Spanish name gives an idea—tells the traveller its whereabout, although it is ready enough in making its escape.

L'Encuerado returned to the bivouac, and Sumichrast led us along the edge of a ravine, obstructed by bushes and shaded by large trees.

We had been quietly on the watch for a minute or two, when three young wolves, of the species called by the Indians coyotes, came running by, one after the other. They were soon followed by a fourth, and then the mother herself appeared. She glared at us with her fiery eyes, and then raised a dull, yelping noise, which brought her young ones to her.

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Sumichrast, "does this wretch intend to give us a present to her children?"

I stuck my machete into the ground, so as to have it at hand; and the brute lay down on the ground, as if ready to spring.

"Now then, my fine lady, come and meddle with us if you dare!" muttered my friend, imitating l'Encuerado's tone.

The coyote uttered a shrill cry, and almost immediately a sixth came and stood by her.

"Don't fire till I tell you," said I to Lucien, who seemed as bold as possible.

"You take the dog-wolf," cried Sumichrast to me; "but we won't provoke the contest."

Seeing us evince no fear, the brutes suddenly made off. Sumichrast descended to the bottom of the ravine, and then called me. I noticed among the high grass the entrance of a burrow strewed with whitened bones. Two yards farther on I saw the head of one of the animals, with eyes glittering like a cat's, glaring out of the entrance of another burrow. I threw a stone at the beast, which, far from showing any fear, curled up its lips and showed us a very perfect set of teeth.

As it was by no means our intention to make war upon wolves, I returned to the plain with Lucien, who had shown no ordinary coolness. I was glad of it, for my great wish was to inure him to danger, and I feared the Indian's misadventure with the otter might have had a bad influence.

"Didn't those wolves frighten you?" asked my friend of the boy.

"A little—especially their eyes, which seemed to dart fire."

"And what should you have done if they had sprung at us?"

"I should have aimed at them as straight as I could; but wolves are much braver than I thought."

"They were anxious to protect their young ones, and their den being so near made them all the bolder."

When l'Encuerado heard that we had coyotes near us, he made up a second fire for the night. The eastern sky was beginning to grow pale, and as we were supping we saw the paroquets in couples flying over our heads towards the forest. Humming-birds were flitting in every direction, and flocks of other passerines flew from one bush to another. When they offered to perch near our bivouac, l'Encuerado requested them in polite terms to settle a little farther away, and, on their refusal, urged his request by throwing a stone at them, which but rarely failed in its purpose. The sun set, and the mountains stood out in black relief against the pink sky.

The moon now rose, and I can hardly describe the marvellous effects of light produced by its rays on the sierras. L'Encuerado had made a second fire, and had taken Gringalet aside to insist upon his not roaming beyond the ground illuminated by its flame, telling him that the coyotes, which would doubtless pass the night in prowling round our bivouac, were very fond of dogs' flesh. As if to add weight to this prudent advice, a prolonged howling was now heard, which the dog felt obliged to respond to in his most doleful notes.

"Oh!" cried Sumichrast, "are those beasts going to join in the concert made by the grasshoppers and mosquitoes?"

Lucien, who had gone to sleep, started up.

"Where's my parrot?" he cried.

"Sleep quietly, Chanito!" replied the Indian. "It is roasted, and we shall eat it to-morrow morning at breakfast."

This reply and Lucien's disappointed face much amused us. L'Encuerado's fault was too much zeal: not knowing that Sumichrast was going to skin the bird, he had sacrificed it. In order to repair his error, he promised Lucien hundreds of parrots of every color; so he went to sleep and dreamed of forests full of birds of the most brilliant plumage.