“Cross the mountains to Oroya, then go north to Huari, and in three days you will reach the great forest of cinchona trees,” repeated Hope-Jones, quoting old Huayno.

“Yes, but we have gone around Oroya, as advised by the superintendent,” said Ferguson.

“That’s why we have kept a northeast instead of a north course.”

“We should sight Huari to-morrow.”

“Yes. We should.”

It was the fifth day of their journey from Chicla, and they were plodding along in a rain, rubber coats buttoned close to the chin. The llama path was very narrow and wound in and out among tropic verdure. Everything was dripping with moisture, large drops rolling from palm leaves, bushes throwing spray as they were released after being pushed one side by the pedestrians, and the long grass wound around their stockings until they became wringing wet. It had been impossible to light a fire at noon, and so they had dined on strips of smoked venison.

“We must find some dry wood to-night and hang our clothing near a blaze,” said Harvey. The next minute he had darted ahead, then to one side.

“Remember rule number one!” called out Ferguson.

“All right,” came back the answer.

They caught up with the lad in a minute, and found him standing under a clump of trees that were about fifteen feet in height and which had broad, flat tops. As they neared the spot a fragrance as of incense was borne to their nostrils through the rain.

“Here’s a feast after all the dried deer meat!” called the boy, who had hung his knapsack on a branch, placed his shot-gun against the trunk of the tree, and was already climbing.

“What is he after?” asked Hope-Jones.

“I’m sure I don’t know. What have you found, Harvey?” called Ferguson.

“Chirimoyas.”

“Then we’re in luck. My mouth waters at the very thought of the fruit. But I never saw the tree before,” he said, looking up at their young companion.

“The trees grow in plenty of places near Lima,” Harvey replied. “I recognized them at once from a distance. Here, catch!”

The fruit he dropped down was heart-shaped, green, and covered with black knobs and scales, much as is a pineapple, and was about two-thirds the size of the latter.

When Harvey had detached a half dozen he descended, and despite the inclement weather they sat down for a feast, this being the first of fruit or fresh vegetable they had tasted since leaving Chicla.

Although it was damp no rain fell on the place where they rested, for the broad leaves of the trees were so interlaced as to form a natural umbrella that made a perfect watershed.

The skin of the chirimoya is thick and tough, and their jack-knives were called into use, but once within the shell a treat indeed was found. Internally the fruit is snowy white and juicy, and embedded within the pulp are many seeds, but these are as easily removed as are the seeds of a watermelon.

“My, this is delicious!” said Harvey, smacking his lips.

“Picking chirimoyas from trees is better sport than picking up puma cubs from beneath them, is it not?” asked Hope-Jones.

“Somewhat,” said the lad, as he buried his face in the fruit and took so large a mouthful that his cheeks were distended.

“Be careful lest you choke,” warned Hope-Jones; then turning to Ferguson he asked:—

“How would you describe the flavor should you wish to do so to a person at home?”

“I couldn’t. It is finer than the pineapple, more luscious than the best strawberry, and richer than the peach. There is no fruit with which I could make comparison. Can you think of any?”

“No.”

They enjoyed the repast with which nature had provided them, then Ferguson urged that they take up their march again.

“What’s the matter with remaining here?” Harvey asked.

“It’s too damp. We all would have colds in the morning. No, we must find a dry spot, even if we have to keep going till late at night. As it is, perhaps we had better each take a couple of quinine pills. Here, I will stand treat,” and he commenced to unstrap his knapsack.

“Chirimoyas for the first course and quinine for the second,” remarked Harvey. “Who wouldn’t call that a genuine Peruvian meal?”

Then they resumed their way in the rain, which continued falling heavily, dripping from the trees overhead.

Since morning they had been descending into a valley that was lower than any part of the MontaÑa which they had as yet traversed; indeed, they were at an altitude of only five thousand feet above sea level; and as they were on the eastern slope, where there is no trade wind to cool the air, the temperature had become tropical.

Soon the path would mount again, and a climb of three thousand feet was in front before Huari could be reached; but for the time being they were threading a region that was as dense with vegetation as that which borders the Amazon. Huge vines and creepers almost hid the trees from view, and green moss hung in long festoons. In places were groves of palms, in others trees of wondrous growth that were completely covered with brilliant scarlet flowers. Occasionally, between branches, they saw rare orchids.

In the jungle at the sides of the path could be heard the croaking of frogs, and on the bark of trees sounded the sharp notes of woodpeckers. At times a brilliant-colored snake crawled across the path. But they saw little else of animal life, although the occasional rustle of leaves ahead told that something savage had slunk away.

“Probably a puma,” said Hope-Jones once, when they had stopped to listen, and had brought their guns into position. “But there is no cause for alarm. A puma rarely attacks a man unless brought to bay, or unless,” and he cast a side glance at Harvey, “some enterprising person endeavors to kidnap a cub.”

“Will you ever forget that?” asked the boy, and they laughed.

Since the day of the lad’s dual adventures little of moment had befallen the travellers. They had remained in company, and at night had selected spots in scant groves, which they had inspected thoroughly before pitching the shelter-tent. They were cautious during the day as well. As for human beings, two or three Indians had been met, but they were stupid specimens, who did not speak Spanish, and who manifested little curiosity at meeting a white man.

“They are a sneaky lot,” Ferguson had said. “Notice how low their brows are and how narrow the forehead.”

At times they saw a hut perched on a hill above the roadway, but they did not care to investigate, and passed them by. These places of habitation were constructed somewhat like the North American Indian’s tepee, of boughs wound with animal hides.

But this all had been at a higher altitude. In the valley which they now trod, and which was a tropic jungle, there was no sign of man save the narrow path—and the path at times was almost lost to sight in the dense growth—which told that occasionally llama trains passed that way.

Toward four o’clock in the afternoon they reached the lowest part of the valley, and at that hour the clouds cleared away and the sun came out, causing the leaves to glisten as if studded with diamonds, and the air became heavy with the perfume of flowers and the exudations from plants and vines.

Coaxed by the sun, hundreds of butterflies drifted lazily from the sides of the jungle and moved as if borne by light currents of air from flower to flower. Some were white, their large wings dotted with golden yellow; others were purple, fringed with black; others the color of the dandelion, and still others were crimson. In and out, between these slow-moving seekers of perfume, darted hummingbirds like dashes of many-colored lightning, and the torn air sounded a faint note as they passed. This sunlight also brought lizards of many hues into its warmth, and chameleons which when prodded changed color, from green to red or to purple, depending upon the stage of anger. Meanwhile the atmosphere grew heavier with the tropic odors which the warm rain had coaxed from the vegetation.

“My, but I’m sleepy!” said Hope-Jones.

“So am I,” answered Harvey, who was bending over his knapsack and placing therein the rubber coat, of which he stood no longer in need. “Can’t we camp hereabout?”

“Miasma! chills! fever!”

“What’s that, Mr. Ferguson?”

“I said miasma, chills, and fever. That’s what would befall us should we remain here for a night. Beyond,” and he pointed to the hill that rose on the other side of the valley, “we shall doubtless find a place for the tent. However, we may as well rest here a bit, and I spy a seat over there which I propose to occupy.”

Saying this he cast aside his knapsack and rifle, then walked ahead a few yards and to one side, where he dropped upon what appeared to be a mass of twisted vine, as large as the limbs of the average tree.

The instant that Ferguson sank into the seat, Hope-Jones, who had been looking ahead curiously, let fall everything that he had in hand or on his back, and springing from Harvey’s side with a bound, ran as if on a race-course to the side of his friend, whom he seized by the collar and not only lifted to an upright position, but threw with all the strength he possessed to the ground, by the path side, and ended by catching him by the legs and dragging him some distance.

Ferguson was very quick-tempered, and the moment he jumped to his feet he darted at his companion with his fist clenched, roaring out at the top of his voice:—

“I’ll fix you! What do you mean? That wasn’t any joke.”

Harvey had run up, and he sprang between the young men, wondering what had caused this; and a glance at Hope-Jones’s face surprised him the more, for it was pale as that of a corpse, whereas Ferguson’s was red, and he was blowing with indignation.

“I’ll teach you!” he repeated. “Get out of the way, Harvey.”

But Hope-Jones had found his voice by this time, and instead of resenting his friend’s language he gasped: “It’s a boa! It’s a boa!”

“What’s a boa?” and Ferguson glanced around.

“You sat down on a boa! It’s coiled up over there!”

Then the young man who had been dragged along the path so ruthlessly turned as pale as had his companion, and so did the lad who had endeavored to act as peacemaker. Meanwhile the three were retreating rapidly to the point where they had dropped their knapsacks and rifles.

“A boa!” repeated Ferguson. “I can hardly believe it!”

“Yes. I once saw one coiled up like that in a menagerie, and the thought that your seat was alive came to me the instant you sat down. As I drew near I made out the scales, which resemble the bark on a tree, and I also saw the head. Its eyes are closed, and it’s evidently in a torpor after gorging. You sat right down in the coils, and it’s a wonder it didn’t wake and squeeze the life out of you.”

Ferguson shuddered, then throwing an arm around his chum’s shoulder, he said:—

“Forgive me, old man.”

“Why, of course. I don’t blame you in the least. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had struck me. In which case we would have fought and afterward would have discussed matters. I expected as much the moment I laid a hand on you, but there wasn’t time for explanations at that stage of the game.”

“I should say not.”

They resumed their burdens and walked forward again along the footpath, but they kept at a respectful distance from his majesty the snake, which remained as when first spied by Ferguson, motionless.

“I don’t wonder that I was fooled,” said he, halting for a look at the enormous reptile. “It looks exactly like branches or a huge vine coiled; now, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” assented Harvey, “but down below I can see the head. What enormous jaws!”

“Like a shark’s.”

“And they say that the jaws will stretch still wider, for they are fastened together by ligaments that are as elastic as rubber.”

“Yes, they will stretch so that it can swallow a young deer.”

“Perhaps that’s what it’s gorging on now.”

“Perhaps. You notice that hump below the neck? That’s as far as the prey has moved down toward the creature’s stomach.”

“Are you going to try a shot?”

“No, Harvey. Why should I? The boa hasn’t harmed us, and should I only wound it, one of us might suffer, for it’s said they move with wonderful rapidity for a short distance.”

“Would it not be a good plan to hasten and climb the hill yonder?” suggested Hope-Jones. “It won’t be safe to sleep in this valley to-night, and goodness only knows what we’ll stumble over next.”

The others evidently thought so also, for they quickened their pace, and giving the boa a wide berth they pushed ahead. An hour later they were threading their way by the side of a little stream up the hillside. After walking some distance Harvey said:—

“Mr. Ferguson?”

“Yes, my lad.”

“Are you going to quiz me any more about that puma cub?”

“No, Harvey. I’ll call the account square, if you will.”

Hope-Jones laughed. “It looks very much as though I should have plenty of amusement with both——”

Ferguson and Harvey stood stock still. Hope-Jones had vanished from sight.