172 JUNGLE ISLAND 



His excitement and his howling increased as 

 we came closer. He climbed to the top of the 

 tree and tried to drive us off with filth. Then 

 he swung down a stout liana and climbed up 

 again, howling all the way, until the tree seemed 

 full of noise. 



The howler families did not appear to move 

 far. I usually heard their bellowing from the 

 same places. They often set up their dismal 

 howls near noon, or when one of the airplanes 

 stationed at the Canal Zone hummed by over- 

 head, or just at the beginning of one of the rare 

 showers of the dry season. 



A sleek black howler (Fig. 74) was the pet of 

 a family in Ancon. I saw it come out of the 

 house with its mistress and down the walk to a 

 waiting automobile. The mistress took the driv- 

 er's seat. The monkey, which had ambled quietly 

 on four feet by her side, swung like a flash up the 

 tree under which the car stood, down a branch, 

 and dropped neatly into his place on the rear 

 seat, from which he peeped out as any other 

 •well-behaved passenger might as the car drove 

 away. 



The night monkey, smaller than either the 

 howler or the capuchin, I sometimes found around 

 the camp clearing or down my newly cut trail, but 

 all that I saw of him there was his bright eyes, 

 reflecting the light I wore at night in my hat 

 band. In the open basement under John English's 



