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TJie Aiiiericati Angler 



passing pack trains. They are a favorite 

 resort and feeding ground for birds and 

 smaller animals. Parrots, magpies, 

 doves, chachalacas (a small pheasant) 

 frequent the trees by the road side, 

 while several varieties of quail, rabbits 

 and an occasional band of turkeys may 

 be found feeding among the grass, but 

 our travelers were looking for larger 

 game. As we ambled along, occasional 

 parties of natives were met. Now 

 finely mounted horsemen with leather 

 jackets, jingling spurs, fringed leggings 

 and silver buttons, armed like troopers 

 with sabre at side and carbine under 

 knee, with silver mounted saddle and 

 brilliant zarape at the cantle, passed 

 nodding a " Buenas dias " and " Feliz 

 viaje" to us as they went by. But 

 more often the humbler Indian foot- 

 man, clad in wide straw hat, unbleached 

 cotton shirt and drawers rolled above 

 the knee and detained by a little cord, 

 sandles of leather and buckskin girdle 

 saluted us with a " Dios guard a Vd" 

 patron." An occasional family moving 

 was met ; the old Indian grandmother, 

 with a face like a nutmeg, perched on 

 her little donkey with a red pillow in 

 front and various culinary utensils 

 dangling at the back, and then the 

 mother on her "burrito," with choco- 

 late colored tots clinging to her before 

 and behind. The head of the family 

 walks in the rear with his machete 

 hanging at the belt and with switch in 

 hand urges forward the cavalcade, 

 followed by pickaninnies of various 

 sizes whose bright eyes peer from under- 

 neath mops of raven hair, and whose 

 little legs dance back and forth below 

 a cotton shirt, their only garment. The 

 road leaves the vega after a few miles 

 and crosses low and rolling hills to 

 descend again into the valley of the 

 Tamesin, which we cross in a canoe at 

 Paso Real (Royal Pass), just below that 



mighty gorge where the river breaks 

 through the eastern Cordillera. The 

 canoe was made from a log of ceiba and 

 over thirty feet in length. It held our 

 entire party with ease, including accout- 

 rements. The ferrymen, just from a 

 bath in the river and clothed only in 

 nature's garments, shone in the sun like 

 a pair of rubber overshoes as they 

 pushed, poled and paddled our craft 

 across. On the other side, we launched 

 in the shade of a wild fig tree and 

 waited for the cool of the afternoon 

 while we watched the parrots flittering 

 in the trees and the fish jumping in the 

 river. 



Where the river at high water over- 

 flows the lowlands, cane brakes are 

 formed, the bamboo often growing over 

 fifty feet in height, while, on the slightly 

 higher ground, underbrush and vines 

 form an impenetrable mat, like that 

 which in Cuba shelters Maceo and his 

 band, but here only serves as a refuge 

 for jaguar, jabali, deer, badger, raccoon 

 and smaller animals. Narrow paths 

 formed by the denizens of this " mator- 

 ral " on their way to and from the 

 water, give the only means to penetrate 

 it, and, at the same time, a stand in 

 which to lie in wait for them. This sub- 

 tropical hunting is something like buy- 

 ing lottery tickets. You may draw a 

 blank or a grand prize in the shape of a 

 jaguar, or a deer or jabali may serve 

 for a second prize. Perhaps the unex- 

 pected may happen in the shape of a 

 waddling alligator that comes crawling 

 by, immigrating from the river to the 

 lagoon. 



As the afternoon shadows lengthen 

 and the mountain breeze begins, we 

 saddle up and start on our march to 

 reach Santa Cruz before dark, where 

 we will pass the night. This little ham- 

 let of bamboo huts with palm roofs, 

 hospitable people and glorious wide 



