Defeated, but not beaten 219 
journey of some 2,000 miles with the definite purpose of taking 
the egg of the Black Vulture, and here I was in the wretched 
position of having found the nest and seen the bird, knowing well 
that the nest contained the object of my desires, but baffled by 
a wretched pine tree. Horrible misgivings as to whether it was 
really such an impossible tree would persist in intruding themselves 
upon my mind. 
As a forlorn hope on my return to our village that night 
I sent round word that I wanted a man who could climb a fzxo 
which was reputed to be unscalable and that a suitable reward 
would be bestowed on anyone who could do it. After a truly 
miserable night, during which dreams of impossible trees with 
rotten branches and of inadequate ropes which at intervals landed 
me in appalling situations, made any attempts to sleep almost unen- 
durable, I got up at dawn and made some cocoa for myself and 
comrade. 
Whilst completing preparations for our start I was agreeably 
surprised to receive a visit from our guide of the previous day who 
said he had found a man who could climb any tree in the f:nar / 
The latter was at once introduced—a_hard-faced and somewhat 
well-fleshed individual of any age between 25 and 50. He told me 
he was a woodman who had been engaged in lopping the pine-stems 
since he was a child. His name was Doroteo. To my anxious 
query as to whether he could pass a rope over the branch in the 
Vulture’s tree, he made the truly Spanish reply of Puede ser, 
‘““Maybe.” The still more aggravating national response to 
my question as to whether he could climb the tree (which he 
professed, by the way to know well) was, ¢ Que sé yo? Veremos. 
“How can I tell? We shall see.” 
Arrived at the scene of the operations of the previous day, 
I sighted my camera on the nest, whilst Doroteo made the woods 
resound with blows from his axe on the great tree. Soon the old 
