A JAGUAR-HUNT ON THE TAQUARY 77 



at a spot in the swamp about nine miles distant. Next 

 morning we rose at two, and had started on our jaguar- 

 hunt at three. Colonel Rondon, Kermit, and I, with the 

 two trailers or jaguar-hunters, made up the party, each 

 on a weedy, undersized marsh pony, accustomed to trav- 

 ersing the vast stretches of morass; and we were accom- 

 panied by a brown boy, with saddle-bags holding our lunch, 

 who rode a long-horned trotting steer which he managed 

 by a string through its nostril and lip. The two trailers 

 carried each a long, clumsy spear. We had a rather poor 

 pack. Besides our own two dogs, neither of which was used 

 to jaguar-hunting, there were the ranch dogs, which were 

 well-nigh worthless, and then two jaguar hounds borrowed 

 for the occasion from a ranch six or eight leagues distant. 

 These were the only hounds on which we could place any 

 trust, and they were led in leashes by the two trailers. 

 One was a white bitch, the other, the best one we had, was 

 a gelded black dog. They were lean, half-starved crea- 

 tures with prick ears and a look of furtive wildness. 



As our shabby little horses shuffled away from the 

 ranch-house the stars were brilliant and the Southern Cross 

 hung well up in the heavens, tilted to the right. The 

 landscape was spectral in the light of the waning moon. 

 At the first shallow ford, as horses and dogs splashed 

 across, an alligator, the jacare-tinga, some five feet long, 

 floated unconcernedly among the splashing hoofs and 

 paws; evidently at night it did not fear us. Hour after 

 hour we shogged along. Then the night grew ghostly with 

 the first dim gray of the dawn. The sky had become 

 overcast. The sun rose red and angry through broken 

 clouds; his disk flamed behind the tall, slender columns of 



