240 JUNGLE PEACE 



while. The throb of the blood in his veins was 

 forgotten, and all his senses reached out to the 

 sights and sounds and scents about him. And 

 again the great black frog called from its slimy 

 seat hidden in the still blacker water of the 

 jungle swamp. Its voice was deep, guttural, 

 and a little inhuman, but it asked as plainly as 

 any honest man could ask, Wh — y? And after 

 a minute, Wh — y? 



I squatted in the center of a trail. Within 

 walking distance behind me flowed the yellow 

 waters of the Amazon, and the igarape from 

 which the frog had called was even now feeling 

 the tidal heave of the ocean. Ahead, the jungle 

 stretched without a break for three thousand 

 miles or more. And here for a week I had suf- 

 fered bodily torture, twisting into unhappy posi- 

 tions for hours at a time, watching the birds 

 which crowded the berry-laden foliage of a sin- 

 gle jungle tree. In the cool of early morning, 

 throughout the terrible breathless heat of mid- 

 day and the drenching downpour of afternoon, 

 the frog and I put our questions. There was 

 hope in our interrogation. And my five senses 

 all gave aid, and my hand wrote down facts, 

 and my mind pondered them. 



