JUNGLE LIFE AT AREMU. 317 



things, I noticed that he never stepped on a log or fallen tree, 

 and it was not until I had crashed through and hurt my ankle 

 on one which had been undermined by ants that I realized how 

 excellent a rule this was. A log of apparently the hardest 

 wood might be but a shell thin as paper. The facility with 

 which Francis found his way about in rain as well as sunshine 

 was a puzzle, until by careful watching I found he was con- 

 stantly making new trails by breaking, in the direction of the 

 trail, tiny twigs, the leaves of which were of a slightly different 

 color beneath. Such a mark every fifteen or twenty feet 

 was almost a hopeless clue for me at first, although ultimately 

 I learned to discover them more readily. As the breaking 

 made no noise and was accomplished by the least motion of 

 the hand, it was long before I detected it. When I went out 

 alone I chose to leave a " blaze" every ten feet! 



MARCH 30th. At daybreak we started out on our first 

 tramp, I with camera, bag, gun and glasses. Half a mile 

 from the clearing I cached the camera and bag, the pace being 

 such that I could not keep up while carrying them. I have 

 hunted in Canada and elsewhere with first-rate guides and 

 backwoodsmen, but this was a very different matter. From 

 the moment we entered the jungle the whole demeanor of 

 Francis was changed. He walked like a cat and never for a 

 moment relaxed his vigilance, and therein he differed from a 

 white man, who would unconsciously relax when he thought 

 game was still some distance away. His figure slipped silently 

 on ahead of me, flowing under trunks, passing around the 

 densest clumps of underbrush, while I followed and imitated 

 as best I could, learning every minute more than I had ever 

 known of the art of effacing oneself in the wilderness. Every 

 step was made carefully and the entire field of view ahead 

 swept, and every significant sound noted. A branch would 

 fall with a series of resounding crashes and the Indian would 

 apparently not hear it, while a cracking twig or a low rustle 



