THE LURE OF KARTABO 9 



the second had been seasoned by sun and rain, 

 papered by lichens, and gnawed and bored by 

 tiny wood-folk into a neutral inconspicuousness 

 as complete as an Indian's deserted benab. The 

 wide verandah was open on all sides, and from 

 the bamboos of the front compound one looked 

 straight through the central hallway to bamboos 

 at the back. It seemed like a happy accident of 

 the natural surroundings, a jungle-bound cave, 

 or the low rambling chambers of a mighty hol- 

 low tree. 



No thought of who had been here last came 

 to us that first evening. We unlimbered the 

 creaky-legged cots, stiff and complaining after 

 their three years' rest, and the air was filled with 

 the clean odor of micaceous showers of naphtha- 

 line from long-packed pillows and sheets. From 

 the rear came the clatter of plates, the scent of 

 ripe papaws and bananas, mingled with the smell 

 of the first fire in a new stove. Then I went 

 out and sat on my own twelve-foot bank, looking 

 down on the sandy beach and out and over to 

 the most beautiful view in the Guianas. Down 

 from the right swept slowly the Mazaruni, and 

 from the left the Cuyuni, mingling with one wide 

 expanse like a great rounded lake, bounded by 



