140 THROUGH THE BRAZILIAN WILDERNESS 



prows down-stream. The skies had been lowering for some 

 time, and now — too late to interfere with the hunt or cause 

 us any annoyance — a heavy downpour of rain came on 

 and beat upon us. Little we cared, as the canoe raced 

 forward, with the tapir and the buck lying in the bottom, 

 and a dry, comfortable camp ahead of us. 



When we reached camp, and Father Zahm saw the tapir, 

 he reminded me of something I had completely forgotten. 

 When, some six years previously, he had spoken to me in 

 the White House about taking this South American trip, 

 I had answered that I could not, as I intended to go to 

 Africa, but added that I hoped some day to go to South 

 America and that if I did so I should try to shoot both a 

 jaguar and a tapir, as they were the characteristic big- 

 game animals of the country. "Well," said Father Zahm, 

 "now you've shot them both!" The storm continued 

 heavy until after sunset. Then the rain stopped and the 

 full moon broke through the cloud-rack. Father Zahm and 

 I walked up and down in the moonlight, talking of many 

 things, from Dante, and our own plans for the future, to 

 the deeds and the wanderings of the old-time Spanish 

 conquistadores in their search for the Gilded King, and of 

 the Portuguese adventurers who then divided with them 

 the mastery of the oceans and of the unknown continents 

 beyond. 



This was an attractive and interesting camp in more 

 ways than one. The vaqueiros with their wives and families 

 were housed on the two sides of the field in which our 

 tents were pitched. On one side was a big, whitewashed, 

 tile-roofed house in which the foreman dwelt — an olive- 

 skinned, slightly built, wiry man, with an olive-skinned 



