CHAP. IV] THE CUYABA RIVER 95 



branches of the tallest trees. Hyacinth macaws screamed 

 harshly as they flew across the river. Among the trees 

 was the guan, another peculiar bird as big as a big grouse, 

 and with certain habits of the wood-grouse, but not akin 

 to any northern game-bird. The windpipe of the male 

 is very long, extending down to the end of the breast- 

 bone, and the bird utters queer guttural screams. A 

 dead cayman floated down-stream, with a black vulture 

 devouring it. Capybaras stood or squatted on the banks ; 

 sometimes they stared stupidly at us ; sometimes they 

 plunged into the river at our approach. At long intervals 

 we passed little clearings. In each stood a house of 

 palm-logs, with steeply pitched roof of palm thatch ; 

 and near by were patches of corn and mandioc. The 

 dusky owner, and perhaps his family, came out on the 

 bank to watch us as we passed. It was a hot day — the 

 thermometer on the deck in the shade stood at nearly 

 100° F. Biting flies came aboard even when we were 

 in mid-stream. 



Next day we were ascending the Cuyaba River. It 

 had begun raining in the night, and the heavy downpour 

 continued throughout the forenoon. In the morning 

 we halted at a big cattle-ranch to get fresh milk and 

 beef. There were various houses, sheds, and corrals 

 near the river's edge, and fifty or sixty milch cows were 

 gathered in one corral. Spurred plover, or lapwings, 

 strolled familiarly among the hens. Parakeets and red- 

 headed tanagers lit in the trees over our heads. A kind 

 of primitive houseboat was moored at the bank. A 

 woman was cooking breakfast over a little stove at one 

 end. The crew were ashore. The boat was one of 

 those which are really stores, and which travel up and 

 down these rivers, laden with what the natives most 

 need, and stopping wherever there is a ranch. They 



