THE LAKE OF PITCH. 6 1 



the natives called it, with two cubs, was seen not long 

 before. 



Only the sloth is barred. He comes close to the endless 

 swath ; he wanders from tree to tree up and down, peering dully 

 out across the track, but he cannot cross. The twenty-foot 

 treeless embankment is as impregnable to him as a sheer 

 wall of rock. With a weird cry he turns back and starts in 

 another direction through the branches. 



Fig. 30. The Fatal "Mother of the Lake." 



We reach the lake long before the dew is dried and before 

 the freshness of the dawn is dissipated. Hurrying over the 

 planks and the temporary rails laid for the workman's hand- 

 cars, we push on a half-mile or more to the southward, where 

 nothing hints of man's proximity. To the north and west 

 are irregular peaks running off into a blue and misty range — 

 the foot-hills of the Spanish Main. To the south the high 

 woods are close to us and tower high overhead, but even 

 with the eye of yonder lofty, soaring Vulture we could see no 



