142 
Mr. 0. Salvin's Quesal-shooting in Vera Paz. 
were only preparing to breed. Besides this colony I see little 
of interest—a few Toucans (Ramphastos carinatus ) and other 
common birds. 
March 12.—Off to the mountains at last, with a fine day and 
a fair prospect of success. The road after crossing the river strikes 
off to the northward—a mountain track winding among the hills. 
Soon after entering the forest a river crosses the path—a foaming 
torrent—a fall into which gives no hope of escape. A felled tree, 
one of the largest of the forest, forms the bridge, over which, 
slippery with moss and foam, we have to pass. For ourselves it 
is nothing; but I must say I tremble for the Indians, each of 
whom carries his 7 5 lbs. of cargo. In the worst and most 
slippery part the foot-hold is somewhat improved by the tree 
being notched with a f machete/ but still it is as dangerous a 
pass as I ever crossed. After half an hour's delay we reach the 
other bank. One ‘ mozo' only turned faint-hearted, and another 
carried his pack across. From the river the path becomes very 
precipitous, and we continue to climb till we reach the foot of a 
rock, where we find a deserted rancho and take possession. A 
fire having been made to heat the pixtones,we dine, and afterwards 
start for the forest close by to look for Quesals. On entering, 
the path takes the unpleasant form of a succession of felled trees, 
which are slippery from recent rains, and render progress slow. 
My companions are ahead, and I am just balancing myself along 
the last trunk, when Filipe comes running back to say that they 
have heard a Quesal. Of course, being especially anxious to 
watch, as well as to shoot one of these birds myself, I imme¬ 
diately hurry to the spot. I sit down upon my wide-awake in 
most approved style close to Cipriano, who is calling the bird, 
and wait, all eyes and ears, for the result. I have not to wait 
long. A distant clattering note indicates that the bird is on the 
wing. He settles—a splendid male—on a bough of a tree not 
seventy yards from where we are hidden. Cipriano wants to 
creep up to within shot, but I keep him back, wishing to risk 
the chance of losing a specimen rather than miss such an oppor¬ 
tunity of seeing the bird in its living state and of watching its 
movements. It sits almost motionless on its perch, the body 
remaining in the same position, the head only moving slowly 
