ON A DANGEROUS ERRAND 
have it. The Indian Miguel was induced at the last 
moment to come also, and with him came the carrier his 
friend. 
Early on September second I was ready to start, 
and roused poor Filippe and Benedicto, who were in a 
shocking state. Without a word of farewell from the men 
we left behind, and for whom we were about to sacrifice 
our fives, perhaps, we started on our dangerous mission. 
The Indian Miguel and myself walked in front, cutting 
the way all the time, while I held my compass in hand 
so as to keep the correct direction west. Considering all, 
we marched fairly well. 
It was curious to note how difficult it was for men to 
travel in a straight fine while cutting a way through the 
forest. I noticed that the Indian, when cutting his way 
through, and using the knife in his right hand, would 
gradually veer to the right, so that if you let him go long 
enough he would describe a regular circle and come back 
to his original starting-point. If he cut the way with 
the left hand, the tendency would be to keep to the left 
all the time, until he had described a circle that way. 
That was not characteristic of that man only, but of 
nearly all the men I met in Brazil when making a picada. 
It was therefore necessary to keep constant watch with 
the compass, so that the deviation should be as small as 
possible during the march. 
We had gone but a short distance from camp when 
we came to a streamlet of the most delicious water. I 
had suffered a great deal from thirst the day before. 
We had been so poisoned by the yellow water of the 
stream that I did not like to try more experiments at 
the marsh where my men insisted on making camp. So 
that now I really enjoyed a good drink of the limpid 
water. That day we found too much water. On going 
one kilometre farther, about four kilometres from camp, 
we found another wider and equally delicious streamlet, 
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