168 
THE GOLDEN EIVEE. 
unfamiliar green tops and parched lower leaves, 
and beyond them again the dark line of the 
forest. 
There is an air of freshness and new growth, 
and yet you know you are in a hot country. 
That fact cannot escape you. It is hot: very 
hot indeed. You wear as little as possible; 
•but your rifle weighs a ton, its sling burns your 
shoulder and you wish you had left your glasses 
behind. It is early noon, and the sun is 
straight overhead. You have been up since 
four, hunting the edges of the monte to try to 
find a deer feeding at dawn. You have not had 
a shot except a two hundred and fifty yards 
crack at a galloping ostrich (the South 
American ostrich, the rhea) on which you 
naturally made no impression whatever. You 
have worked hard; but the immense stock of 
enthusiasm with which you started has slowly 
evaporated. A short time before, as you were 
walking quietly in a lovely glade in the monte, 
your companion stopped, laid his hand on your 
arm, and looked intently. You look, but see 
nothing. There, there, he whispers, behind 
that myrtle. You can still see nothing. Then 
there is a patter of leaves, and the dogs, more 
intelligent than you, rush in, and your one 
chance vanishes. Your companion tells you 
that one of the pretty little deer of the country 
has stood looking at you full twenty seconds, 
not twenty yards off; and you curse yourself 
