They pitched their camp some three hundred feet from the Pupa under a great forest tree, dug a hole, lighted a fire, and when the hole grew as hot as an oven, slipped the skinned carcass of the tapir into it.
They ate their fill and drank the river water with a dash of rum in it. At the finish Chéri-Bibi fished out of his bag some tobacco and they smoked and chatted in great good humor.
The Nut regarded their mode of existence as perfect, and declared that he could not understand the conduct of those escaped convicts who, having had the unexpected good fortune to reach the forest, returned and surrendered themselves as prisoners. Chéri-Bibi as he listened to him gave a peculiar smile.
Night was coming on. An impressive silence reigned over the face of all living things.
"Well," said Chéri-Bibi, speaking in an undertone as if he feared to be overheard by the very trees. "Well, I, who love the forest, I tell you that I cannot look upon it without a tremor, and particularly during those hours, like the present, when it ceases to breathe. Its silence terrifies me. . . . I've never been afraid of but two things—my knife for others and the forest for myself. For the forest is like myself. . . . Sometimes it wants to do good, and it is at those moments that it slays. The forest is something like my elder sister. . . . I love it very much and it loves me very much, and yet it would make an end of me as it would make an end of anyone else, because when one is born to commit murder there's no way out of it. Some crime is on foot at the moment when one least suspects it. Be on your guard. You must never take any risks. The forest is full of mysteries; full of fumes which kill; of plants and animals which carry death in their breath. And then there are other things besides plants and animals. . . . There, listen . . ." snorted Chéri-Bibi, as he grasped his rifle and peered into the gloom behind the Nut. "Didn't you hear?"
"No. . . . What was it?"
"A man's breathing."
Chéri-Bibi remained standing for several minutes with his ears pricked up listening to the sounds of the forest, and then he came back and seated himself again beside the fire and threw ashes over it.
"I assure you," he said, sinking his voice, "that something was breathing not very far away from us, and that something was a man. Perhaps it was a medicine-man who was passing and came up to have a look at us. In any case, let's put out the fire, which throws too much light around, and use the lantern. That will be enough to drive away wild animals, while a big fire, you know, attracts any man who may be in the neighborhood. . . . So you didn't hear anything? No, you can't tell. Sure enough, there's only one wizard who would come so near. It's a pity that Yoyo isn't here."
"Who or what's Yoyo?"