I had intended to keep him waiting longer, but I could not hold back what I felt certain I had discovered, and hurrying to the case I brought out the precious specimen and made Mapah and her husband go through the whole pantomime again.
“Why, Nat,” cried my uncle excitedly, while Pete and Cross looked on, “it’s as plain as a pikestaff: these people are quite familiar with the long-tailed species—resplendens—and they could take us to places where they could be found.”
“That’s it, uncle,” I cried, and Pete and Cross joined in a hearty cheer.
“Oh, but to think of it—the misery and disappointment,” cried my uncle: “that poor fellow will not be able to walk and act as guide for a month, and it may be a hundred miles away.”
“That don’t matter, sir,” cried Pete; “he’s only a little chap. Me and Bill Cross’ll take it in turns pig-a-backing him; won’t we mate?”
“We will that, Pete, lad,” cried the carpenter, and somehow that seemed to be the brightest evening of our expedition, even the two Indians seeming to share our satisfaction, for they readily grasped the idea that they had afforded us pleasure by promising in their fashion to show us the objects of our weary search.
As we lay down to sleep that night I felt more wakeful than ever I had been before, and I could hear my uncle turning restlessly about.
All at once he broke the silence by whispering,—
“Asleep, Nat?”
“Asleep? No; I’ve got quetzal on the brain, and the birds seem to be pecking at my shoulder on both sides with red-hot beaks. How do you feel?”