Both the watch and my uncle were right—for the scream of a parrot reached my ears soon after, followed by whistlings and pipings from the forest; while soon after a horribly harsh grating screech came from overhead, and I caught a glimpse of the bird which uttered it—one of the great long-tailed Aras, on its way with three or four more to a favourite part of the forest.
“Going figging, Nat,” said my uncle, putting some more wood on the fire, not for the sake of the light—for away across the sea the dawn was brightening fast, after the way of sunrise and sunset in tropic lands; and even as I looked there, far on high, was a faint fleck of orange light on a tiny cloud. A few minutes later there were scores, and the birds were singing and chirping in all directions, even the sea furnishing the screams and peculiar cries of the various ducks and gulls.
“How glorious!” I said softly, for the beauty of the scene around in the glow of the morning light made me forget the darkness of the night and the terrors that it brought.
“Yes, Nat; we’ve hit upon birdland the first try,” said my uncle. “But it seems as if we shall have to leave it unless we can be sure that the Indians are friendly.”
As he spoke, we both examined the footprints again.
“Savage marks for certain, Nat,” said my uncle. “Do you see? These fellows have not been in the habit of wearing shoes.”
“Yes, I see,” I replied. “The big toe so wide away from the others.”
“You see that at a glance. I suppose it would be unwise to follow them; they would hear us coming, and might send a couple of arrows into us—perhaps poisoned. It’s a pity Nat; for there are plenty of birds about, and we could get some good specimens.—Yes; what is it?”
“They’ve been all along here, right down to the sea, uncle. See their tracks?”
“Yes; and I can see something else,” he said, shading his eyes, and looking to right and left anxiously in the now broad daylight.