The pursuit would have been all up with Guapo, for the marimondas had soon got some way beyond the edge of the grove; but just as he was turning to sulk back, his keen Indian eye caught sight of one that was far behind the rest—so far, indeed, that it seemed determined to seek its safety rather by hiding than by flight. It had got under cover of a bunch of leaves, and there it lay quiet, uttering neither sound nor syllable. Guapo could just see a little bit of its side, and at this in an instant the gravatána was pointed. Guapo's chest and cheeks were seen to swell out to their fullest extent, and off went the arrow. A shriek followed—the monkey was hit—beyond a doubt. Guapo coolly waited the result.
A movement was visible among the leaves; the marimonda was seen to turn and double about, and pluck something from its side; and then the broken arrow came glancing among the twigs, and fell to the ground. The monkey was now perceived to be twisting and writhing upon the branches, and its wild death-screams was answered by the voices of the others farther off.
At length its body was seen more distinctly; it no longer thought of concealment; but lay out along the limb; and the next moment it dropped off. It did not fall to the ground, though. It had no design of gratifying its cruel destroyer to that extent. No; it merely dropped to the end of its tail, which, lapped over the branch, held it suspended. A few convulsive vibrations followed, and it hung down dead!
Guapo was thinking in what way he might get it down, for he knew that unless he could reach it by some means, it would hang there until the weather rotted it off, or until some preying bird or the tree-ants had eaten it. He thought of his axe—the tree was not a very thick one, and it was a soft-wood tree. It would be worth the labour of cutting it down.
He was about turning away to get the axe, when his eye was attracted by the motion of some object near the monkey.
“Another!” he muttered, and sure enough, another,—a little tiny-creature,—ran out from among the leaves, and climbed down the tail and body of the one already shot, threw it arms around her neck and whined piteously. It was the young one—Guapo had shot the mother!
The sight filled Leon with pity and grief; but Guapo knew nothing of these sentiments. He had already inserted another arrow into his gravatána, and was raising his tube to bend it, when, all at once, there was a loud rustling among the leaves above—a large marimonda that had returned from the band was seen springing out upon the branch—he was the husband and father!
He did not pause a moment. Instinct or quick perception taught him that the female was dead: his object was to save the young one.
He threw his long tail down, and grasped the little creature in its firm hold, jerked it upward; and then mounting it on his back, bore it off among the branches!
All this passed so quickly, that Guapo had not time to deliver his second arrow. Guapo saw them no more.