The Mexican approached, and handed me a small piece of paper. I rode into an opening, and held it up to the moonlight; but the writing was in pencil, and I could not make out a single letter.
“Try this, Clayley. Perhaps your eyes are better than mine.”
“No,” said Clayley, after examining the paper. “I can hardly see the writing upon it.”
“Esperate mi amo!” (Wait, my master), said the guide, making me a sign. We remained motionless.
The Mexican took from his head his heavy sombrero, and stepped into a darker recess of the forest. After standing for a moment, hat in hand, a brilliant object shot out from the leaves of the palma redonda. It was the cocuyo—the great firefly of the tropics. With a low, humming sound it came glistening along at the height of seven or eight feet from the ground. The man sprang up, and with a sweep of his arm jerked it suddenly to the earth. Then, covering it with his hat, and inverting his hand, he caught the gleaming insect, and presented it to me with the ejaculation:
“Ya!” (Now!)
“No muerde,” (It does not bite), added he, as he saw that I hesitated to touch the strange, beetle-shaped insect.
I took the cocuyo in my hand, the green, golden fire flashing from its great round eyes. I held it up before the writing, but the faint glimmer was scarcely discernible upon the paper.
“Why, it would require a dozen of these to make sufficient light,” I said to the guide.
“No, Señor; uno basti—asi;” (No, sir; one is enough—thus); and the Mexican, taking the cocuyo in his fingers, pressed it gently against the surface of the paper. It produced a brilliant light, radiating over a circle of several inches in diameter!