The scenery here was more than usually beautiful, being diversified not only in form, but in its wealth and variety of trees, and twining parasites and graceful ferns, with, in one place, groves of tall trees covered with balls of wild cotton, as large as an orange, and, elsewhere, inextricable entanglements of gorgeously flowering creepers, such as the most vivid imagination would fail to invent or conceive. Behind one part of the scene the setting sun shone with intense light, turning all into dark forms, while in other parts the slanting rays fell upon masses of rich foliage, and intensified its colour.
In front of the hut a handsome Indian woman stood awaiting the arrival of her husband. She held in her arms a naked little ball of whitey-brown fat, which represented the youngest Tiger-cub of the family. Other cubs, less whitey, and more brown, romped around, while up in the trees several remembrancers of Quashy’s great-great-grandmother sat grinning with delight, if not indignation, at the human beings below.
After being hospitably entertained by the Indian with fish, alligator soup, roast parrot, and young monkey, the party assembled round a fire, kindled outside the hut more for the purpose of scaring away wild beasts than cooking, though the little Tiger-cubs used it for the latter purpose.
Then Pedro said to Lawrence—
“Now, Senhor Armstrong, I am going to ask you to exercise a little patience at this point in our journey. The business I have in hand requires that I should leave you for two or three days. I fully expect to be back by the end of that time, and meanwhile I leave you and Quashy and Manuela in good company, for my friend Spotted Tiger is true as steel, though he is an Indian, and will perhaps show you a little sport to prevent your wearying.”
“Very good, Pedro. I am quite willing to wait,” said Lawrence. “You know I am not pressed for time at present. I shall be very glad to remain and see what is to be seen here, and learn Spanish from Manuela.”
“Or teach her Angleesh,” suggested the girl, bashfully.
“Certainly. Whichever pleases you best, Manuela,” returned Lawrence.
“But s’pose,” said Quashy, with a look of awful solemnity at Pedro—“s’pose you nebber comes back at all! S’pose you gits drownded, or killed by a tiger, or shot by a Injin. What den?”
“Suppose,” retorted the guide, “that an earthquake should swallow up South America, or that the world should catch fire—what then?”