As soon as we had encamped, Isoro and two other Indians set off to forage in the neighbourhood, as well as to obtain information. They came back late in the evening, driving before them three hogs, which they had purchased at a native hut some distance off. A pen was soon built, in which to confine the animals: one of them was destined to be turned into pork the following morning. The mules had already been sent away, and True and the pigs were the only four-footed animals in the camp.
Our whole party had been for some time asleep, when I was aroused by a horrible squeaking, followed by a loud bark from True, who was sleeping under my hammock. The squeaks and a few spasmodic grunts which succeeded them soon ceased. The voices of my companions outside the hut showed me that they were on the alert; and knowing that True would attack our visitor, whether puma or jaguar, I tied him to one of the posts of the hut before I went out—a proceeding of which he did not at all approve.
“Cuguacuara! cuguacuara!” I heard the Indians exclaiming.
“A puma has carried off one of the hogs,” said John, who appeared with his gun ready for action.
“Where has it gone?” I asked.
“That is what we are going to ascertain,” he answered.
We set out with Don José, Isoro, and several of the Indians, the latter armed only with their spears. There was a bright moon, so we had no great difficulty in seeing our way, though in that region of precipices it was necessary to be cautious. Isoro and the Indians led the way, tracing the puma by the blood which their keen sight discovered on the ground. We had not gone far when they stopped and signified that the beast was near. Turning a point of rock, we saw before us, in a hollow on the side of the mountain—a shallow cavern overgrown with shrubs, into which the moon shone brightly—not only one, but two huge pumas, the nearest with its paws on
the hog it had just stolen. We had formed our camp close to their lair. The savage brutes, thus brought to bay, and unable to escape, snarled fiercely at us. No animal is more hated by the Indians than the puma, on account of the depredations it commits on their flocks and herds. They had little chance, therefore, of being allowed to escape. I expected, moreover, at any moment to see them spring at us.
“Do you take the nearest,” said Don José, calmly, to John; “I will take the other. Reserve your fire, Harry, in case one of them should spring.”