“In this town I obtained eight native Indians, who were invaluable at times and nuisances at others. We searched in that mysterious mountain land of Guayana, entering where the Caroni River empties into the Orinoco. The Caroni’s waters are combed by cataracts and rapids, but are well-known for fifty miles—here the dense woods begin and man’s knowledge ends, for excepting myself, I believe no white man has ever explored those forests.

“It is one of the mystery lands of Venezuela, the never-never lands where almost anything can happen and usually does. Usually, a white in that section is rather a being to be taken care of, as white men are more valuable in a gift-producing way alive than dead; but there are tribes of nomadic Indians, head-hunters by choice, that roam the dismal forests, and to them the head of a white man, shrunk to the size of an orange, is their Kohinoor or Great Mogul! Not far away live the Maquitares, a tribe of blonds, almost white, and at a greater distance, the Guaharibos, whose savagery has never allowed the headwaters of the Orinoco to be discovered.

“My Indians sometimes heard their drums growling to one another far away in the steamy tropic nights, but they came always from the north and south, never from the west toward which we were pressing. On the sixth day from the river, we heard them behind us, but still far away; and as we cooked our meals in the tambo, a rude shelter from the night dews, such as the rubber hunters farther south construct, sometimes we wondered why they were upon all sides but never before.

“On the ninth day we heard nothing but the ceaseless drip-drip-drip into the swampy ground and occasionally the roar of some dead forest giant crashing to earth, choked to death by parasitic vines that hid the tree from sight. That night the hunters came back empty-handed. We had not seen any animal all day, not even the usual troop of monkeys that howled down curses at us, swinging along under the forest roof, dropping fruit skins and nuts upon us and warning all life for miles that strangers were at hand.

“We made hungry camp for we traveled light, and my men were disposed to grumble because we were in unknown country and no one knew what lay before us.

“The black butterfly was given up now, but I determined to press on three days more, and then to give it up as a bad job and go back, for I already had enough specimens to repay me for my trip.