timid ones among their number moved to safe quarters far from the windfall, while the others redoubled their vigilance and dared not venture many paces from the protection of their burrows and shelters.

So far, the inhabitants of the treetops had not been molested. Largest among them were the howling monkeys. Secretly, they feared Suma and hated her with all the vehemence of their intractable natures. In secret also, they followed her movements whenever possible, dogging her steps and gazing with furtive eyes upon her acts of violence. But they were careful to keep to the higher branches and to view the jungle tragedies from the safety of their lofty perches. So long as the Jaguar hunted openly and made no efforts to conceal her movements, they had nothing to fear. It was later, when the great cat called into play all the resources and artifices at her command that their hour would strike. But like the other foolish wild folk, they looked upon that time as something belonging to the indistinct future and not until the lesson should be brought home to them, swiftly and terribly, would they profit by it.

In her turn, Suma hated the monkey tribe. She had frequent glimpses of the dark forms slinking through the branches high above her head, but gave no indication of the fact. At the present time she could not hope successfully to wage war upon them in their arboreal fastness. But it would not always be so. Other days were coming and then the monkey band would be given their lesson and punished for their presumption.

The bird flocks swept through the forest in quest of their livelihood with as much clamor as ever. To them Suma meant nothing; the majority of them had never seen her—did not even know that such a creature existed. The jays, quarrelsome and noisy as are their relatives of the temperate zone, occasionally saw the spotted hunter as she passed where the undergrowth was more open, and sent up a loud chatter that apprised all the other wild things of her whereabouts. And while realizing her impotence to deal with them, Suma could never quite check the growl that swelled in her throat nor stay the lips that drew back until the gleaming, white fangs were exposed to view. Then, with a sheepish look as if heartily ashamed of having noticed the pests at all, she hastened to thicker cover and quickly lost herself to her tormentors.

And so the days, and the nights too, passed swiftly, each with its complement of thunder and of rain, and of intimidation and destruction; but at last Suma was satisfied. The region had been cleared of everything that might disturb the tranquillity of the weeks to come. That had been her first care, her first duty prompted by an instinct that made her merciless in its execution. Her abode was safe from disturbance. She could come and go as she chose, serene in the knowledge that not a living thing remained in the vicinity to trouble her, or, if any remained they were cowed to the point where they dared not make their presence known. Then she retired to the cavity in the great cottonwood and for three days and three nights the jungle saw her not.

The deluge thundered and beat upon the drooping vegetation with a sound so monotonous that Suma grew accustomed to it and did not notice its existence. But the chamber in the giant tree trunk remained dry and comfortable, a little world apart from its mournful surroundings. And scarcely had she entered upon her voluntary retirement when a swarm of craneflies took up its station at the entrance. These latter were slender, almost wasplike insects with lacy wings and long, thread-like legs, that whirled and danced with the mad joyousness of life, the mass of swirling creatures seemingly spinning a net of sheerest gossamer that curtained the interior from the prying eyes of the wrens and ant birds hopping inquisitively through the crevices of the windfall.

The approach of Siluk, the Storm-God, brought terror not only to the animals of the boundless wilderness. Besides the creatures that lived in the treetops, in the air, on the floor of the forest and under the rubbish that littered the ground were other living beings, no less wild, no less savage than the ones that shared their jungle homes.

They were the Indians, living in scattered tribes, some numerous, others so few in numbers that they verged on extinction. They roamed the vast hinterland in bands, subsisting on the bounty of the land when food was plentiful, suffering hunger in less propitious seasons, and sleeping on the ground where night overtook them.

The dry season was their time of harvest, of care-free existence and of abundance. No sooner had the heavens ceased to drench the long-enduring earth with its tears than they followed the receding floods to the lower regions where the forest ended.

Then came long days of brilliant sunshine, of balmy breezes, and of feasting beside the great rivers that were the very arteries of life of the great Amazon country.

Well-filled stomachs were conducive to friendlier dispositions. Old enmities were forgotten or at least held in abeyance. Each tribe was too busily engaged in the enjoyment of life to spend precious days in warfare on its neighbors with all the attendant hardships and suffering.

It was only after the skies had been leaden for days at a time; when rain in torrents beat unceasingly upon the hastily erected shelters and found its way in rivulets through the palm-leaf roofs so that the earthen floors were converted into basins of mud; when game retreated to unknown or inaccessible places so that the procuring of food became an increasingly difficult problem; it was then, after the weeks of brooding and confinement that nerves snapped and the picture of war formed itself as a saving diversion before the blood-shot eyes of the savages.

At this stage no one was safe. The war party might at any moment find itself ambushed by the very ones it hoped to surprise. The snap of a twig; the dropping of a fruit from some tall tree; each sudden sound was interpreted as the twang of a hostile bow. Overwrought nerves peopled the jungle with spectral enemies; they found relief in combat and destruction.

And, above all the scenes of desolation, above the turmoil and the strife, the grim storm god ruled supreme, heartlessly sending new deluges and crashing bolts in answer to the prayers for deliverance.

The Cantanas had ventured farther down the river than was their wont. The season had been a remarkable one. Never had there been such abundance along the stream that for many years had served as their annual camping-ground. They revelled in the luxury of a care-free existence. Fish teemed in the water; turtles came in hordes to visit the sandbank; and birds in countless numbers filled the air with twinkling wings and harsh screams. They had only to take, to eat, and to make merry for it was not their nature to look too seriously upon the morrow.

And then, like a fateful omen of troubled times on the horizon came the first sign, the first warning of the impending change.

The tribe was small, reduced in numbers by the periodical inroads made upon it by some of its neighbors. Also, led by an aged man who relied more on charms and incantations than upon valor, it stood in a fair way of utter extermination.

Among the men was a youth of promise, Oomah by name. He was a general favorite, praised by the men for his deeds of courage and daring, admired by the women and beloved by the children.

Oomah was only seventeen. Still, at