“Certainly not,” cried Harris; “they were not giraffes, they were ostriches which you saw!”
“Ostriches with four legs! that will never do! what do you say, Mrs. Weldon?”
Mrs. Weldon replied that she had certainly taken the animals for quadrupeds, and all the negroes were under the same impression.
Laughing heartily, Harris said it was far from an uncommon thing for an inexperienced eye to mistake a large ostrich for a small giraffe; the shape of both was so similar, that it often quite escaped observation as to whether the long necks terminated in a beak or a muzzle; besides, what need of discussion could there be when the fact was established that giraffes are unknown in the New World? The reasoning was plausible enough, and Mrs. Weldon and the negroes were soon convinced. But Dick was far from satisfied.
“I did not know that there was an American ostrich!” he again objected.
“Oh, yes,” replied Harris promptly, “there is a species called the nandu, which is very well known here; we shall probably see some more of them.”
The statement was correct; the nandu is common in the plains of South America, and is distinguished from the African ostrich by having three toes, all furnished with claws. It is a fine bird, sometimes exceeding six feet in height; it has a short beak, and its wings are furnished with blue-grey plumes. Harris appeared well acquainted with the bird, and proceeded to give a very precise account of its habits. In concluding his remarks, he again pressed upon Dick his most urgent request that he should abstain from firing upon any animal whatever. It was of the utmost consequence.
Dick made no reply. He was silent and thoughtful. Grave doubts had arisen in his mind, and he could neither explain nor dispel them.
When the march was resumed on the following day, Harris asserted his conviction that another four-and-twenty hours would bring them to the hacienda.
“And there, madam,” he said, addressing Mrs. Weldon, “we can offer you every essential comfort, though you may not find the luxuries of your own home in San Francisco.”
Mrs. Weldon repeated her expression of gratitude for the proffered hospitality, owning that she should now be exceedingly glad to reach the farm, as she was anxious about her little son, who appeared to be threatened with the symptoms of incipient fever.
Harris could not deny that although the climate was usually very healthy, it nevertheless did occasionally produce a kind of intermittent fever during March and April.
“But nature has provided the proper remedy,” said Dick; and perceiving that Harris did not comprehend his meaning, he continued, “Are we not in the region of the quinquinas, the bark of which is notoriously the medicine with which attacks of fever are usually treated? for my part, I am amazed that we have not seen numbers of them already.”
“Ah! yes, yes; I know what you mean,” answered Harris, after a moment’s hesitation; “they are trees, however, not always easy to find; they rarely grow in groups, and in spite of their large leaves and fragrant red blossom, the Indians themselves often have a difficulty in recognizing them; the feature that distinguishes them most is their evergreen foliage.”
At Mrs. Weldon’s request, Harris promised to point out the tree if he should see one, but added that when she reached the hacienda, she would be able to obtain some sulphate of quinine, which was much more efficacious than the unprepared bark.3
The day passed without further incident. No rain had fallen at present, though the warm mist that rose from the soil betokened an approaching change of weather; the rainy season was certainly not far distant, but to travellers who indulged the expectation of being in a few hours in a place of shelter, this was not a matter of great concern.
Evening came, and a halt was made for the night beneath a grove of lofty trees. If Harris had not miscalculated, they could hardly be more than about six miles from their destination; so confirmed, however, was Dick Sands in his strange suspicions, that nothing could induce him to relax any of the usual precautions, and he particularly insisted upon the negroes, turn by turn, keeping up the accustomed watch.
Worn out by fatigue, the little party were glad to lie down, but they had scarcely dropped off to sleep when they were aroused by a sharp cry.
“Who’s that? who’s there? what’s the matter?” exclaimed Dick, the first to rise to his feet.
“It is I,” answered Benedict’s voice; “I am bitten. Something has bitten me.”
“A snake!” exclaimed Mrs. Weldon in alarm.
“No, no, cousin, better than that! it was not a snake; I believe it was an orthoptera; I have it all right,” he shouted triumphantly.
“Then kill it quickly, sir; and let us go to sleep again in peace,” said Harris.
“Kill it! not for the world! I must have a light, and look at it!”
Dick Sands indulged him, for reasons of his own, in getting a light. The entomologist carefully opened his hand and displayed an insect somewhat smaller than a bee, of a dull colour, streaked with yellow on the under portion of the body. He looked radiant with delight.
“A diptera!” he exclaimed, half beside himself with joy, “a most famous diptera!”
“Is it venomous?” asked Mrs. Weldon.
“Not at all to men; it only hurts elephants and buffaloes.”
“But tell us its name! what is it?” cried Dick impetuously.
The naturalist began to speak in a slow, oracular tone.
“This insect is here a prodigy; it is an insect totally unknown in this country—in America.”
“Tell us its name!” roared Dick.
“It is a tsetse, sir, a true tsetse.”
Dick’s heart sank like a stone. He was speechless. He did not, dared not, ask more. Only too well he knew where the tsetse could alone be found. He did not close his eyes again that night.
XVIII
A Terrible Discovery
The morning of the 18th dawned, the day on which, according to Harris’s prediction, the travellers were to be safely housed at
