In the afternoon of this same day one of the jaguar-hunters—­merely ranch hands, who knew something of the chase of the jaguar—­who had been searching for tracks, rode in with the information that he had found fresh sign at a spot in the swamp about nine miles distant.  Next morning we rose at two, and had started on our jaguar-hunt at three.  Colonel Rondon, Kermit, and I, with the two trailers or jaguar-hunters, made up the party, each on a weedy, undersized marsh pony, accustomed to traversing the vast stretches of morass; and we were accompanied by a brown boy, with saddle-bags holding our lunch, who rode a long-horned trotting steer which he managed by a string through its nostril and lip.  The two trailers carried each a long, clumsy spear.  We had a rather poor pack.  Besides our own two dogs, neither of which was used to jaguar-hunting, there were the ranch dogs, which were well-nigh worthless, and then two jaguar hounds borrowed for the occasion from a ranch six or eight leagues distant.  These were the only hounds on which we could place any trust, and they were led in leashes by the two trailers.  One was a white bitch, the other, the best one we had, was a gelded black dog.  They were lean, half-starved creatures with prick ears and a look of furtive wildness.

As our shabby little horses shuffled away from the ranch-house the stars were brilliant and the Southern Cross hung well up in the heavens, tilted to the right.  The landscape was spectral in the light of the waning moon.  At the first shallow ford, as horses and dogs splashed across, an alligator, the jacare-tinga, some five feet long, floated unconcernedly among the splashing hoofs and paws; evidently at night it did not fear us.  Hour after hour we slogged along.  Then the night grew ghostly with the first dim gray of the dawn.  The sky had become overcast.  The sun rose red and angry through broken clouds; his disk flamed behind the tall, slender columns of the palms, and lit the waste fields of papyrus.  The black monkeys howled mournfully.  The birds awoke.  Macaws, parrots, parakeets screamed at us and chattered at us as we rode by.  Ibis called with wailing voices, and the plovers shrieked as they wheeled in the air.  We waded across bayous and ponds, where white lilies floated on the water and thronging lilac-flowers splashed the green marsh with color.

At last, on the edge of a patch of jungle, in wet ground, we came on fresh jaguar tracks.  Both the jaguar hounds challenged the sign.  They were unleashed and galloped along the trail, while the other dogs noisily accompanied them.  The hunt led right through the marsh.  Evidently the jaguar had not the least distaste for water.  Probably it had been hunting for capybaras or tapirs, and it had gone straight through ponds and long, winding, narrow ditches or bayous, where it must now and then have had to swim for a stroke or two.  It had also wandered through the island-like stretches of tree-covered land,