I could not shoot, for it was directly in line with one of the pursuing dugouts.  Suddenly it dived, the snout being slightly curved downward as it did so.  There was no trace of it; we gazed eagerly in all directions; the dugout in front came alongside our canoe and the paddlers rested, their paddles ready.  Then we made out the tapir clambering up the bank.  It had dived at right angles to the course it was following and swum under water to the very edge of the shore, rising under the overhanging tree-branches at a point where a drinking-trail for game led down a break in the bank.  The branches partially hid it, and it was in deep shadow, so that it did not offer a very good shot.  My bullet went into its body too far back, and the tapir disappeared in the forest at a gallop as if unhurt, although the bullet really secured it, by making it unwilling to trust to its speed and leave the neighborhood of the water.  Three or four of the hounds were by this time swimming the river, leaving the others yelling on the opposite side; and as soon as the swimmers reached the shore they were put on the tapir’s trail and galloped after it, giving tongue.  In a couple of minutes we saw the tapir take to the water far up-stream, and after it we went as fast as the paddles could urge us through the water.  We were not in time to head it, but fortunately some of the dogs had come down to the river’s edge at the very point where the tapir was about to land, and turned it back.  Two or three of the dogs were swimming.  We were more than half the breadth of the river away from the tapir, and somewhat down-stream, when it dived.  It made an astonishingly long swim beneath the water this time, almost as if it had been a hippopotamus, for it passed completely under our canoe and rose between us and the hither bank.  I shot it, the bullet going into its brain, while it was thirty or forty yards from shore.  It sank at once.

There was now nothing to do but wait until the body floated.  I feared that the strong current would roll it down-stream over the river bed, but my companions assured me that this was not so, and that the body would remain where it was until it rose, which would be in an hour or two.  They were right, except as to the time.  For over a couple of hours we paddled, or anchored ourselves by clutching branches close to the spot, or else drifted down a mile and paddled up again near the shore, to see if the body had caught anywhere.  Then we crossed the river and had lunch at the lovely natural picnic-ground where the buck was hung up.  We had very nearly given up the tapir when it suddenly floated only a few rods from where it had sunk.  With no little difficulty the big, round black body was hoisted into the canoe, and we all turned our prows down-stream.  The skies had been lowering for some time, and now—­too late to interfere with the hunt or cause us any annoyance—­a heavy downpour of rain came on and beat upon us.  Little we cared, as the canoe raced forward, with the tapir and the buck lying in the bottom, and a dry, comfortable camp ahead of us.