It was not without a certain apprehension—­nothing seemed to justify it, however—­that Dick Sand, three hundred steps from the steep bank of the river, penetrated into the thick forest, the difficult paths of which he and his companions were going to follow for ten days.  On the contrary, Mrs. Weldon herself, a woman and a mother, whom the perils would make doubly anxious, had every confidence.  Two very serious motives had contributed to reassure her; first, because this region of the pampas was neither very formidable on account of the natives, nor on account of the animals which were found there; next, because, under the direction of Harris, of a guide so sure of himself as the American appeared to be, they could not be afraid of going astray.

Here is the order of proceeding, which, as far as possible, would be observed during the journey: 

Dick Sand and Harris, both armed, one with his long gun, the other with a Remington, kept at the head of the little troop.

Then came Bat and Austin, also armed, each with a gun and a cutlass.

Behind them followed Mrs. Weldon and little Jack, on horseback; then Nan and Tom.

In the rear, Acteon, armed with the fourth Remington, and Hercules, with a hatchet in his belt, closed the march.

Dingo went backwards and forwards, and, as Dick Sand remarked, always like an uneasy dog seeking a scent.  The dog’s ways had visibly changed since the “Pilgrim’s” shipwreck had cast it on this sea-coast.  It seemed agitated, and almost incessantly it kept up a dull grumbling, rather lamentable than furious.  That was remarked by all, though no one could explain it.

As to Cousin Benedict, it had been as impossible to assign him an order of marching as Dingo.  Unless he had been held by a string, he would not have kept it.  His tin box strapped to his shoulder, his net in his hand, his large magnifying glass suspended to his neck, sometimes behind, sometimes in front, he scampered away among the high herbs, watching for orthopters or any other insect in “pter,” at the risk of being bit by some venomous serpent.

During the first hour Mrs. Weldon, uneasy, called him back twenty times.  It was no use.

“Cousin Benedict,” she finished by saying to him, “I beg you very seriously not to go far away, and I urge you for the last time to pay attention to my entreaties.”

“Meanwhile, cousin,” replied the intractable entomologist, “when I perceive an insect?”

“When you perceive an insect,” replied Mrs. Weldon, “you would do well to let it go in peace, or you will put me under the necessity of taking your box away from you.”

“Take away my box!” cried Cousin Benedict, as if it were a question of snatching away his heart.

“Your box and your net,” added Mrs. Weldon, pitilessly.

“My net, cousin!  And why not my glasses?  You will not dare!  No; you will not dare!”

“Even, your glasses, which I forgot.  I thank you, Cousin Benedict, for reminding me that I have that means of making you blind, and, in that way, forcing you to be wise.”