The sun was setting, and we were slowly approaching our bivouac, when Gringalet's whine met our ears. I hastened forward, for the dog began to howl desperately. I reached the hut quite out of breath. Every thing seemed right, but Lucien and l'Encuerado had disappeared. I looked anxiously into my companion's face. "No doubt," said Sumichrast, "l'Encuerado has gone to take a stroll, and left the dog asleep." I raised a call-cry. What was my surprise at hearing it answered from up above us. My son and the Indian were sitting thirty feet from the ground, hidden in the foliage of a gigantic tree. My first impulse was to address l'Encuerado rather angrily. "Don't flurry him," said Sumichrast; "he'll need all his presence of mind to get the boy down safely." With an anxiety which may be easily understood, I watched all the movements of the lad, who was every now and then concealed by the leaves. "Gently," cried l'Encuerado; "put your foot there. Well done! Now lay hold of this branch and slide down. Don't be afraid; I'll not let you go. How pleased and proud your papa will be when he knows how high you have climbed!" The Indian was wrong; I was neither pleased nor proud. The trunk of the tree was five or six feet in circumference; the first branches sprang at a point no less than seven to ten feet from the ground, and I could not make out how the boy managed to reach them. As for l'Encuerado, or rather the _ape_ that went by that name, I knew that no obstacle could stop _him_. I must, however, confess that I felt all my anger melting away when I saw the skill and coolness of the young acrobat. Certainly, Sumichrast appealed to my own reminiscences, and offered to lay me a wager that I had climbed many a poplar without the advantage of such superintendence as l'Encuerado's. At last the two gymnasts reached the lowest branches, and I breathed more freely. "Papa," cried the child, "we climbed right to the top, and there found a nest and a squirrel's hiding-place." "Have you suddenly gone mad?" said I, interrupting him and addressing the Indian. "Mad!" repeated he, with the most sublime simplicity. "Why?" "Couldn't you have chosen a tree that was not so tall?" "Don't you wish Chanito to learn to climb? At all events, the senora intrusted him to me." "And so you risk his breaking his bones?" "I'm not a child," replied the Indian, proudly, standing upright on a branch. "Enough of these gymnastics! Come down at once; although God knows how you are going to manage it." The words were hardly out of my mouth when Lucien reached the ground, suspended by a _lasso_ which l'Encuerado had tied under his arms. The Indian had pulled him up to the lowest branches in the same way. "You have not acted sensibly," said I to the Indian; "we do not begin to learn to ride by mounting a wild horse. Lucien doesn't know yet how to climb high trees."