As I lay concealed in the Guiana forest, the whole performance was repeated five times in twelve minutes, the Curassow appearing most excited after it had finished the challenge call. It frequently ran to the hens and walked about them, while the captive bird which I observed paid no attention to the hens, but showed off to human visitors and devoted himself to attacks upon their footwear. [Illustration: THIRD PHASE OF CURASSOW STRUTTING. FIG. 138. Back turned, Wings lowered, Air-sacs inflated, uttering the penetrating Challenge Call.] No part of the performance was ever omitted. Invariably he turned his back on his rival or observer, invariably he first walked and snorted, then champed and clapped his wings, and finally sent out his challenge. As I have said, one may closely imitate this call, and the birds, as I learned on another occasion, will respond to repeated calls and come within shooting distance. Taken altogether, the performance was a most delightful insight into the lives of these little known birds, and the complexity and intricate succession of the various maneuvres was remarkable. As I have said, at one of the pebble champing periods I become so interested that I made a noise and the three birds rose at once and whirred away, while I retraced my steps. I returned as carefully as possible and encountered a troup of small monkeys which passed close overhead, sending down a rain of dead twigs. They apparently have the habit of breaking off twigs when they are progressing leisurely, as I observed this same unnecessary amount of falling twigs and branches on several other occasions. When thus engaged they make a great racket, uttering now and then plaintive, inarticulate sounds. When once they spy you beneath them a sudden chorus arises like the greatly exaggerated swearing of a red squirrel, and off they go rapidly, silently, with not a sound of breaking branches. Finding a good point of vantage not far from my gun and bag, I waited for Francis, squatting—coolie fashion—out of respect to the bête rouge which were numerous and enthusiastic at this point! I sat there five minutes and not a moment was devoid of interest. I accidentally snapped a stick, and like an electric spark came a sharp _zizz!_ at my very elbow. I jumped as if an electric shock had indeed accompanied it, and then broke another stick. Again the _zizz!_ snapped in answer, and close to my resting place I discovered a “Six o’clock Bee,” as the natives call these giant cicadas (_Cicada grossa_). Like the Curassow, he was on the _qui vive_ for rivals and ready with his challenge. As often as I snapped a stick, he whirred out an answer.