"The hunt of the day proved a very successful one. Two more tapirs were killed; several capivaras; and a paca--which is an animal much prized by the Indians for its flesh, as well as the teeth--used by them in making their blow-guns. We also obtained a pair of the small peccaries, several macaws, and no less than a whole troop of guariba monkeys. We returned to the malocca with a game-bag as various as it was full, and a grand dance of the Juruna women wound up the amusements of the day." CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. THE BUFFALOES AT LAST. The long looked for day at length arrived when the game were to be met with, and I had myself the "distinguished honour" of being the first not only to see the great buffalo, but to throw a couple of them "in their tracks." This incident, however, was not without an "adventure," and one that was neither very pleasant nor without peril. During several late days of our journey we had been in the habit of straggling a good deal in search of game--deer if we could find it, but more especially in hopes of falling in with the buffalo. Sometimes we went in twos or threes, but as often one of the party rode off alone to hunt wherever his inclination guided him. Sometimes these solitary expeditions took place while the party was on the march, but oftener during the hours after we had pitched our night-camp. One evening, after we had camped as usual, and my brave horse had eaten his "bite" of corn, I leaped into the saddle and rode off in hopes of finding something fresh for supper. The prairie where we had halted was a "rolling" one, and as the camp had been fixed on a small stream, between two great swells, it was not visible at any great distance. As soon, therefore, as I had crossed one of the ridges, I was out of sight of my companions. Trusting to the sky for my direction, I continued on. After riding about a mile, I came upon buffalo "sign," consisting of several circular holes in the ground, five or six feet in diameter, known as buffalo wallows I saw at a glance that the sign was fresh. There were several wallows; and I could tell by the tracks, in the dusk, there had been bulls in that quarter. So I continued on in hopes of getting a sight of the animals that had been wallowing. Shortly after, I came to a place where the ground was ploughed up, as if a drove of hogs had been rooting it. Here there had been a terrible fight among the bulls--it was the rutting season, when such conflicts occur. This augured well. Perhaps they are still in the neighbourhood, reasoned I, as I gave the spur to my horse, and galloped forward with more spirit. I had ridden full five miles from camp, when my attention was attracted by an odd noise ahead of me. There was a ridge in front that prevented me from seeing what produced the noise; but I knew what it was--it was the bellowing of a buffalo-bull. At intervals, there were quick shocks, as of two hard substances coming in violent contact with each other.