In all seriousness he undertook to “sit down” for two days, and finally imparted advice which might enable me to out-manoeuvre the “debil-debil,” and either curb him or throw him out from his lair “with wondrous potency.” Up the gorge I would find a prickly bush, from which I was to cut a leafy branch as a frontal shield. Then, when the fiend swooped upon me, its long arms and pliant hands, furnished with needle-like nails, would become embarrassed by the “nails,” of the branch, and while it howled and danced I could “kill'm alonga leg” with the tomahawk. I was to be careful not to look up, for the eye of the “debil-debil” was so bright and hot that it burnt up mortal sight, leaving the intruder a blind and hopeless victim. Discreetly valorous, Wylo was quite enthusiastic, anxious, indeed, that the quest should be accomplished by an audacious white man and at no risk to himself. Therefore did I accept his counsel gravely, and in parting promised to bring down one of the hands of the long-standing terror of the mountain as proof that I had exacted the last penalty for many demonic deeds. Thus, good-humouredly, I began to clamber up the ravine through a perplexity of shrubs growing among loosely packed stones, thankful for strong boots and hands toughened by the sun. Overhanging trees and shrubs almost converted the ravine into a tunnel, but here and there a greenish light wrought changeful patterns on the gloomy rocks, and ferns of sombre green with unfolding fronds of ruddy brown occupied crannies and crowned rocks favoured by drips. No sound of animal life came to my cars, but an ever-increasing current of air was perceptible as the walls closed in and became almost precipitous.