At La Frijolera we engaged a native hunter who owned a famous hunting-dog named _Golondrina_ (meaning swallow). Words can hardly be found to convey an accurate picture of the hunter, but the dog’s name at once suggests its chief accomplishment. Day after day our man took his dog afield in search of agoutis, but he always returned empty-handed, explaining that while he had started a number of the animals we wanted, _Golondrina_ could never _see_ them, and so she failed to catch them. However, one day he saved his reputation as a hunter by making a difficult trip of ten miles to a steep, heavily wooded ravine, and shooting a number of red howler monkeys. A few days later the dog accidentally came across a peccary, which some native hunters were pursuing, brought it to bay on a rock, and kept it there until it could be shot. This place presented rare opportunities for hunting by night. A road had been cut through the forest, dividing it in two clean-cut sections. However, the tips of wide-spreading branches from each side of the clear swath met in several places, forming an aerial connection above the road. These are known as “monkey bridges” because night monkeys and other animals utilize them in crossing from one section of the forest to another. As there was a full moon it was only necessary to sit quietly on a stump near one of the bridges and wait. Before long a rustling sound would come from the tree-top, so slight as to be scarcely audible, and occasionally a deep, low grunt; then silent, shadowy forms emerged from the blackness of concealing foliage and slowly made their way across the springy passage. Kinkajous also used these bridges, and as the natives prized the skins of these animals highly for making chaparejos, they conducted a regular business of hunting them on moonlight nights. After shooting in one spot for several nights in succession, it was necessary to leave it undisturbed for some time, as the animals became wary and sought other bridges. The town of Valdivia is located on a little ridge four thousand two hundred feet up, about ten miles from Puerto Valdivia, which is on the Cauca River. All the intervening country is wooded. We reached the port on a Sunday afternoon. The people from a distance of many miles around flocked to the spot on this day for the purpose of having a “good time,” so that there were upward of a hundred natives in and about the one corrugated iron and bamboo building comprising the _puerto_, dancing, drinking, fighting, and trading at the little shop. The owner of the house received us courteously (and where in all Colombia was courtesy wanting?) and we soon made ourselves comfortable in the large wareroom which formed one end of the structure. There was no thought of work that day, for everybody crowded about to have a good look at and welcome the _gringos_, but we made the best of the occasion and secured a good deal of information concerning the surrounding country.