"Oh, look," the leader said in wide-eyed wonder when they all came to a stop in front of the mighty hunter. "A _gura_ and a _chapla_. Tell us, Oomah, how did you get them?" "In the forest, high up in the trees," the youth replied with a smile. "Now look at the birds and tell me what you see." A chorus of answers came instantly, for close observation of all things is part of the life training of the wild people. "One has a short tail," said one. "The big one has a long tail," said another. "The feathers on its head are all curled and twisted," added a third. "And they both have long necks and long legs." "Listen," said Oomah, "and I will tell you why these things are true." He sat down in the sand and crossed his legs and the group of eager urchins dropped down in a semi-circle before him. "In the very beginning of things, many, many changes of the season ago, the _gura_ and the _chapla_ were just alike," Oomah said impressively, holding up one hand for further emphasis. "They were married one day just as the rains were about to stop for good and the floods were going back into the rivers where they belonged. But, they were not happy. Before long they quarrelled. The _gura_," holding up the trumpeter, which was like a turkey without a tail, for such it was, "was forever cackling and scolding and the _chapla_" pointing to the curassow, which resembled a turkey with a long tail, "resented this and answered in loud squawks. Then they began to fight. The _chapla_ pushed the _gura_ into the fire over which she was cooking and burned off her tail. In rage, the _gura_ pushed her husband into the fire, scorching the feathers on his head so that they curled up. Now, Wallaha, god of the forest saw the fight and it made him angry. 'For shame,' he said, 'fighting like that when you should be peaceful and happy. I will punish you. You will bear the marks of your disgrace with you forever.' And that is why the _gura_ has a short tail and the feathers on the head of the _chapla_ are singed even to this day." A chorus of "Oh's" escaped the cluster of eager listeners. "Tell us another story." "What do you want me to tell about?" Oomah asked indulgently. "Tell us about the rivers." The youth was silent for a moment, as if lost in thought. Then he began. "The little streams that come from the mountains so far away and rush through the forest are always talking, always babbling. They are never silent. Have you not noticed that?" "Yes, and they are always in a hurry," came the prompt reply. "What are they saying?" "They are _praying_,'Father of Waters,' they are pleading, 'wait for us and take us into your arms and carry us away with you to the great sea where the land ends. We are small and cannot travel the distance alone; the hungry ground would drink us up or the wind would dry us up. But in your embrace we will safely reach our home.'"