When I finally entered the
habitation and had exchanged greetings with the head of the family,
I looked for the source of the sound. Turning round I saw a woman
sitting at a _sewing-machine_, working on a shirt evidently for her
husband. I examined this machine with great curiosity and found it
to be a "New Home" sewing-machine from New York. What journeys and
transfers had not this apparatus undergone before it finally settled
here in a tree-top in this far-off wilderness!
One afternoon while sitting in the office at headquarters discussing
Amazonian politics with Coronel da Silva, Francisco, a rubber-worker,
came up and talked for a while with the Coronel, who then turned to me
and said: "Do you want to get the skin of a black jaguar? Francisco
has just killed one on his _estrada_ while collecting rubber-milk;
he will take you down to his _barracao_, and from there he will lead
you to the spot where the jaguar lies, and there you can skin him."
I thanked Francisco for his information and went for my machete,
having my pistol already in my belt. I joined him at the foot of
the river bank outside the main building, where he was waiting for
me in his canoe, and we paddled down-stream to his hut. On our way
(he lived about two miles below Floresta) he told me that he was
walking at a good rate on the narrow path of the _estrada_ when
he was attracted by a growling and snarling in the thicket.
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