The Chief motioned
to me to seat myself on the ground alongside of the hammock where he
was sitting. The men told their story, now and then looking to me for
an affirmative nod of the head. After having listened to the argument
of the hunters for a considerable time without uttering a syllable, and
regarding the crowd with a steady, unblinking expression, with a trace
of a satirical smile around the corners of his mouth, which suited him
admirably, the Chief finally spoke. He said, "The hog is mine.--Go!"
The matter was ended with this wise judgment, and there seemed to be
no disposition to grumble or re-appeal to the great authority.
My life among the Mangeromas was, for the greater part, free from
adventure, at least as compared with former experiences, and yet I was
more than once within an inch of meeting death. In fact, I think that
I looked more squarely in the eyes of death in that peaceful little
community than ever I did out in the wilds of the jungle or in my most
perilous adventures. The creek that ran near the _maloca_ supplied
the Indians with what water they needed for drinking purposes. Besides
this the creek gave them an abundant supply of fish, a dish that made
its appearance at every meal.
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