The windpipe of the male is very long, extending
down to the end of the breast-bone, and the bird utters queer guttural
screams. A dead cayman floated down-stream, with a black vulture
devouring it. Capybaras stood or squatted on the banks; sometimes they
stared stupidly at us; sometimes they plunged into the river at our
approach. At long intervals we passed little clearings. In each stood
a house of palm-logs, with a steeply pitched roof of palm thatch; and
near by were patches of corn and mandioc. The dusky owner, and perhaps
his family, came out on the bank to watch us as we passed. It was a
hot day--the thermometer on the deck in the shade stood at nearly 100
degrees Fahrenheit. Biting flies came aboard even when we were in
midstream.
Next day we were ascending the Cuyaba River. It had begun raining in
the night, and the heavy downpour continued throughout the forenoon.
In the morning we halted at a big cattle-ranch to get fresh milk and
beef. There were various houses, sheds, and corrals near the river's
edge, and fifty or sixty milch cows were gathered in one corral.
Spurred plover, or lapwings, strolled familiarly among the hens.
Parakeets and red-headed tanagers lit in the trees over our heads. A
kind of primitive houseboat was moored at the bank.
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