We saw no natives in the whole course of our journey.

The valley of the river harboured many monkeys. They seemed to be of two
species, blue and brown, but were equally noisy and amusing. They
retired ahead of our advance with many remarks, or slipped past us to
the rear without any comments whatever. When we made camp they retired
with indignant protests, and when we had quite settled down they
returned as near as they dared.

One very hot afternoon I lay on my canvas cot in the open, staring
straight upward into the overarching greenery of the trees. This is a
very pleasant thing to do. The beautiful up-spreading, outstretching of
the tree branches and twigs intrigue the eye; the leaves make
fascinating, hypnotically waving patterns against a very blue sky; and
in the chambers and galleries of the upper world the birds and insects
carry on varied businesses of their own. After a time the corner of my
eye caught a quick movement far to the left and in a shadow. At once I
turned my attention that way. After minute scrutiny I at length made out
a monkey. Evidently considering himself quite unobserved, he was slowly
and with great care stalking our camp. Inch by inch he moved, taking
skilful advantage of every bit of cover, flattening himself along the
limbs, hunching himself up behind bunches of leaves, until he had gained
a big limb directly overhead. There he stretched flat, staring down at
the scene that had so strongly aroused his curiosity. I lay there for
over two hours reading and dozing. My friend aloft never stirred. When
dusk fell he was still there. Some time after dark he must have regained
his band, for in the morning the limb was vacant.

Now comes the part of this story that really needs a witness, not to