this the creek gave them an abundant supply of fish, a dish that made
its appearance at every meal. Whatever washing was to be done--the
natives took a bath at least twice a day--was done at some distance
down the creek so as not to spoil the water for drinking and culinary
purposes. Whenever I was thirsty I was in the habit of stooping down
at the water's edge to scoop the fluid up in my curved hands. One
morning I had been tramping through the jungle with two companions
who were in search of game, and I was very tired and hot when we
came to a little stream which I took to be the same that ran past the
_maloca_. My friends were at a short distance from me, beating their
way through the underbrush, when I stooped to quench my thirst. The
cool water looked to me like the very Elixir of Life. At that moment,
literally speaking, I was only two inches from death. Hearing a sharp
cry behind me I turned slightly to feel a rough hand upon my shoulders
and found myself flung backwards on the ground.

"Poison," was the reply to my angry question. Then my friend explained,
and as he talked my knees wobbled and I turned pale. It seems that
the Mangeromas often poison the streams below the drinking places
in order to get rid of their enemies. In the present case there
had been a rumour that a party of Peruvian rubber-workers might be
coming up the creek, and this is always a signal of trouble among
these Indians. Although you cannot induce a Brazilian to go into the
Indian settlements or _malocas_, the Peruvians are more than willing
to go there, because of the chance of abducting girls. To accomplish
this, a few Peruvians sneak close to the _maloca_ at night, force the
door, which is always bolted to keep out the Evil Spirit, but which
without difficulty can be cut open, and fire a volley of shots into
the hut. The Indians sleep with the blow-guns and arrows suspended
from the rafters, and before they can collect their sleepy senses