like many other assertions, should be taken with a large grain of
salt. However, I will relate an incident which occurred while I
lived at Floresta, and in which I have absolute faith, as I had the
opportunity of talking to the persons involved in the affair.

José Perreira. a rubber-worker, had left headquarters after having
delivered his weekly report on the rubber extracted, and was paddling
his canoe at a good rate down the stream, expecting to reach his
hut before midnight. Arriving at a recess in the banks formed by the
confluence of a small creek called Igarapé do Inferno, or the Creek
of Hell, he thought that he heard the noise of some game, probably a
deer or tapir, drinking, and he silently ran his canoe to the shore,
where he fastened it to a branch, at the same time holding his rifle
in readiness. Finally, as he saw nothing, he returned to the canoe
and continued his way down-stream.

Hardly more than ten yards from the spot, he stopped again and
listened. He heard only the distant howling of a monkey. This he was
used to on his nightly trips. No! there was something else! He could
not say it was a sound. It was a strange something that called him back
to the bank that he had left but a few minutes before. He fastened
his canoe again to the same branch and crept up to the same place,
feeling very uneasy and uncomfortable, but seeing nothing that could
alarm him--nothing that he could draw the bead of his rifle on. Yet,
something there was! For the second time he left, without being able
to account for the mysterious force that lured him to this gloomy,
moon-lit place on the dark, treacherous bank. In setting out in the
stream again he decided to fight off the uncanny, unexplainable feeling
that had called him back, but scarcely a stone's throw from the bank
he had the same desire to return,--a desire that he had never before