LITMIR.BIZ

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them all.

      On the arrival of the fugitives a myriad of the feathered tribes fled away into the topmost branches, protesting by their outcries against this flagrant usurpation of their domicile. These birds, who themselves had taken refuge in the solitary OMBU, were in hundreds, comprising blackbirds, starlings, isacas, HILGUEROS, and especially the pica-flor, hummingbirds of most resplendent colors. When they flew away it seemed as though a gust of wind had blown all the flowers off the tree.

      Such was the asylum offered to the little band of Glenarvan. Young Grant and the agile Wilson were scarcely perched on the tree before they had climbed to the upper branches and put their heads through the leafy dome to get a view of the vast horizon. The ocean made by the inundation surrounded them on all sides, and, far as the eye could reach, seemed to have no limits. Not a single tree was visible on the liquid plain; the OMBU stood alone amid the rolling waters, and trembled before them. In the distance, drifting from south to north, carried along by the impetuous torrent, they saw trees torn up by the roots, twisted branches, roofs torn off, destroyed RANCHOS, planks of sheds stolen by the deluge from ESTANCIAS, carcasses of drowned animals, blood-stained skins, and on a shaky tree a complete family of jaguars, howling and clutching hold of their frail raft. Still farther away, a black spot almost invisible, already caught Wilson’s eye. It was Thalcave and his faithful Thaouka.

      “Thalcave, Thalcave!” shouted Robert, stretching out his hands toward the courageous Patagonian.

      “He will save himself, Mr. Robert,” replied Wilson; “we must go down to his Lordship.”

      Next minute they had descended the three stages of boughs, and landed safely on the top of the trunk, where they found Glenarvan, Paganel, the Major, Austin, and Mulrady, sitting either astride or in some position they found more comfortable. Wilson gave an account of their investigations aloft, and all shared his opinion with respect to Thalcave. The only question was whether it was Thalcave who would save Thaouka, or Thaouka save Thalcave.

      Their own situation meantime was much more alarming than his. No doubt the tree would be able to resist the current, but the waters might rise higher and higher, till the topmost branches were covered, for the depression of the soil made this part of the plain a deep reservoir. Glenarvan’s first care, consequently, was to make notches by which to ascertain the progress of the inundation. For the present it was stationary, having apparently reached its height. This was reassuring.

      “And now what are we going to do?” said Glenarvan.

      “Make our nest, of course!” replied Paganel

      “Make our nest!” exclaimed Robert.

      “Certainly, my boy, and live the life of birds, since we can’t that of fishes.”

      “All very well, but who will fill our bills for us?” said Glenarvan.

      “I will,” said the Major.

      All eyes turned toward him immediately, and there he sat in a natural armchair, formed of two elastic boughs, holding out his ALFORJAS damp, but still intact.

      “Oh, McNabbs, that’s just like you,” exclaimed Glenarvan, “you think of everything even under circumstances which would drive all out of your head.”

      “Since it was settled we were not going to be drowned, I had no intention of starving of hunger.”

      “I should have thought of it, too,” said Paganel, “but I am so DISTRAIT.”

      “And what is in the ALFORJAS?” asked Tom Austin.

      “Food enough to last seven men for two days,” replied McNabbs.

      “And I hope the inundation will have gone down in twenty-four hours,” said Glenarvan.

      “Or that we shall have found some way of regaining terra firma,” added Paganel.

      “Our first business, then, now is to breakfast,” said Glenarvan.

      “I suppose you mean after we have made ourselves dry,” observed the Major.

      “And where’s the fire?” asked Wilson.

      “We must make it,” returned Paganel.

      “Where?”

      “On the top of the trunk, of course.”

      “And what with?”

      “With the dead wood we cut off the tree.”

      “But how will you kindle it?” asked Glenarvan. “Our tinder is just like wet sponge.”

      “We can dispense with it,” replied Paganel. “We only want a little dry moss and a ray of sunshine, and the lens of my telescope, and you’ll see what a fire I’ll get to dry myself by. Who will go and cut wood in the forest?”

      “I will,” said Robert.

      And off he scampered like a young cat into the depths of the foliage, followed by his friend Wilson. Paganel set to work to find dry moss, and had soon gathered sufficient. This he laid on a bed of damp leaves, just where the large branches began to fork out, forming a natural hearth, where there was little fear of conflagration.

      Robert and Wilson speedily reappeared, each with an armful of dry wood, which they threw on the moss. By the help of the lens it was easily kindled, for the sun was blazing overhead. In order to ensure a proper draught, Paganel stood over the hearth with his long legs straddled out in the Arab manner. Then stooping down and raising himself with a rapid motion, he made a violent current of air with his poncho, which made the wood take fire, and soon a bright flame roared in the improvised brasier. After drying themselves, each in his own fashion, and hanging their ponchos on the tree, where they were swung to and fro in the breeze, they breakfasted, carefully however rationing out the provisions, for the morrow had to be thought of; the immense basin might not empty so soon as Glenarvan expected, and, anyway, the supply was very limited. The OMBU produced no fruit, though fortunately, it would likely abound in fresh eggs, thanks to the numerous nests stowed away among the leaves, not to speak of their feathered proprietors. These resources were by no means to be despised.

      The next business was to install themselves as comfortably as they could, in prospect of a long stay.

      “As the kitchen and diningroom are on the ground floor,” said Paganel, “we must sleep on the first floor. The house is large, and as the rent is not dear, we must not cramp ourselves for room. I can see up yonder natural cradles, in which once safely tucked up we shall sleep as if we were in the best beds in the world. We have nothing to fear. Besides, we will watch, and we are numerous enough to repulse a fleet of Indians and other wild animals.”

      “We only want firearms.”

      “I have my revolvers,” said Glenarvan.

      “And I have mine,” replied Robert.

      “But what’s the good of them?” said Tom Austin, “unless Monsieur Paganel can find out some way of making powder.”

      “We don’t need it,” replied McNabbs, exhibiting a powder flask in a perfect state of preservation.

      “Where did you get it from, Major,” asked Paganel.

      “From Thalcave. He thought it might be useful to us, and gave it to me before he plunged into the water to save Thaouka.”

      “Generous, brave Indian!” exclaimed Glenarvan.

      “Yes,” replied Tom Austin, “if all the Patagonians are cut after the same pattern, I must compliment Patagonia.”

      “I protest against leaving out the horse,” said Paganel. “He is part and parcel of the Patagonian, and I’m much mistaken if we don’t see them again, the one on the other’s back.”

      “What distance are we from the Atlantic?” asked the Major.

      “About forty miles at the outside,” replied Paganel; “and now,

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