172 MARTIN RATTLER.

steering in the stern of his canoe, which was running
up before a pretty stiff breeze. Martin was lying on
his back, as was his wont in such easy circumstances,
amusing himself with Marmoset, and Barney was re-
clining in the bow talking solemnly to Grampus, when
suddenly the wind ceased and it became a dead calm.
The current was so strong that they could scarcely
paddle against it, so they resolved to go no further
that night, and ran the canoe ashore on a low point
of mud, intending to encamp under the trees, no human
habitation being near them. The mud-bank was hard
and dry, and cracked with the heat, for it was now
the end of the dry season, and the river had long since
retired from it.

“Not a very comfortable place, Barney,” said
Martin, looking round, as he threw down one of the
bales which he had just carried up from the canoe.
“Hallo! there’s a hut, I declare. Come, that’s a com-
fort anyhow.”

As he spoke Martin pointed to one of the solitary
and rudely-constructed huts or sheds which the natives
of the banks of the Amazon sometimes erect during
the dry season and forsake when the river overflows
its banks. The hut was a very old one, and had
evidently been inundated, for the floor was a mass of

dry, solid mud, and the palm-leaf roof was much