with a red beak, at the base of which is a large yellow
knob of the shape of a bean. On this account it is called by the
Indians "bean nose." Upon the plain, near the border of the marsh, they
noticed a beautiful plover (_Charadrius_), having plumage marked very
much like that of the "huachua" goose, with green wings shining in the
sun like polished metal. Another curious bird also sat upon the plain,
or flew around their heads. This was a bird of prey of the species of
jerfalcons (_Polyborus_). The vaquero called it the "Huarahua." He
told Leon it preyed only on carrion, and never killed its own food; that
it was very harmless and tame--which was evidently true, as, shortly
after, one of them seated upon a stone allowed the Indian to approach
and knock it over with a stick! Such a silly bird Leon had never seen.

The vaquero was quite a naturalist in his way--that is, he knew all the
animals of the Puna, and their habits, just as you will sometimes find a
gamekeeper in our own country, or often a shepherd or farm-servant. He
pointed out a rock-woodpecker, which he called a "pito" (_Colaptes
rupicola_), that was fluttering about and flying from rock to rock.
Like the cliff-parrots we have already mentioned, this rock-woodpecker
was a curious phenomenon, for, as their very name implies, the
woodpeckers are all tree-dwelling birds, yet here was one of the genus
living among rocks where not a tree was to be seen, and scarcely a
plant, except the thorny cactuses and magueys, with which succulent
vegetables the woodpecker has nothing to do. The "pito" is a small,
brown, speckled bird, with yellow belly, and there were great numbers of
them flying about.

But the bird which most fixed the attention of Leon was a little bird
about the size of a starling. Its plumage was rather pretty. It was
brown, with black stripes on the back, and white-breasted. But it was
not the plumage of the bird that interested Leon. It was what his
companion told him of a singular habit which it had--that of repeating,
at the end of every hour during the night, its melancholy and monotonous
note. The Indians call this bird the "cock of the Inca," and they
moreover regard it with a sort of superstitious reverence.

Having placed his snares, the vaquero set out to return with his
youthful companion. As they walked back along the mountain-foot, a fox
stole out from the rocks and skulked towards the marshy lake, no doubt
in search of pr