the
writing upon it."

"_Esperate mi amo_!" (Wait, my master), said the guide, making me a
sign. We remained motionless.

The Mexican took from his head his heavy _sombrero_, and stepped into a
darker recess of the forest. After standing for a moment, hat in hand,
a brilliant object shot out from the leaves of the _palma redonda_. It
was the cocuyo--the great firefly of the tropics. With a low, humming
sound it came glistening along at the height of seven or eight feet from
the ground. The man sprang up, and with a sweep of his arm jerked it
suddenly to the earth. Then, covering it with his hat, and inverting
his hand, he caught the gleaming insect, and presented it to me with the
ejaculation:

"_Ya_!" (Now!)

"_No muerde_," (It does not bite), added he, as he saw that I hesitated
to touch the strange, beetle-shaped insect.

I took the cocuyo in my hand, the green, golden fire flashing from its
great round eyes. I held it up before the writing, but the faint
glimmer was scarcely discernible upon the paper.

"Why, it would require a dozen of these to make sufficient light," I
said to the guide.

"_No, Senor; uno basti--asi_;" (No, sir; one is enough--thus); and the
Mexican, taking the cocuyo in his fingers, pressed it gently against the
surface of the paper. It produced a brilliant light, radiating over a
circle of several inches in diameter!

Every point in the writing was plainly visible.

"See, Clayley!" cried I, admiring this lamp of Nature's own making.
"Never trust the tales of travellers. I have heard that half a dozen of
these insects in a glass vessel would enable you to read the smallest
type. Is that true?" added I, repeating what I had said in Spanish.

"_No, Senor; ni cincuenta_," (No, sir; nor fifty), replied the Mexican.

"And yet with a single cocuyo you may. But we are forgetting--let us
see what's here."

I bent my head to the paper, and read in Spanish:

"_I have made known your situation to the American commander_."

There was no signature nor other mark upon the paper.

"From Don Cosme?" I inquired, in a whisper to the Mexican.

"Yes, Senor," was the reply.

"And how did you expect to reach us in the corral?"

"_Asi_," (So), said the man, holding up a shaggy bull's hide, which he
carried over his arm.

"We have friends here, Clayley. Come, my good fellow, take this!" and I
handed a gold eagle to the peon.

"Forward!"

The tinkling of canteens, the jingling