ning
and that of the sky. If so, that's what has quickened the brutes, and
made them so mad. Well," he adds, as if drawing his account to a
conclusion, "mad as they are, I'd like to have one frizzling over this
fire."

"But who eats them, Gaspar?" interrogates Ludwig, still incredulous on
the question of their being a fit article of diet. "I've never heard of
their being eaten, nor brought to market like other fish."

"Hundreds, thousands of people eat them, _hijo mio_. They're in great
request in some places; ay, all over the country. Both whites and
Indians relish them; but more especially the redskins. Some tribes
prefer them to any other food, be it fish, flesh, or fowl; and make a
regular business of catching them."

"Ah! how are they caught?"

"There are various ways; but the usual one is by spearing them.
Sometimes the slippery fellows glide out of their mud beds and come to
the surface of the water, as it were to amuse themselves by having a
look round. Then the fisherman gets a chance at them, without any
searching, or trouble. He is armed with a long pole of _cana brava_,
one end having an iron point barbed like a spear. This, he launches at
them, just as I've heard say whalers do their harpoons. For, if he kept
the shaft in his hands, he'd catch it from their lightning, and get
strokes that would stagger him. Still, he doesn't let go altogether; as
there's a cord attached to the spear, and with that he can haul in the
fish, if he has struck it. But he must have a care to keep his cord out
of the water; if it gets wetted he'll have a fit of the trembles upon
him, sure. For it's a fact--and a curious one you'll say, _senoritos_--
that a dry cord won't conduct the eel's lightning, while a wet one
will."

"It _is_ a fact," says Ludwig, endorsing the statement. "I've heard
father speak of it."

"Very singular," observes Cypriano.

"And I can tell you of another fact," pursues the gaucho, "that you'll
say is still more singular. Would you believe, that from one of these
fish a man may strike sparks, just as by a flint and steel--ay, and
kindle a fire with them? I know it's an old story, about fish having
what's called phosphorus in them; but it isn't everybody who knows that
real fire can be got out of the lightning-eels."

"But can that be done, Gaspar?" asks Ludwig.

"Certainly it can. I've seen it done. And he who did it was your own
dear father, Senor Ludwig. It was one day when w