There was a graveyard hush to the stillness, and for the first time, Alec thought seriously of turning back.

The road seemed to ring the hammock and he saw a colorful array of air plants and orchids within the green gloom. Despite the ominous hush, the natural beauty of the hammock attracted him. He decided to go a little farther.

The road finally turned onto the hammock, disappearing into a stand of tall yuccas. Alec followed it, glad to leave the merciless glare of the sun behind, if only for a short while.

The road narrowed to barely more than a white shell path curling around the western end of the hammock. It skirted the silent stand of cypress trees and the dark water in which they grew, then turned away from the moist bank to wind its way through the hammock.

He never had seen a more beautiful natural park, made all the more impressive by the saw-grass wasteland behind him. It was indeed a startling contrast, and his eyes swept to the magnificent stands of coconut palms and live oaks, the beautiful magnolias and oleanders.

He heard the first sound of life in the dense foliage, a slight whirring noise. The Black heard it too; his ears were pitched in the direction of a patch of wild grapevine. A moment later Alec saw a hummingbird foraging among the vines, its wings shirring like a helicopter propeller as it hovered about a flower.

He continued riding down the shell path, his imagination beginning to run wild. Where did the path lead and what would he find? He knew he would be warned of any danger by the Black’s animal instinct. As it was, his horse was moving easily, almost as if he too wanted to find out where the path led.

Through a screen of moss-laden oak trees they emerged into a small clearing. It had been hacked from the jungle growth, probably by Indians many years ago, and kept clear by the occasional hunter who used the hammock.

There was a rough hollow in the center of the clearing, and the Black moved toward it of his own accord. He lowered his head, his nostrils sniffing the ground. When he straightened, he gave vent to a clear, happy neigh of desire!

Shocked by the Black’s soft call, Alec slipped off his back and studied the impressions in the dirt. What he found brought him quickly back to time and place. A horse had rolled in the hollow not long before, and judging from the Black’s neigh, it had been a mare!

The shell path led into the jungle on the opposite side of the clearing, and Alec knew he had to follow it. He could not turn back without knowing why another horse and rider were there. For certainly the mare was not alone.

“You be quiet and we’ll see what goes,” he said.

Alec had led the Black only a short distance when he came to an abrupt stop, startled by a peculiar kind of whistle. It was a piping note, constantly repeated. It came from one place, then another, with low, sly pauses in between.

There was a crackling noise from a nearby hedge and Alec’s eyes swept toward it. He saw nothing.

For a moment the notes ended and the profound silence was almost as unnerving as the sounds had been. Alec felt the heavy, oppressive heat of the day. Not a leaf stirred in the creeping jungle growth. He heard no whisper of life. The very stillness of the air held him as if by some strange magic, while sweet and heavy odors filled his nostrils.

The peculiar notes had come from some kind of bird he did not know, he decided. This land and its inhabitants were completely foreign to him.

He moved down the path again, although there was barely room to lead the Black. The ferns grew thick and green on either side and the trees shut out the sun, leaving them more in dusk than day.

The silence was broken by the bird once more. At least, Alec believed it was a bird. There was no other explanation for the sound. It seemed to be following him. He mustn’t think of it as anything else.