Beads and brass wire were the only currency they knew.

We tried to photograph them, but the shades in the forest were deep and the light too was bad for successful pictures.
Little by little we got their story.
There was warfare between the forest people and the savage Kara Mojas to the north.

Neither side could ever tell when a band of the foe would swoop down upon them, killing the men, stealing the sheep and seizing the women.

Only a few months before one of the Kara Mojas had come in and stolen some sheep and in return our Wanderobo friend had sallied forth, killed the Kara Moja, and captured his wife.

It was the latter who was now the mother of the little baby, and she seemed quite reconciled to the change.
[Drawing: _The Wanderobos' Home_] When, the night before, the little family around the camp-fire heard the crashing of brushes and the hacking of underbrush and the shouts of our porters they thought a great force of the Kara Mojas was upon them.