.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 45974
   :PG.Title: Ken Ward in the Jungle
   :PG.Released: 2014-06-14
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Zane Grey
   :DC.Title: Ken Ward in the Jungle
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1912
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

======================
KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE
======================

.. clearpage::

.. pgheader::

.. container:: coverpage

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. _`Cover art`:

   .. figure:: images/img-cover.jpg
      :align: center
      :alt: Cover art

      Cover art

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: frontispiece

   .. _`THE JAGUAR OPENED HIS JAWS THREATENINGLY (see page 182)`:

   .. figure:: images/img-front.jpg
      :align: center
      :alt: THE JAGUAR OPENED HIS JAWS THREATENINGLY (see page 182)

      THE JAGUAR OPENED HIS JAWS THREATENINGLY (see page `182`_)

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: titlepage center white-space-pre-line

   .. class:: x-large

      KEN WARD
      IN THE JUNGLE

   .. vspace:: 2

   .. class:: medium

      BY

   .. class:: large

      ZANE GREY

   .. class:: small

      AUTHOR OF
      THE YOUNG FORESTER,
      THE YOUNG PITCHER,
      THE YOUNG LION HUNTER,
      THE U. P. TRAIL, ETC.

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. class:: medium

      ILLUSTRATED

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. class:: medium

      NEW YORK
      GROSSET & DUNLAP
      PUBLISHERS

   .. class:: small

      Published by Arrangement with Harper & Brothers
      Made in the United States of America  

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: verso center white-space-pre-line

   .. class:: small

      COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HARPER & BROTHERS

   .. class:: small

      PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

   .. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large bold

   CONTENTS

.. class:: noindent small

CHAP.

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

I.  `The Prize`_
II.  `The Home of the Tarpon`_
III.  `An Indian Boatman`_
IV.  `At the Jungle River`_
V.  `The First Camp`_
VI.  `Wilderness Life`_
VII.  `Running the Rapids`_
VIII.  `The First Tiger-cat`_
IX.  `In the White Water`_
X.  `Lost!`_
XI.  `An Army of Snakes`_
XII.  `Catching Strange Fish`_
XIII.  `A Turkey-Hunt`_
XIV.  `A Fight with a Jaguar`_
XV.  `The Vicious Garrapatoes`_
XVI.  `Field Work of a Naturalist`_
XVII.  `A Mixed-up Tiger-hunt`_
XVIII.  `Watching a Runway`_
XIX.  `Adventures with Crocodiles`_
XX.  `Treed by Wild Pigs`_
XXI.  `The Leaping Tarpon`_
XXII.  `Stricken Down`_
XXIII.  `Out of the Jungle`_





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE PRIZE`:

.. class:: center x-large bold

   KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

   I

.. class:: center medium bold

   THE PRIZE

.. vspace:: 2

"What a change from the Arizona
desert!"

The words broke from the lips of Ken
Ward as he leaned from the window of
the train which was bearing his brother
and himself over the plateau to Tampico
in Tamaulipas, the southeastern state of
Mexico.  He had caught sight of a river
leaping out between heavily wooded slopes
and plunging down in the most beautiful
waterfall he had ever seen.

"Look, Hal," he cried.

The first fall was a long white streak,
ending in a dark pool; below came cascade
after cascade, fall after fall, some wide,
others narrow, and all white and green against
the yellow rock.  Then the train curved
round a spur of the mountain, descended to
a level, to be lost in a luxuriance of jungle
growth.

It was indeed a change for Ken Ward,
young forester, pitcher of the varsity nine at
school, and hunter of lions in the Arizona
cañons.  Here he was entering the jungle
of the tropics.  The rifles and the camp
outfit on the seat beside his brother Hal and
himself spoke of coming adventures.  Before
them lay an unknown wilderness--the
semi-tropical jungle.  And the future was to show
that the mystery of the jungle was stranger
even than their imaginings.

It was not love of adventure alone or
interest in the strange new forest growths that
had drawn Ken to the jungle.  His uncle,
the one who had gotten Ken letters from the
Forestry Department at Washington, had
been proud of Ken's Arizona achievements.
This uncle was a member of the American
Geographical Society and a fellow of the New
York Museum of Natural History.  He wanted
Ken to try his hand at field work in the jungle
of Mexico, and if that was successful, then to
explore the ruined cities of wild Yucatan.
If Ken made good as an explorer his reward
was to be a trip to Equatorial Africa after big
game.  And of course that trip meant
opportunity to see England and France, and, what
meant more to Ken, a chance to see the great
forests of Germany, where forestry had been
carried on for three hundred years.

In spite of the fact that the inducement
was irresistible, and that Ken's father was as
proud and eager as Ken's uncle to have him
make a name for himself, and that Hal
would be allowed to go with him, Ken had
hesitated.  There was the responsibility for
Hal and the absolute certainty that Hal
could not keep out of mischief.  Still Ken
simply could not have gone to Mexico
leaving his brother at home broken-hearted.

At last the thing had been decided.  It was
Hal's ambition to be a naturalist and to
collect specimens, and the uncle had held out
possible recognition from the Smithsonian
Institution at Washington.  Perhaps he might
find a new variety of some animal to which
the scientists would attach his name.  Then
the lad was passionately eager to see Ken
win that trip to Africa.  There had been
much study of maps and books of travel,
science, and natural history.  There had
been the most careful instruction and
equipment for semi-tropical camp life.  The uncle
had given Ken valuable lessons in
map-drawing, in estimating distance and
topography, and he had indicated any one of
several rivers in the jungle belt of Mexico.
Traversing one hundred miles of unknown
jungle river, with intelligent observation and
accurate reports, would win the prize for Ken
Ward.  Now the race was on.  Would Ken win?

Presently the train crossed a bridge.  Ken
Ward had a brief glance at clear green water,
at great cypress-trees, gray and graceful
with long, silvery, waving moss, and at the
tangled, colorful banks.  A water-fowl black
as coal, with white-crested wings, skimmed the
water in swift wild flight, to disappear up the
shady river-lane.  Then the train clattered
on, and, a mile or more beyond the bridge,
stopped at a station called Valles.  In the
distance could be seen the thatched
palm-leaf huts and red-tiled roofs of a hamlet.

The boys got out to stretch their legs.  The
warm, sweet, balmy air was a new and novel
thing to them.  They strolled up and down
the gravel walk, watching the natives.  Hal
said he rather liked the looks of their brown
bare feet and the thin cotton trousers and
shirts, but he fancied the enormous sombreros
were too heavy and unwieldy.  Ken spoke
to several pleasant-faced Mexicans, each of
whom replied: "No sabe, Señor."

The ticket agent at the station was an
American, and from the way he smiled and
spoke Ken knew he was more than glad to
see one of his own kind.  So, after Ken had
replied to many questions about the States,
he began to ask some of his own.

"What's the name of the waterfall we passed?"

"Micas Falls," replied the agent.

"And the river?"

"It's called the Santa Rosa."

"Where does it go?"

The agent did not know, except that it
disappeared in the jungle.  Southward the
country was wild.  The villages were few and
all along the railroad; and at Valles the river
swung away to the southwest.

"But it must flow into the Panuco River,"
said Ken.  He had studied maps of Mexico
and had learned all that it was possible to
learn before he undertook the journey.

"Why, yes, it must find the Panuco
somewhere down over the mountain," answered
the agent.

"Then there are rapids in this little river?"
asked Ken, in growing interest.

"Well, I guess.  It's all rapids."

"How far to Tampico by rail?" went on Ken.

"Something over a hundred miles."

"Any game in the jungle hereabouts--or
along the Santa Rosa?" continued Ken.

The man laughed, and laughed in such a
way that Ken did not need his assertion
that it was not safe to go into the jungle.

Whereupon Ken Ward became so thoughtful
that he did not hear the talk that followed
between the agent and Hal.  The engine
bell roused him into action, and with Hal
he hurried back to their seats.  And then
the train sped on.  But the beauty of Micas
Falls and the wildness of the Santa Rosa
remained with Ken.  Where did that river
go?  How many waterfalls and rapids did
it have?  What teeming life must be along
its rich banks!  It haunted Ken.  He wanted
to learn the mystery of the jungle.  There
was the same longing which had gotten him
into the wild adventures in Penetier Forest and
the Grand Cañon country of Arizona.  And
all at once flashed over him the thought that
here was the jungle river for him to explore.

"Why, that's the very thing," he said,
thinking aloud.

"What's wrong with you," asked Hal,
"talking to yourself that way?"

Ken did not explain.  The train clattered
between green walls of jungle, and occasionally
stopped at a station.  But the thought of the
jungle haunted him until the train arrived at
Tampico.

Ken had the name of an American hotel,
and that was all he knew about Tampico.
The station was crowded with natives.  Man
after man accosted the boys, jabbering
excitedly in Mexican.  Some of these showed
brass badges bearing a number and the
word *Cargodore*.

"Hal, I believe these fellows are porters
or baggage-men," said Ken.  And he showed
his trunk check to one of them.  The fellow
jerked it out of Ken's hand and ran off.
The boys ran after him.  They were relieved
to see him enter a shed full of baggage.  And
they were amazed to see him kneel down and
take their trunk on his back.  It was a big
trunk and heavy.  The man was small and light.

"It 'll smash him!" cried Hal.

But the little *cargodore* walked off with the
trunk on his back.  Then Ken and Hal saw
other *cargodores* packing trunks.  The boys
kept close to their man and used their eyes
with exceeding interest.  The sun was
setting, and the square, colored buildings looked
as if they were in a picture of Spain.

"Look at the boats--canoes!" cried Hal,
as they crossed a canal.

Ken saw long narrow canoes that had been
hollowed out from straight tree-trunks.  They
were of every size, and some of the paddles
were enormous.  Crowds of natives were
jabbering and jostling each other at a rude
wharf.

"Look back," called Hal, who seemed to
have a hundred eyes.

Ken saw a wide, beautiful river, shining
red in the sunset.  Palm-trees on the distant
shore showed black against the horizon.

"Hal, that's the Panuco.  What a river!"

"Makes the Susquehanna look like a creek,"
was Hal's comment.

The *cargodore* led the boys through a plaza,
down a narrow street to the hotel.  Here
they were made to feel at home.  The
proprietor was a kindly American.  The hotel
was crowded, and many of the guests were
Englishmen there for the tarpon-fishing, with
sportsmen from the States, and settlers
coming in to take up new lands.  It was pleasant
for Ken and Hal to hear their own language
once more.  After dinner they sallied forth
to see the town.  But the narrow dark streets
and the blanketed natives stealing silently
along were not particularly inviting.  The
boys got no farther than the plaza, where
they sat down on a bench.  It was wholly
different from any American town.  Ken
suspected that Hal was getting homesick,
for the boy was quiet and inactive.

"I don't like this place," said Hal.  "What
'd you ever want to drag me way down here for?"

"Humph! drag you?  Say, you pestered
the life out of me, and bothered Dad till he
was mad, and worried mother sick to let
you come on this trip."

Hal hung his head.

"Now, you're not going to show a streak of
yellow?" asked Ken.  He knew how to stir
his brother.

Hal rose to the attack and scornfully
repudiated the insinuation.  Ken replied that
they were in a new country and must not
reach conclusions too hastily.

"I liked it back up there at the little village
where we saw the green river and the big
trees with the gray streamers on them,"
said Hal.

"Well, I liked that myself," rejoined Ken.
"I'd like to go back there and put a
boat in the river and come all the way here."

Ken had almost unconsciously expressed
the thought that had been forming in his
mind.  Hal turned slowly and looked at his
brother.

"Ken, that 'd be great--that's what we
came for!"

"I should say so," replied Ken.

"Well?" asked Hal, simply.

That question annoyed Ken.  Had he not
come south to go into the jungle?  Had he
come with any intention of shirking the
danger of a wild trip?  There was a subtle
flattery in Hal's question.

"That Santa Rosa River runs through the
jungle," went on Hal.  "It flows into the
Panuco somewhere.  You know we figured
out on the map that the Panuco's the only
big river in this jungle.  That's all we want
to know.  And, Ken, you know you're a
born boatman.  Why, look at the rapids we've
shot on the Susquehanna.  Remember that
trip we came down the Juniata?  The water
was high, too.  Ken, you can take a boat
down that Santa Rosa!"

"By George!  I believe I can," exclaimed
Ken, and he thrilled at the thought.

"Ken, let's go.  You'll win the prize, and
I'll get specimens.  Think what we'd have
to tell Jim Williams and Dick Leslie when we
go West next summer!"

"Oh, Hal, I know--but this idea of a trip
seems too wild."

"Maybe it wouldn't be so wild."

In all fairness Ken could not deny this, so
he kept silent.

"Ken, listen," went on Hal, and now he
was quite cool.  "If we'd promised the
Governor not to take a wild trip I wouldn't
say another word.  But we're absolutely free."

"That's why we ought to be more careful.
Dad trusts me."

"He trusts you because he knows you can
take care of yourself, and me, too.  You're
a wonder, Ken.  Why, if you once made up
your mind, you'd make that Santa Rosa River
look like a canal."

Ken began to fear that he would not be
proof against the haunting call of that jungle
river and the flattering persuasion of his
brother and the ever-present ambition to show
his uncle what he could do.

"Hal, if I didn't have you with me I'd
already have made up my mind to tackle
this river."

That appeared to insult Hal.

"All I've got to say is I'd be a help to
you--not a drag," he said, with some warmth.

"You're always a help, Hal.  I can't say
anything against your willingness.  But you
know your weakness.  By George! you made
trouble enough for me in Arizona.  On a trip
such as this you'd drive me crazy."

"Ken, I won't make any rash promises.
I don't want to queer myself with you.
But I'm all right."

"Look here, Hal; let's wait.  We've only
got to Tampico.  Maybe such a trip is
impracticable--impossible.  Let's find out more
about the country."

Hal appeared to take this in good spirit.
The boys returned to the hotel and went to
bed.  Hal promptly fell asleep.  But Ken
Ward lay awake a long time thinking of the
green Santa Rosa, with its magnificent
moss-festooned cypresses.  And when he did go to
sleep it was to dream of the beautiful
waterfowl with the white-crested wings, and he
was following it on its wild flight down the
dark, mysterious river-trail into the jungle.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE HOME OF THE TARPON`:

.. class:: center large bold

   II


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE HOME OF THE TARPON

.. vspace:: 2

Hal's homesickness might never have
been in evidence at all, to judge from
the way the boy, awakening at dawn, began
to talk about the Santa Rosa trip.

"Well," said Ken, as he rolled out of bed,
"I guess we're in for it."

"Ken, will we go?" asked Hal, eagerly.

"I'm on the fence."

"But you're leaning on the jungle side?"

"Yes, kid--I'm slipping."

Hal opened his lips to let out a regular
Hiram Bent yell, when Ken clapped a hand
over his mouth.

"Hold on--we're in the hotel yet."

It took the brothers long to dress, because
they could not keep away from the window.
The sun was rising in rosy glory over misty
lagoons.  Clouds of creamy mist rolled above
the broad Panuco.  Wild ducks were flying
low.  The tiled roofs of the stone houses
gleamed brightly, and the palm-trees glistened
with dew.  The soft breeze that blew in was
warm, sweet, and fragrant.

After breakfast the boys went out to the
front and found the hotel lobby full of
fishermen and their native boatmen.  It was an
interesting sight, as well as a surprise, for
Ken and Hal did not know that Tampico
was as famous for fishing as it was for
hunting.  The huge rods and reels amazed them.

"What kind of fish do these fellows fish
for?" asked Hal.

Ken was well enough acquainted with
sport to know something about tarpon, but
he had never seen one of the great silver fish.
And he was speechless when Hal led him
into a room upon the walls of which were
mounted specimens of tarpon from six to
seven feet in length and half as wide as a
door.

"Say, Ken!  We've come to the right
place.  Those fishermen are all going out to
fish for such whales as these here."

"Hal, we never saw a big fish before," said
Ken.  "And before we leave Tampico we'll
know what it means to hook tarpon."

"I'm with you," replied Hal, gazing doubtfully
and wonderingly at a fish almost twice
as big as himself.

Then Ken, being a practical student of
fishing, as of other kinds of sport, began to
stroll round the lobby with an intent to learn.
He closely scrutinized the tackle.  And he
found that the bait used was a white mullet
six to ten inches long, a little fish which
resembled the chub.  Ken did not like the long,
cruel gaff which seemed a necessary adjunct
to each outfit of tackle, and he vowed that
in his fishing for tarpon he would dispense
with it.

Ken was not backward about asking
questions, and he learned that Tampico, during
the winter months, was a rendezvous for
sportsmen from all over the world.  For the
most part, they came to catch the leaping
tarpon; the shooting along the Panuco,
however, was as well worth while as the fishing.
But Ken could not learn anything about the
Santa Rosa River.  The *tierra caliente*, or hot
belt, along the curve of the Gulf was
intersected by small streams, many of them
unknown and unnamed.  The Panuco swung
round to the west and had its source
somewhere up in the mountains.  Ken decided
that the Santa Rosa was one of its
headwaters.  Valles lay up on the first swell of
higher ground, and was distant from Tampico
some six hours by train.  So, reckoning with
the meandering course of jungle streams,
Ken calculated he would have something
like one hundred and seventy-five miles to
travel by water from Valles to Tampico.
There were Indian huts strung along the
Panuco River, and fifty miles inland a village
named Panuco.  What lay between Panuco
and Valles, up over the wild steppes of that
jungle, Ken Ward could only conjecture.

Presently he came upon Hal in conversation
with an American boy, who at once
volunteered to show them around.  So they
set out, and were soon becoming well
acquainted.  Their guide said he was from
Kansas; had been working in the railroad
offices for two years; and was now taking a
vacation.  His name was George Alling.
Under his guidance the boys spent several
interesting hours going about the city.
During this walk Hal showed his first tendency
to revert to his natural bent of mind.  Not for
long could Hal Ward exist without making
trouble for something.  In this case it was
buzzards, of which the streets of Tampico
were full.  In fact, George explained, the
buzzards were the only street-cleaning
department in the town.  They were as tame
as tame turkeys, and Hal could not resist
the desire to chase them.  And he could be
made to stop only after a white-helmeted
officer had threatened him.  George
explained further that although Tampico had
no game-laws it protected these
buzzard-scavengers of the streets.

The market-house at the canal wharf was
one place where Ken thought Hal would
forget himself in the bustle and din and color.
All was so strange and new.  Indeed, for a
time Hal appeared to be absorbed in his
surroundings, but when he came to a stall where
a man had parrots and racoons and small
deer, and three little yellow, black-spotted
tiger-cats, as George called them, then once
more Ken had to take Hal in tow.  Outside
along the wharf were moored a hundred or
more canoes of manifold variety.  All had
been hewn from solid tree-trunks.  Some
were long, slender, graceful, pretty to look
at, and easy to handle in shallow lagoons,
but Ken thought them too heavy and
cumbersome for fast water.  Happening just
then to remember Micas Falls, Ken had a
momentary chill and a check to his
enthusiasm for the jungle trip.  What if he
encountered, in coming down the Santa Rosa,
some such series of cascades as those which
made Micas Falls!

It was about noon when George led the
boys out to the banks of the broad Panuco.
Both Hal and Ken were suffering from the
heat.  They had removed their coats, and
were now very glad to rest in the shade.

"This is a nice cool day," said George, and
he looked cool.

"We've got on our heavy clothes, and this
tropic sun is new to us," replied Ken.  "Say,
Hal--"

A crash in the water near the shore
interrupted Ken.

"Was that a rhinoceros?" inquired Hal.

"Savalo," said George.

"What's that?"

"Silver king.  A tarpon.  Look around
and you'll see one break water.  There are
some fishermen trolling down-stream.  Watch.
Maybe one will hook a fish presently.  Then
you'll see some jumping."

It was cool in the shade, as the brothers
soon discovered, and they spent a delightful
hour watching the river and the wild fowl
and the tarpon.  Ken and Hal were always
lucky.  Things happened for their benefit
and pleasure.  Not only did they see many
tarpon swirl like bars of silver on the water,
but a fisherman hooked one of the great fish
not fifty yards from where the boys sat.
And they held their breath, and with starting
eyes watched the marvelous leaps and dashes
of the tarpon till, as he shot up in a last
mighty effort, wagging his head, slapping his
huge gills, and flinging the hook like a bullet,
he plunged back free.

"Nine out of ten get away," remarked George.

"Did you ever catch one?" asked Hal.

"Sure."

"Hal, I've got to have some of this fishing,"
said Ken.  "But if we start at it now--would
we ever get that jungle trip?"

"Oh, Ken, you've made up your mind to
go!" exclaimed Hal, in glee.

"No, I haven't," protested Ken.

"Yes, you have," declared Hal.  "I know
you."  And the whoop that he had suppressed
in the hotel he now let out with good measure.

Naturally George was interested, and at
his inquiry Ken told him the idea for the
Santa Rosa trip.

"Take me along," said George.  There was
a note of American spirit in his voice, a laugh
on his lips, and a flash in his eyes that made
Ken look at him attentively.  He was a slim
youth, not much Hal's senior, and Ken
thought if ever a boy had been fashioned to
be a boon comrade of Hal Ward this George
Alling was the boy.

"What do you think of the trip?" inquired
Ken, curiously.

"Fine.  We'll have some fun.  We'll get
a boat and a mozo--"

"What's a mozo?"

"A native boatman."

"That's a good idea.  I hadn't thought of a
boatman to help row.  But the boat is the
particular thing.  I wouldn't risk a trip in
one of those canoes."

"Come on, I'll find a boat," said George.

And before he knew it George and Hal
were leading him back from the river.  George
led him down narrow lanes, between painted
stone houses and iron-barred windows, till
they reached the canal.  They entered a yard
where buzzards, goats, and razor-back pigs
were contesting over the scavenger rights.
George went into a boat-house and pointed
out a long, light, wide skiff with a flat bottom.
Ken did not need George's praise, or the
shining light in Hal's eyes, or the
boat-keeper's importunities to make him eager to
try this particular boat.  Ken Ward knew a
boat when he saw one.  He jumped in,
shoved it out, rowed up the canal, pulled and
turned, backed water, and tried every stroke
he knew.  Then he rested on the oars and
whistled.  Hal's shout of delight made him
stop whistling.  Those two boys would have
him started on the trip if he did not look sharp.

"It's a dandy boat," said Ken.

"Only a peso a day, Ken," went on Hal.
"One dollar Mex--fifty cents in our money.
Quick, Ken, hire it before somebody else gets it."

"Sure I'll hire the boat," replied Ken; "but
Hal, it's not for that Santa Rosa trip.  We'll
have to forget that."

"Forget your grandmother!" cried Hal.
And then it was plain that he tried valiantly
to control himself, to hide his joy, to pretend
to agree with Ken's ultimatum.

Ken had a feeling that his brother knew
him perfectly, and he was divided between
anger and amusement.  They returned to
the hotel and lounged in the lobby.  The
proprietor was talking with some Americans,
and as he now appeared to be at leisure he
introduced the brothers and made himself
agreeable.  Moreover, he knew George Alling
well.  They began to chat, and Ken was
considerably annoyed to hear George calmly
state that he and his new-found friends
intended to send a boat up to Valles and come
down an unknown jungle river.

The proprietor laughed, and, though the
laugh was not unpleasant, somehow it nettled
Ken Ward.

"Why not go?" he asked, quietly, and he
looked at the hotel man.

"My boy, you can't undertake any trip
like that."

"Why not?" persisted Ken.  "Is there any
law here to prevent our going into the jungle?"

"There's no law.  No one could stop you.
But, my lad, what's the sense of taking such
a fool trip?  The river here is full of tarpon
right now.  There are millions of ducks and
geese on the lagoons.  You can shoot deer
and wild turkey right on the edge of town.
If you want tiger and javelin, go out to one of
the ranches where they have dogs to hunt
with, where you'll have a chance for your
life.  These tigers and boars will kill a man.
There's all the sport any one wants right
close to Tampico."

"I don't see how all that makes a reason
why we shouldn't come down the Santa
Rosa," replied Ken.  "We want to explore--map
the river."

The hotel man seemed nettled in return.

"You're only kids.  It 'd be crazy to start
out on that wild trip."

It was on Ken's lips to mention a few of
the adventures which he believed justly gave
him a right to have pride and confidence in
his ability.  But he forbore.

"It's a fool trip," continued the proprietor.
"You don't know this river.  You don't
know where you'll come out.  It's wild up
in that jungle.  I've hunted up at Valles,
and no native I ever met would go a mile
from the village.  If you take a mozo he'll
get soaked with canya.  He'll stick a knife
in you or run off and leave you when you
most need help.  Nobody ever explored that
river.  It 'll likely be full of swamps,
sandbars, bogs.  You'd get fever.  Then the
crocodiles, the boars, the bats, the snakes, the
tigers!  Why, if you could face these you'd
still have the ticks--the worst of all.  The
ticks would drive men crazy, let alone boys.
It's no undertaking for a boy."

The mention of all these dangers would
have tipped the balance for Ken in favor of
the Santa Rosa trip, even if the hint of his
callowness had not roused his spirit.

"Thank you.  I'm sure you mean kindly,"
said Ken.  "But I'm going to Valles and I'll
come down that jungle river."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AN INDIAN BOATMAN`:

.. class:: center large bold

   III


.. class:: center medium bold

   AN INDIAN BOATMAN

.. vspace:: 2

The moment the decision was made Ken
felt both sorry and glad.  He got the
excited boys outside away from the critical
and anxious proprietor.  And Ken decided
it was incumbent upon him to adopt a serious
and responsible manner, which he was far
from feeling.  So he tried to be as cool as
Hiram Bent, with a fatherly interest in the
two wild boys who were to accompany him
down the Santa Rosa.

"Now, George, steer us around till we find
a mozo," said Ken.  "Then we'll buy an
outfit and get started on this trip before you
can say Jack Robinson."

All the mozos the boys interviewed were
eager to get work; however, when made
acquainted with the nature of the trip they
refused point blank.

"Tigre!" exclaimed one.

"Javelin!" exclaimed another.

The big spotted jaguar of the jungle and
the wild boar, or peccary, were held in much
dread by the natives.

"These natives will climb a tree at sight
of a tiger or pig," said George.  "For my
part I'm afraid of the garrapatoes and the
pinilius."

"What 're they?" asked Hal.

"Ticks--jungle ticks.  Just wait till you
make their acquaintance."

Finally the boys met a *mozo* named Pepe,
who had often rowed a boat for George.
Pepe looked sadly in need of a job; still he
did not ask for it.  George said that Pepe
had been one of the best boatmen on the
river until *canya*, the fiery white liquor to
which the natives were addicted, had ruined
his reputation.  Pepe wore an old sombrero,
a cotton, shirt and sash, and ragged trousers.
He was barefooted.  Ken noted the set of
his muscular neck, his brawny shoulders and
arms, and appreciated the years of rowing
that had developed them.  But Pepe's haggard
face, deadened eyes, and listless manner
gave Ken pause.  Still, Ken reflected, there
was never any telling what a man might do,
if approached right.  Pepe's dejection excited
Ken's sympathy.  So Ken clapped him on
the shoulder, and, with George acting as
interpreter, offered Pepe work for several weeks
at three pesos a day.  That was more than
treble the *mozo's* wage.  Pepe nearly fell off
the canal bridge, where he was sitting, and a
light as warm and bright as sunshine flashed
into his face.

"Si, Señor--Si, Señor," he began to jabber,
and waved his brown hands.

Ken suspected that Pepe needed a job
and a little kind treatment.  He was sure of
it when George said Pepe's wife and children
were in want.  Somehow Ken conceived a
liking for Pepe, and believed he could trust
him.  He thought he knew how to deal with
poor Pepe.  So he gave him money, told
him to get a change of clothes and a pair of
shoes, and come to the hotel next day.

"He'll spend the money for canya, and not
show up to-morrow," said George.

"I don't know anything about your natives,
but that fellow will come," declared Ken.

It appeared that the whole American colony
in Tampico had been acquainted with Ken
Ward's project, and made a business to
waylay the boys at each corner.  They called
the trip a wild-goose chase.  They declared
it was a dime-novel idea, and could hardly
take Ken seriously.  They mingled
astonishment with amusement and concern.  They
advised Ken not to go, and declared they
would not let him go.  Over and over again
the boys were assured of the peril from
ticks, bats, boars, crocodiles, snakes, tigers,
and fevers.

"That's what I'm taking the trip for,"
snapped Ken, driven to desperation by all
this nagging.

"Well, young man, I admire your nerve,"
concluded the hotel man.  "If you're
determined to go, we can't stop you.  And
there's some things we would like you to find
out for us.  How far do tarpon run up the
Panuco River?  Do they spawn up there?
How big are the new-born fish?  I'll furnish
you with tackle and preserved mullet, for
bait.  We've always wondered about how
far tarpon go up into fresh water.  Keep your
eye open for signs of oil.  Also look at the
timber.  And be sure to make a map of the river."

When it came to getting the boat shipped
the boys met with more obstacles.  But
for the friendly offices of a Texan, an employee
of the railroad, they would never have been
able to convince the native shipping agent
that a boat was merchandise.  The Texan
arranged the matter and got Ken a freight
bill.  He took an entirely different view of
Ken's enterprise, compared with that of other
Americans, and in a cool, drawling voice,
which somehow reminded Ken of Jim
Williams, he said:

"Shore you-all will have the time of
your lives.  I worked at Valles for a year.
That jungle is full of game.  I killed three
big tigers.  You-all want to look out for
those big yellow devils.  One in every three
will jump for a man.  There's nothing but
shoot, then.  And the wild pigs are bad.
They put me up a tree more than once.
I don't know much about the Santa Rosa.
Its source is above Micas Falls.  Never
heard where it goes.  I know it's full of
crocodiles and rapids.  Never saw a boat or a
canoe at Valles.  And say--there are big black
snakes in the jungle.  Look out for them, too.
Shore you-all have sport a-comin'."

Ken thanked the Texan, and as he went
on up-street, for all his sober thoughtfulness,
he was as eager as Hal or George.  However,
his position as their guardian would not
permit any show of extravagant enthusiasm.

Ken bought blankets, cooking utensils,
and supplies for three weeks.  There was not
such a thing as a tent in Tampico.  The
best the boys could get for a shelter was a
long strip of canvas nine feet wide.

"That 'll keep off the wet," said Ken, "but
it won't keep out the mosquitoes and things."

"Couldn't keep 'em out if we had six
tents," replied George.

The remainder of that day the boys were
busy packing the outfit.

Pepe presented himself at the hotel next
morning an entirely different person.  He was
clean-shaven, and no longer disheveled.  He
wore a new sombrero, a white cotton shirt,
a red sash, and blue trousers.  He earned
a small bundle, a pair of shoes, and a long
*machete*.  The dignity with which he
approached before all the other *mozos* was not
lost upon Ken Ward.  A sharp scrutiny
satisfied him that Pepe had not been
drinking.  Ken gave him several errands to do.
Then he ordered the outfit taken to the
station in Pepe's charge.

The boys went down early in the afternoon.
It was the time when the *mozos* were returning
from the day's tarpon-fishing on the
river, and they, with the *cargodores*, streamed
to and fro on the platform.  Pepe was there
standing guard over Ken's outfit.  He had
lost his fame among his old associates, and
for long had been an outsider.  Here he was
in charge of a pile of fine guns, fishing-tackle,
baggage, and supplies--a collection
representing a fortune to him and his simple class.
He had been trusted with it.  It was under
his eye.  All his old associates passed by to
see him there.  That was a great time for
Pepe.  He looked bright, alert, and
supremely happy.  It would have fared ill with
thieves or loafers who would have made
themselves free with any of the articles under
his watchful eye.

The train pulled out of Tampico at five
o'clock, and Hal's "We're off!" was expressive.

The railroad lay along the river-bank,
and the broad Panuco was rippling with the
incoming tide.  If Ken and Hal had not
already found George to be invaluable as a
companion in this strange country they would
have discovered it then.  For George could
translate Pepe's talk, and explain much that
otherwise would have been dark to the
brothers.  Wild ducks dotted the green surface,
and spurts showed where playful *ravalo* were
breaking water.  Great green-backed tarpon
rolled their silver sides against the little
waves.  White cranes and blue herons stood
like statues upon the reedy bars.  Low down
over the opposite bank of the river a long
line of wild geese winged its way toward a
shimmering lagoon.  And against the gold
and crimson of the sunset sky a flight of
wild fowl stood out in bold black relief.  The
train crossed the Tamesi River and began to
draw away from the Panuco.  On the right,
wide marshes, gleaming purple in the darkening
light, led the eye far beyond to endless
pale lagoons.  Birds of many kinds skimmed
the weedy flats.  George pointed out a flock
of aigrets, the beautiful wild fowl with the
priceless plumes.  Then there was a string
of pink flamingoes, tall, grotesque, wading
along with waddling stride, feeding with
heads under water.

"Great!" exclaimed Ken Ward.

"It's all so different from Arizona," said Hal.

At Tamos, twelve miles out of Tampico,
the train entered the jungle.  Thereafter
the boys could see nothing but the impenetrable
green walls that lined the track.  At
dusk the train reached a station called Las
Palmas, and then began to ascend the first
step of the mountain.  The ascent was steep,
and, when it was accomplished, Ken looked
down and decided that step of the mountain
was between two and three thousand feet
high.  The moon was in its first quarter,
and Ken, studying this tropical moon, found
it large, radiant, and a wonderful green-gold.
It shed a soft luminous glow down upon the
sleeping, tangled web of jungle.  It was new
and strange to Ken, so vastly different from
barren desert or iron-ribbed cañon, and it
thrilled him with nameless charm.

The train once more entered jungle walls,
and as the boys could not see anything out
of the windows they lay back in their seats
and waited for the ride to end.  They were
due at Valles at ten o'clock, and the impatient
Hal complained that they would never get
there.  At length a sharp whistle from the
engine caused Pepe to turn to the boys with a
smile.

"Valles," he said.

With rattle and clank the train came to a
halt.  Ken sent George and Pepe out, and he
and Hal hurriedly handed the luggage through
the open window.  When the last piece had
been passed into Pepe's big hands the boys
made a rush for the door, and jumped off
as the train started.

"Say, but it's dark," said Hal.

As the train with its lights passed out of
sight Ken found himself in what seemed a
pitchy blackness.  He could not see the boys.
And he felt a little cold sinking of his heart
at the thought of such black nights on an
unknown jungle river.




IV

AT THE JUNGLE RIVER

Presently, as Ken's eyes became
accustomed to the change, the darkness
gave place to pale moonlight.  A crowd of
chattering natives, with wide sombreros on
their heads and blankets over their shoulders,
moved round the little stone station.  Visitors
were rare in Valles, as was manifested by the
curiosity aroused by the boys and the pile
of luggage.

"Ask Pepe to find some kind of lodging for
the night," said Ken to George.

Pepe began to question the natives, and soon
was lost in the crowd.  Awhile after, as Ken
was making up his mind they might have to
camp on the station platform, a queer low
'bus drawn by six little mules creaked up.
Pepe jumped off the seat beside the driver, and
began to stow the luggage away in the 'bus.
Then the boys piled in behind, and were soon
bowling along a white moonlit road.  The
soft voices of natives greeted their passing.

Valles appeared to be about a mile from
the station, and as they entered the village
Ken made out rows of thatched huts, and here
and there a more pretentious habitation of
stone.  At length the driver halted before
a rambling house, partly stone and partly
thatch.  There were no lights; in fact, Ken
did not see a light in the village.  George
told the boys to take what luggage each
could carry and follow the guide.  Inside
the house it was as dark as a dungeon.  The
boys bumped into things and fell over each
other trying to keep close to the barefooted
and mysterious guide.  Finally they climbed
to a kind of loft, where the moonlight streamed
in at the open sides.

"What do you think of this?" panted Hal,
who had struggled with a heavy load of
luggage.  Pepe and the guide went down to
fetch up the remainder of the outfit.  Ken
thought it best to stand still until he knew
just where he was.  But Hal and George
began moving about in the loft.  It was very
large and gloomy, and seemed open, yet full
of objects.  Hal jostled into something which
creaked and fell with a crash.  Then followed
a yell, a jabbering of a frightened native, and
a scuffling about.

"Hal, what 'd you do?" called Ken, severely.

"You can search me," replied Hal Ward.
"One thing--I busted my shin."

"He knocked over a bed with some one
sleeping in it," said George.

Pepe arrived in the loft then and soon
soothed the injured feelings of the native
who had been so rudely disturbed.  He then
led the boys to their cots, which were no more
than heavy strips of canvas stretched over
tall frameworks.  They appeared to be
enormously high for beds.  Ken's was as high
as his head, and Ken was tall for his age.

"Say, I'll never get up into this thing,"
burst out Hal.  "These people must be
afraid to sleep near the floor.  George, why
are these cots so high?"

"I reckon to keep the pigs and dogs and
all that from sleeping with the natives,"
answered George.  "Besides, the higher you
sleep in Mexico the farther you get from
creeping, crawling things."

Ken had been of half a mind to sleep on
the floor, but George's remark had persuaded
him to risk the lofty cot.  It was most
awkward to climb into.  Ken tried several
times without success, and once he just
escaped a fall.  By dint of muscle and a good
vault he finally landed in the center of his
canvas.  From there he listened to his more

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AT THE JUNGLE RIVER`:

.. class:: center large bold

   IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   AT THE JUNGLE RIVER

.. vspace:: 2

Presently, as Ken's eyes became
accustomed to the change, the darkness
gave place to pale moonlight.  A crowd of
chattering natives, with wide sombreros on
their heads and blankets over their shoulders,
moved round the little stone station.  Visitors
were rare in Valles, as was manifested by the
curiosity aroused by the boys and the pile
of luggage.

"Ask Pepe to find some kind of lodging for
the night," said Ken to George.

Pepe began to question the natives, and soon
was lost in the crowd.  Awhile after, as Ken
was making up his mind they might have to
camp on the station platform, a queer low
'bus drawn by six little mules creaked up.
Pepe jumped off the seat beside the driver, and
began to stow the luggage away in the 'bus.
Then the boys piled in behind, and were soon
bowling along a white moonlit road.  The
soft voices of natives greeted their passing.

Valles appeared to be about a mile from
the station, and as they entered the village
Ken made out rows of thatched huts, and here
and there a more pretentious habitation of
stone.  At length the driver halted before
a rambling house, partly stone and partly
thatch.  There were no lights; in fact, Ken
did not see a light in the village.  George
told the boys to take what luggage each
could carry and follow the guide.  Inside
the house it was as dark as a dungeon.  The
boys bumped into things and fell over each
other trying to keep close to the barefooted
and mysterious guide.  Finally they climbed
to a kind of loft, where the moonlight streamed
in at the open sides.

"What do you think of this?" panted Hal,
who had struggled with a heavy load of
luggage.  Pepe and the guide went down to
fetch up the remainder of the outfit.  Ken
thought it best to stand still until he knew
just where he was.  But Hal and George
began moving about in the loft.  It was very
large and gloomy, and seemed open, yet full
of objects.  Hal jostled into something which
creaked and fell with a crash.  Then followed
a yell, a jabbering of a frightened native, and
a scuffling about.

"Hal, what 'd you do?" called Ken, severely.

"You can search me," replied Hal Ward.
"One thing--I busted my shin."

"He knocked over a bed with some one
sleeping in it," said George.

Pepe arrived in the loft then and soon
soothed the injured feelings of the native
who had been so rudely disturbed.  He then
led the boys to their cots, which were no more
than heavy strips of canvas stretched over
tall frameworks.  They appeared to be
enormously high for beds.  Ken's was as high
as his head, and Ken was tall for his age.

"Say, I'll never get up into this thing,"
burst out Hal.  "These people must be
afraid to sleep near the floor.  George, why
are these cots so high?"

"I reckon to keep the pigs and dogs and
all that from sleeping with the natives,"
answered George.  "Besides, the higher you
sleep in Mexico the farther you get from
creeping, crawling things."

Ken had been of half a mind to sleep on
the floor, but George's remark had persuaded
him to risk the lofty cot.  It was most
awkward to climb into.  Ken tried several
times without success, and once he just
escaped a fall.  By dint of muscle and a good
vault he finally landed in the center of his
canvas.  From there he listened to his more
unfortunate comrades.  Pepe got into his
without much difficulty.  George, however,
in climbing up, on about the fifth attempt
swung over too hard and rolled off on the
other side.  The thump he made when he
dropped jarred the whole loft.  From the
various growls out of the darkness it developed
that the loft was full of sleepers, who were not
pleased at this invasion.  Then Hal's cot
collapsed, and went down with a crash.
And Hal sat on the flattened thing and laughed.

"Mucho malo," Pepe said, and he laughed,
too.  Then he had to get out and put up
Hal's trestle bed.  Hal once again went to
climbing up the framework, and this time,
with Pepe's aid, managed to surmount it.

"George, what does Pepe mean by *mucho
malo*?" asked Hal.

"Bad--very much bad," replied George.

"Nix--tell him nix.  This is fine," said Hal.

"Boys, if you don't want to sleep yourselves,
shut up so the rest of us can," ordered Ken.

He liked the sense of humor and the good
fighting spirit of the boys, and fancied they
were the best attributes in comrades on a
wild trip.  For a long time he heard a kind
of shuddering sound, which he imagined was
Hal's cot quivering as the boy laughed.  Then
absolute quiet prevailed, the boys slept,
and Ken felt himself drifting.

When he awakened the sun was shining
through the holes in the thatched roof.
Pepe was up, and the other native sleepers
were gone.  Ken and the boys descended from
their perches without any tumbles, had a
breakfast that was palatable--although even
George could not name what they ate--and
then were ready for the day.

Valles consisted of a few stone houses and
many thatched huts of bamboo and palm.
There was only one street, and it was full of
pigs, dogs, and buzzards.  The inhabitants
manifested a kindly interest and curiosity,
which changed to consternation when they
learned of the boys' project.  Pepe
questioned many natives, and all he could learn
about the Santa Rosa was that there was an
impassable waterfall some few kilometers
below Valles.  Ken gritted his teeth and said
they would have to get past it.  Pepe did not
encounter a man who had ever heard of the
headwaters of the Panuco River.  There were
only a few fields under cultivation around
Valles, and they were inclosed by
impenetrable jungle.  It seemed useless to try to
find out anything about the river.  But
Pepe's advisers in the village told enough
about *tigre* and *javelin* to make Hal's hair
stand on end, and George turn pale, and
Ken himself wish they had not come.  It all
gave Ken both a thrill and a shock.

There was not much conversation among the
boys on the drive back to the station.
However, sight of the boat, which had come by
freight, stirred Ken with renewed spirit, and
through him that was communicated to the
others.

The hardest task, so far, developed in the
matter of transporting boat and supplies out
to the river.  Ken had hoped to get a
handcar and haul the outfit on the track down to
where the bridge crossed the Santa Rosa.
But there was no hand-car.  Then came the
staggering information that there was no
wagon which would carry the boat, and then
worse still in the fact that there was no road.
This discouraged Ken; nevertheless he had
not the least idea of giving up.  He sent
Pepe out to tell the natives there must be
some way to get the outfit to the river.

Finally Pepe found a fellow who had a cart.
This fellow claimed he knew a trail that went
to a point from which it would be easy to
carry the boat to the river.  Ken had Pepe
hire the man at once.

"Bring on your old cart," said the
irrepressible Hal.

That cart turned out to be a remarkable
vehicle.  It consisted of a narrow body
between enormously high wheels.  A trio of
little mules was hitched to it.  The driver
willingly agreed to haul the boat and outfit
for one *peso*, but when he drove up to the
platform to be surrounded by neighbors, he
suddenly discovered that he could not possibly
accommodate the boys.  Patiently Pepe tried
to persuade him.  No, the thing was
impossible.  He made no excuses, but he looked
mysterious.

"George, tell Pepe to offer him five pesos,"
said Ken.

Pepe came out bluntly with the inducement,
and the driver began to sweat.  From
the look of his eyes Ken fancied he had not
earned so much money in a year.  Still he
was cunning, and his whispering neighbors
lent him support.  He had the only cart in
the village, and evidently it seemed that
fortune had come to knock at least once at his
door.  He shook his head.

Ken held up both hands with fingers spread.
"Ten pesos," he said.

The driver, like a crazy man, began to
jabber his consent.

The boys lifted the boat upon the cart, and
tied it fast in front so that the stern would not
sag.  Then they packed the rest of the
outfit inside.

Ken was surprised to see how easily the
little mules trotted off with such a big load.
At the edge of the jungle he looked back
toward the station.  The motley crowd of
natives were watching, making excited
gestures, and all talking at once.  The driver
drove into a narrow trail, which closed
behind him.  Pepe led on foot, brushing aside
the thick foliage.  Ken drew a breath of
relief as he passed into the cool shade.  The
sun was very hot.  Hal and George brought
up the rear, talking fast.

The trail was lined and overgrown with
slender trees, standing very close, making
dense shade.  Many birds, some of beautiful
coloring, flitted in the branches.  In about
an hour the driver entered a little clearing
where there were several thatched huts.
Ken heard the puffing of an engine, and,
looking through the trees, he saw the
railroad and knew they had arrived at the
pumping-station and the bridge over the
Santa Rosa.

Pepe lost no time in rounding up six
natives to carry the boat.  They did not seem
anxious to oblige Pepe, although they plainly
wanted the money he offered.  The trouble
was the boat, at which they looked askance.
As in the case with the driver, however, the
weight and clinking of added silver overcame
their reluctance.  They easily lifted the boat
upon their shoulders.  And as they entered
the trail, making a strange procession in the
close-bordering foliage, they encountered two
natives, who jumped and ran, yelling: "La
diable!  La diable!"

"What ails those gazabos?" asked Hal.

"They're scared," replied George.  "They
thought the boat was the devil."

If Ken needed any more than had already
come to him about the wildness of the Santa
Rosa, he had it in the frightened cries and
bewilderment of these natives.  They had
never seen a boat.  The Santa Rosa was a
beautiful wild river upon which boats were
unknown.  Ken had not hoped for so much.
And now that the die was cast he faced the
trip with tingling gladness.

"George and Hal, you stay behind to watch
the outfit.  Pepe and I will carry what we
can and follow the boat.  I'll send back after
you," said Ken.

Then as he followed Pepe and the natives
down the trail there was a deep satisfaction
within him.  He heard the soft rush of water
over stones and the mourning of turtledoves.
He rounded a little hill to come
abruptly upon the dense green mass of river
foliage.  Giant cypress-trees, bearded with
gray moss, fringed the banks.  Through the
dark green of leaves Ken caught sight of
light-green water.  Birds rose all about him.
There were rustlings in the thick
underbrush and the whir of ducks.  The natives
penetrated the dark shade and came out to
an open, grassy point.

The Santa Rosa, glistening, green, swift,
murmured at Ken's feet.  The natives dropped
the boat into the water, and with Pepe
went back for the rest of the outfit.  Ken
looked up the shady lane of the river and
thought of the moment when he had crossed
the bridge in the train.  Then, as much as he
had longed to be there, he had not dared to
hope it.  And here he was!  How strange
it was, just then, to see a large black duck
with white-crested wings sweep by as swift
as the wind!  Ken had seen that wild fowl,
or one of his kind, and it had haunted him.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FIRST CAMP`:

.. class:: center large bold

   V


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FIRST CAMP

.. vspace:: 2

In less than an hour all the outfit had been
carried down to the river, and the boys
sat in the shade, cooling off, happily conscious
that they had made an auspicious start.

It took Ken only a moment to decide to
make camp there and the next day try to
reach Micas Falls.  The mountains appeared
close at hand, and were so lofty that, early
in the afternoon as it was, the westering sun
hung over the blue summits.  The notch
where the Santa Rosa cut through the range
stood out clear, and at most it was not
more than eighteen miles distant.  So Ken
planned to spend a day pulling up the river,
and then to turn for the down-stream trip.

"Come, boys, let's make camp," said Ken.

He sent Pepe with his long *machete* into the
brush to cut fire-wood.  Hal he set to making
a stone fireplace, which work the boy rather
prided himself upon doing well.  Ken got
George to help him to put up the strip of
canvas.  They stretched a rope between two
trees, threw the canvas over it, and pegged
down the ends.

"Say, how 're we going to sleep?" inquired
Hal, suddenly.

"Sleep?  Why, on our backs, of course,"
retorted Ken, who could read Hal's mind.

"If we don't have some hot old times
keeping things out of this tent, I'm a lobster,"
said George, dubiously.  "I'm going to sleep
in the middle."

"You're a brave boy, George," replied Ken.

"Me for between Ken and Pepe," added Hal.

"And you're twice as brave," said Ken.
"I dare say Pepe and I will be able to keep
things from getting at you."

Just as Pepe came into camp staggering
under a load of wood, a flock of russet-colored
ducks swung round the bend.  They alighted
near the shore at a point opposite the camp.
The way George and Hal made headers into
the pile of luggage for their guns gave Ken
an inkling of what he might expect from these
lads.  He groaned, and then he laughed.
George came up out of the luggage first, and
he had a .22-caliber rifle, which he quickly
loaded and fired into the flock.  He crippled
one; the others flew up-stream.  Then George
began to waste shells trying to kill the
crippled duck.  Hal got into action with his .22.
They bounced bullets off the water all around
the duck, but they could not hit it.

Pepe grew as excited as the boys, and he
jumped into the boat and with a long stick
began to pole out into the stream.  Ken
had to caution George and Hal to lower their
guns and not shoot Pepe.  Below camp and
just under the bridge the water ran into a
shallow rift.  The duck got onto the current
and went round the bend, with Pepe poling
in pursuit and George and Hal yelling along
the shore.  When they returned a little
later, they had the duck, which was of an
unknown species to Ken.  Pepe had fallen
overboard; George was wet to his knees; and,
though Hal did not show any marks of undue
exertion, his eyes would have enlightened any
beholder.  The fact was that they were
glowing with the excitement of the chase.
It amused Ken.  He felt that he had to try
to stifle his own enthusiasm.  There had to
be one old head in the party.  But if he did
have qualms over the possibilities of the boys
to worry him with their probable escapades,
he still felt happy at their boundless life and
spirit.

It was about the middle of the afternoon,
and the heat had become intense.  Ken
realized it doubly when he saw Pepe favoring
the shade.  George and Hal were hot, but they
appeared to be too supremely satisfied with
their surroundings to care about that.

During this hot spell, which lasted from
three o'clock until five, there was a quiet
and a lack of life around camp that
surprised Ken.  It was slumberland; even the
insects seemed drowsy.  Not a duck and
scarcely a bird passed by.  Ken heard the
mourning of turtle-doves, and was at once
struck with the singular deep, full tone.
Several trains crossed the bridge, and at
intervals the engine at the pumping-tank
puffed and chugged.  From time to time a
native walked out upon the bridge to stare
long and curiously at the camp.

When the sun set behind the mountain
a hard breeze swept down the river.  Ken
did not know what to make of it, and at first
thought there was going to be a storm.  Pepe
explained that the wind blew that way every
day after sunset.  For a while it tossed the
willows, and waved the Spaniard's-beard upon
the cypresses.  Then as suddenly as it had
come it died away, taking the heat with it.

Whereupon the boys began to get supper.

"George, do you know anything about
this water?" asked Ken.  "Is it safe?"

George supposed it was all right, but he
did not know.  The matter of water had
bothered Ken more than any other thing in
consideration of the trip.  This river-water
was cool and clear; it apparently was safe.
But Ken decided not to take any chances,
and to boil all the water used.  All at once
George yelled, "Canvasbacks!" and made a
dive for his gun.  Ken saw a flock of ducks
swiftly winging flight up-stream.

"Hold on, George; don't shoot," called
Ken.  "Let's go a little slow at the start."

George appeared to be disappointed, though
he promptly obeyed.

Then the boys had supper, finding the
russet duck much to their taste.  Ken made
a note of Pepe's capacity, and was glad there
were prospects of plenty of meat.  While
they were eating, a group of natives gathered
on the bridge.  Ken would not have liked to
interpret their opinion of his party from their
actions.

Night came on almost before the boys
were ready for it.  They replenished the
camp-fire, and sat around it, looking into the
red blaze and then out into the flickering
shadows.  Ken thought the time propitious
for a little lecture he had to give the boys,
and he remembered how old Hiram Bent
had talked to him and Hal that first night
down under the great black rim-wall of the
Grand Cañon.

"Well, fellows," began Ken, "we're started,
we're here, and the trip looks great to me.
Now, as I am responsible, I intend to be boss.
I want you boys to do what I tell you.  I may
make mistakes, but if I do I'll take them on
my shoulders.  Let's try to make the trip
a great success.  Let's be careful.  We're
not game-hogs.  We'll not kill any more than
we can eat.  I want you boys to be careful
with your guns.  Think all the time where
you're pointing them.  And as to thinking,
we'd do well to use our heads all the time.
We've no idea what we're going up against
in this jungle."

Both boys listened to Ken with attention
and respect, but they did not bind themselves
by any promises.

Ken had got out the mosquito-netting,
expecting any moment to find it very
serviceable; however, to his surprise it was not
needed.  When it came time to go to bed,
Hal and George did not forget to slip in
between Pepe and Ken.  The open-sided tent
might keep off rain or dew, but for all the
other protection it afforded, the boys might as
well have slept outside.  Nevertheless they
were soon fast asleep.  Ken awoke a couple
of times during the night and rolled over to
find a softer spot in the hard bed.  These
times he heard only the incessant hum of insects.

When he opened his eyes in the gray
morning light, he did hear something that
made him sit up with a start.  It was a deep
booming sound, different from anything that
he had ever heard.  Ken called Pepe, and
that roused the boys.

"Listen," said Ken.

In a little while the sound was repeated, a
heavy "boo-oom! ... boo-oom!"  There was
a resemblance to the first strong beats of a
drumming grouse, only infinitely wilder.

Pepe called it something like "*faisan real*."

"What's that?" asked Hal.

The name was as new to Ken as the noise
itself.  Pepe explained through George that
it was made by a huge black bird not unlike a
turkey.  It had a golden plume, and could
run as fast as a deer.  The boys rolled out,
all having conceived a desire to see such a
strange bird.  The sound was not repeated.
Almost immediately, however, the thicket
across the river awoke to another sound, as
much a contrast to the boom as could be
imagined.  It was a bird medley.  At first Ken
thought of magpies, but Pepe dispelled this
illusion with another name hard to pronounce.

"Chicalocki," he said.

And that seemed just like what they were
singing.  It was a sharp, clear
song--"Chic-a-lock-i ... chic-a-lock-i," and to judge from
the full chorus there must have been many birds.

"They're a land of pheasant," added
George, "and make fine pot-stews."

The *chicalocki* ceased their salute to the
morning, and then, as the river mist melted
away under the rising sun, other birds took
it up.  Notes new to Ken burst upon the air.
And familiar old songs thrilled him, made him
think of summer days on the Susquehanna--the
sweet carol of the meadow-lark, the whistle
of the quail, the mellow, sad call of the
swamp-blackbird.  The songs blended in an exquisite
harmony.

"Why, some of them are our own birds
come south for the winter," declared Hal.

"It's music," said Ken.

"Just wait," laughed George.

It dawned upon Ken then that George was
a fellow who had the mysterious airs of a
prophet hinting dire things.

Ken did not know what to wait for, but
he enjoyed the suggestion and anticipated
much.  Ducks began to whir by; flocks of
blackbirds alighted in the trees across the
river.  Suddenly Hal jumped up, and Ken
was astounded at a great discordant screeching
and a sweeping rush of myriads of wings.
Ken looked up to see the largest flock of birds
he had ever seen.

"Parrots," he yelled.

Indeed they were, and they let the boys
know it.  They flew across the river, wheeled
to come back, all the time screeching, and then
they swooped down into the tops of the
cypress-trees.

"Red-heads," said George.  "Just wait till
you see the yellow-heads!"

At the moment the red-heads were quite
sufficient for Ken.  They broke out into a
chattering, screaming, cackling discordance.
It was plainly directed at the boys.  These
intelligent birds were curious and resentful.
As Pepe put it, they were scolding.  Ken
enjoyed it for a full half-hour and reveled
in the din.  That morning serenade was
worth the trip.  Presently the parrots flew
away, and Ken was surprised to find that most
of the other birds had ceased singing.  They
had set about the business of the
day--something it was nigh time for Ken to consider.

Breakfast over, the boys broke camp,
eager for the adventures that they felt to be
before them.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`WILDERNESS LIFE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   WILDERNESS LIFE

.. vspace:: 2

"Now for the big job, boys," called Ken.
"Any ideas will be welcome, but don't
all talk at once."

And this job was the packing of the
outfit in the boat.  It was a study for Ken, and
he found himself thanking his lucky stars
that he had packed boats for trips on rapid
rivers.  George and Hal came to the fore
with remarkable advice which Ken was at
the pains of rejecting.  And as fast as one
wonderful idea emanated from the fertile
minds another one came in.  At last Ken lost
patience.

"Kids, it's going to take brains to pack
this boat," he said, with some scorn.

And when Hal remarked that in that case
he did not see how they ever were going to
pack the boat, Ken drove both boys away
and engaged Pepe to help.

The boat had to be packed for a long trip,
with many things taken into consideration.
The very best way to pack it must be decided
upon and thereafter held to strictly.  Balance
was all-important; comfort and elbow-room
were not to be overlooked; a flat surface
easy to crawl and jump over was absolutely
necessary.  Fortunately, the boat was large
and roomy, although not heavy.  The first
thing Ken did was to cut out the narrow
bow-seat.  Here he packed a small bucket
of preserved mullet, some bottles of kerosene
and *canya*, and a lantern.  The small, flat
trunk, full of supplies, went in next.  Two
boxes with the rest of the supplies filled up
the space between the trunk and the
rowing-seat.  By slipping an extra pair of oars,
coils of rope, the ax, and a few other articles
between the gunwales and the trunk and boxes
Ken made them fit snugly.  He cut off a
piece of the canvas, and, folding it, he laid it
with the blankets lengthwise over the top.
This made a level surface, one that could be
gotten over quickly, or a place to sleep, for
that matter, and effectually disposed of the
bow half of the boat.  Of course the boat sank
deep at the bow, but Ken calculated when they
were all aboard their weight would effect an
even balance.

The bags with clothing Ken put under the
second seat.  Then he arranged the other
piece of canvas so that it projected up back
of the stern of the boat.  He was thinking
of the waves to be buffeted in going stern
first down-stream through the rapids.  The
fishing-tackle and guns he laid flat from seat
to seat.  Last of all he placed the ammunition
on one side next the gunwale, and the
suit-case carrying camera, films, medicines,
on the other.

"Come now, fellows," called Ken.  "Hal,
you and George take the second seat.  Pepe
will take the oars.  I'll sit in the stern."

Pepe pushed off, jumped to his place, and
grasped the oars.  Ken was delighted to
find the boat trim, and more buoyant than he
had dared to hope.

"We're off," cried Hal, and he whooped.
And George exercised his already
well-developed faculty of imitating Hal.

Pepe bent to the oars, and under his powerful
strokes the boat glided up-stream.  Soon
the bridge disappeared.  Ken had expected
a long, shady ride, but it did not turn out so.
Shallow water and gravelly rapids made
rowing impossible.

"Pile out, boys, and pull," said Ken.

The boys had dressed for wading and rough
work, and went overboard with a will.  Pulling,
at first, was not hard work.  They were
fresh and eager, and hauled the boat up
swift, shallow channels, making nearly as
good time as when rowing in smooth water.
Then, as the sun began to get hot, splashing
in the cool river was pleasant.  They passed
little islands green with willows and came to
high clay-banks gradually wearing away,
and then met with rocky restrictions in the
stream-bed.  From round a bend came a
hollow roar of a deeper rapid.  Ken found it
a swift-rushing incline, very narrow, and hard
to pull along.  The margin of the river was
hidden and obstructed by willows so that the
boys could see very little ahead.

When they got above this fall the water
was deep and still.  Entering the boat again,
they turned a curve into a long, beautiful
stretch of river.

"Ah! this 's something like," said Hal.

The green, shady lane was alive with birds
and water-fowl.  Ducks of various kinds rose
before the boat.  White, blue, gray, and
speckled herons, some six feet tall, lined the
low bars, and flew only at near approach.
There were many varieties of bitterns, one
kind with a purple back and white breast.
They were very tame and sat on the
overhanging branches, uttering dismal croaks.
Everywhere was the flash and glitter and
gleam of birds in flight, up and down and
across the river.

Hal took his camera and tried to get pictures.

The strangeness, beauty, and life of this
jungle stream absorbed Ken.  He did not
take his guns from their cases.  The water
was bright green and very deep; here and
there were the swirls of playing fish.  The
banks were high and densely covered with a
luxuriant foliage.  Huge cypress-trees,
moss-covered, leaned half-way across the river.
Giant gray-barked ceibas spread long branches
thickly tufted with aloes, orchids, and other
jungle parasites.  Palm-trees lifted slender
stems and graceful broad-leaved heads.
Clumps of bamboo spread an enormous green
arch out over the banks.  These bamboo-trees
were particularly beautiful to Ken.
A hundred yellow, black-circled stems grew
out of the ground close together, and as they
rose high they gracefully leaned their bodies
and drooped their tips.  The leaves were
arrowy, exquisite in their fineness.

He looked up the long river-lane, bright
in the sun, dark and still under the
moss-veiled cypresses, at the turning vines and
blossoming creepers, at the changeful web
of moving birds, and indulged to the fullest
that haunting sense for wild places.

"Chicalocki," said Pepe, suddenly.

A flock of long-tailed birds, resembling
the pheasant in body, was sailing across the
river.  Again George made a dive for a gun.
This one was a sixteen-gage and worn out.
He shot twice at the birds on the wing.
Then Pepe rowed under the overhanging
branches, and George killed three *chicalocki*
with his rifle.  They were olive green in
color, and the long tail had a brownish cast.
Heavy and plump, they promised fine eating.

"Pato real!" yelled Pepe, pointing excitedly
up the river.

Several black fowl, as large as geese, hove
in sight, flying pretty low.  Ken caught a
glimpse of wide, white-crested wings, and
knew then that these were the birds he had seen.

"Load up and get ready," he said to
George.  "They're coming fast--shoot ahead
of them."

How swift and powerful they were on the
wing!  They swooped up when they saw the
boat, and offered a splendid target.  The
little sixteen-gage rang out.  Ken heard the
shot strike.  The leader stopped in midair,
dipped, and plunged with a sounding splash.
Ken picked him up and found him to be most
beautiful, and as large and heavy as a goose.
His black feathers shone with the latent green
luster of an opal, and the pure white of the
shoulder of the wings made a remarkable
contrast.

"George, we've got enough meat for to-day,
more than we can use.  Don't shoot any
more," said Ken.

Pepe resumed rowing, and Ken told him
to keep under the overhanging branches and
to row without splashing.  He was skilled
in the use of the oars, so the boat glided along
silently.  Ken felt he was rewarded for this
stealth.  Birds of rare and brilliant plumage
flitted among the branches.  There was one,
a long, slender bird, gold and black with a
white ring round its neck.  There were little
yellow-breasted kingfishers no larger than
a wren, and great red-breasted kingfishers
with blue backs and tufted heads.  The boat
passed under a leaning ceiba-tree that was
covered with orchids.  Ken saw the slim,
sharp head of a snake dart from among the
leaves.  His neck was as thick as Ken's wrist.

"What kind of a snake, Pepe?" whispered
Ken, as he fingered the trigger of George's
gun.  But Pepe did not see the snake, and
then Ken thought better of disturbing the
silence with a gunshot.  He was reminded,
however, that the Texan had told him of
snakes in this jungle, some of which measured
more than fifteen feet and were as large as a
man's leg.

Most of the way the bank was too high
and steep and overgrown for any animal to
get down to the water.  Still there were dry
gullies, or arroyos, every few hundred yards,
and these showed the tracks of animals, but
Pepe could not tell what species from the
boat.  Often Ken heard the pattering of
hard feet, and then he would see a little
cloud of dust in one of these drinking-places.
So he cautioned Pepe to row slower and closer
in to the bank.

"Look there! lemme out!" whispered Hal,
and he seemed to be on the point of jumping
overboard.

"Coons," said George.  "Oh, a lot of
them.  There--some young ones."

Ken saw that they had come abruptly
upon a band of racoons, not less than thirty
in number, some big, some little, and a few
like tiny balls of fur, and all had long
white-ringed tails.  What a scampering the big
ones set up!  The little ones were frightened,
and the smallest so tame they scarcely made
any effort to escape.  Pepe swung the boat
in to the bank, and reaching out he caught a
baby racoon and handed it to Hal.

"Whoop!  We'll catch things and tame
them," exclaimed Hal, much delighted, and
he proceeded to tie the little racoon under
the seat.

"Sure, we'll get a whole menagerie," said George.

So they went on up-stream.  Often Ken
motioned Pepe to stop in dark, cool places
under the golden-green canopy of bamboos.
He was as much fascinated by the beautiful
foliage and tree growths as by the wild life.
Hal appeared more taken up with the fluttering
of birds in the thick jungle, rustlings,
and soft, stealthy steps.  Then as they moved
on Ken whispered and pointed out a black
animal vanishing in the thicket.  Three times
he caught sight of a spotted form slipping
away in the shade.  George saw it the last
time, and whispered: "Tiger-cat!  Let's get him."

"What's that, Ken, a kind of a wildcat?"
asked Hal.

"Yes."  Ken took George's .32-caliber and
tried to find a way up the bank.  There was
no place to climb up unless he dragged
himself up branches of trees or drooping
bamboos, and this he did not care to attempt
encumbered with a rifle.  Only here and there
could he see over the matted roots and creepers.
Then the sound of rapids put hunting out of
his mind.

"Boys, we've got Micas Falls to reach,"
he said, and told Pepe to row on.

The long stretch of deep river ended in a
wide, shallow, noisy rapid.  Fir-trees lined
the banks.  The palms, cypresses, bamboos,
and the flowery, mossy growths were not here
in evidence.  Thickly wooded hills rose on
each side.  The jungle looked sear and yellow.

The boys began to wade up the rapid,
and before they had reached the head of it
Pepe yelled and jumped back from where he
was wading at the bow.  He took an oar and
began to punch at something in the water,
at the same time calling out.

"Crocodile!" cried George, and he climbed
in the boat.  Hal was not slow in following
suit.  Then Ken saw Pepe hitting a small
crocodile, which lashed out with its tail and
disappeared.

"Come out of there," called Ken to the boys.
"We can't pull you up-stream."

"Say, I don't want to step on one of those
ugly brutes," protested Hal.

"Look sharp, then.  Come out."

Above the rapid extended a quarter-mile
stretch where Pepe could row, and beyond
that another long rapid.  When the boys
had waded up that it was only to come to
another.  It began to be hard work.  But
Ken kept the boys buckled down, and they
made fair progress.  They pulled up through
eighteen rapids, and covered distance that
Ken estimated to be about ten miles.  The
blue mountain loomed closer and higher, yet
Ken began to have doubts of reaching Micas
Falls that day.

Moreover, as they ascended the stream,
the rapids grew rougher.

"It 'll be great coming down," panted Hal.

Finally they reached a rapid which had long
dinned in Ken's ears.  All the water in the
river rushed down on the right-hand side
through a channel scarcely twenty feet wide.
It was deep and swift.  With the aid of ropes,
and by dint of much hard wading and pulling,
the boys got the boat up.  A little farther
on was another bothersome rapid.  At last
they came to a succession of falls, steps in the
river, that barred farther advance up-stream.

Here Ken climbed up on the bank, to find
the country hilly and open, with patches of
jungle and palm groves leading up to the
mountains.  Then he caught a glint of Micas
Falls, and decided that it would be impossible
to get there.  He made what observations
he could, and returned to camp.

"Boys, here's where we stop," said Ken.
"It 'll be all down-stream now, and I'm glad."

There was no doubt that the boys were
equally glad.  They made camp on a
grassy bench above a foam-flecked pool.
Ken left the others to get things in shape for
supper, and, taking his camera, he hurried off
to try to get a picture of Micas Falls.  He
found open places and by-paths through the
brushy forest.  He saw evidences of forest
fire, and then knew what had ruined that part
of the jungle.  There were no birds.  It was
farther than he had estimated to the foothill
he had marked, but, loath to give up, he kept
on and finally reached a steep, thorny ascent.
Going up he nearly suffocated with heat.
He felt rewarded for his exertions when he
saw Micas Falls glistening in the distance.
It was like a string of green fans connected
by silver ribbons.  He remained there watching
it while the sun set in the golden notch
between the mountains.

On the way back to camp he waded through
a flat overgrown with coarse grass and bushes.
Here he jumped a herd of deer, eight in
number.  These small, sleek, gray deer appeared
tame, and if there had been sufficient light,
Ken would have photographed them.  It
cost him an effort to decide not to fetch his
rifle, but as he had meat enough in camp
there was nothing to do except let the deer go.

When he got back to the river Pepe grinned
at him, and, pointing to little red specks on
his shirt, he said:

"Pinilius."

"Aha! the ticks!" exclaimed Ken.

They were exceedingly small, not to be
seen without close scrutiny.  They could not
be brushed off, so Ken began laboriously to
pick them off.  Pepe and George laughed,
and Hal appeared to derive some sort of
enjoyment from the incident.

"Say, these ticks don't bother me any,"
declared Ken.

Pepe grunted; and George called out, "Just
wait till you get the big fellows--the
garrapatoes."

It developed presently that the grass and
bushes on the camp-site contained millions
of the ticks.  Ken found several of the larger
ticks--almost the size of his little finger-nail--but
he did not get bitten.  Pepe and George,
however, had no such good luck, as was
manifested at different times.  By the time they
had cut down the bushes and carried in
a stock of fire-wood, both were covered with
the little pests.  Hal found a spot where
there appeared to be none, and here he stayed.

Pepe and George had the bad habit of smoking,
and Ken saw them burning the ticks off
shirt-sleeves and trousers-legs, using the fiery
end of their cigarettes.  This feat did not
puzzle Ken anything like the one where they
held the red point of the cigarettes close to
their naked flesh.  Ken, and Hal, too, had
to see that performance at close range.

"Why do you do that?" asked Ken.

"Popping ticks," replied George.  He and
Pepe were as sober as judges.

The fact of the matter was soon clear to
Ken.  The ticks stuck on as if glued.  When
the hot end of the burning cigarette was held
within a quarter of an inch of them they
simply blew up, exploded with a pop.  Ken
could easily distinguish between the tiny pop
of an exploding *pinilius* and the heavier pop
of a *garrapato*.

"But, boy, while you're taking time to do
that, half a dozen other ticks can bite you!"
exclaimed Ken.

"Sure they can," replied George.  "But
if they get on me I'll kill 'em.  I don't mind
the little ones--it's the big boys I hate."

On the other hand, Pepe seemed to mind
most the *pinilius*.

"Say, from now on you fellows will be
Garrapato George and Pinilius Pepe."

"Pretty soon you'll laugh on the other
side of your face," said George.  "In three
days you'll be popping ticks yourself."

Just then Hal let out a yell and began to
hunt for a tick that had bit him.  If there
was anything that could bother Hal Ward
it was a crawling bug of some kind.

"I'll have to christen you too, brother,"
said Ken, gurgling with mirth.  "A very
felicitous name--Hollering Hal!"

Despite the humor of the thing, Ken really
saw its serious side.  When he found the
grass under his feet alive with ticks he cast
about in his mind for some way to get rid
of them.  And he hit upon a remedy.  On the
ridge above the bench was a palm-tree, and
under it were many dead palm leaves.  These
were large in size, had long stems, and were
as dry as tinder.  Ken lighted one, and it
made a flaming hot torch.  It did not take
him long to scorch all the ticks near that camp.

The boys had supper and enjoyed it hugely.
The scene went well with the camp-fire and
game-dinner.  They gazed out over the
foaming pool, the brawling rapids, to the
tufted palm-trees, and above them the
dark-blue mountain.  At dusk Hal and George
were so tired they went to bed and at once
dropped into slumber.  Pepe sat smoking
before the slumbering fire.

And Ken chose that quiet hour to begin
the map of the river, and to set down in his
note-book his observations on the mountains
and in the valley, and what he had seen that
day of bird, animal, and plant life in the
jungle.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`RUNNING THE RAPIDS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   VII


.. class:: center medium bold

   RUNNING THE RAPIDS

.. vspace:: 2

Some time in the night a yell awakened
Ken.  He sat up, clutching his revolver.
The white moonlight made all as clear as
day.  Hal lay deep in slumber.  George was
raising himself, half aroused.  But Pepe was gone.

Ken heard a thrashing about outside.
Leaping up he ran out, and was frightened to
see Pepe beating and clawing and tearing
at himself like a man possessed of demons.

"Pepe, what's wrong?" shouted Ken.

It seemed that Pepe only grew more violent
in his wrestling about.  Then Ken was sure
Pepe had been stung by a scorpion or bitten by
a snake.

But he was dumfounded to see George
bound like an apparition out of the tent and
begin evolutions that made Pepe's look slow.

"Hey, what's wrong with you jumping-jacks?"
yelled Ken.

George was as grimly silent as an Indian
running the gantlet, but Ken thought it
doubtful if any Indian ever slapped and tore
at his body in George's frantic manner.  To
add to the mystery Hal suddenly popped out
of the tent.  He was yelling in a way to do
justice to the name Ken had lately given him,
and, as for wild and whirling antics, his were
simply marvelous.

"Good land!" ejaculated Ken.  Had the
boys all gone mad?  Despite his alarm, Ken
had to roar with laughter at those three
dancing figures in the moonlight.  A rush of
ideas went through Ken's confused mind.
And the last prompted him to look in the tent.

He saw a wide bar of black crossing the
moonlit ground, the grass, and the blankets.
This bar moved.  It was alive.  Bending
low Ken descried that it was made by ants.
An army of jungle ants on a march!  They
had come in a straight line along the base of
the little hill and their passageway led under
the canvas.  Pepe happened to be the first
in line, and they had surged over him.  As
he had awakened, and jumped up of course,
the ants had begun to bite.  The same in
turn happened to George and then Hal.

Ken was immensely relieved, and had his
laugh out.  The stream of ants moved steadily
and quite rapidly, and soon passed from
sight.  By this time Pepe and the boys had
threshed themselves free of ants and into
some degree of composure.

"Say, you nightmare fellows!  Come back
to bed," said Ken.  "Any one would think
something had really happened to you."

Pepe snorted, which made Ken think the
native understood something of English.  And
the boys grumbled loudly.

"Ants!  Ants as big as wasps!  They bit
worse than helgramites," declared Hal.  "Oh,
they missed you.  You always are lucky.
I'm not afraid of all the old jaguars in this
jungle.  But I can't stand biting, crawling
bugs.  I wish you hadn't made me come on
this darn trip."

"Ha!  Ha!" laughed Ken.

"Just wait, Hal," put in George, grimly.
"Just wait.  It's coming to him!"

The boys slept well the remainder of the
night and, owing to the break in their rest,
did not awaken early.  The sun shone hot
when Ken rolled out; a creamy mist was
dissolving over the curve of the mountain-range;
parrots were screeching in the near-by trees.

After breakfast Ken set about packing the
boat as it had been done the day before.

"I think we'll do well to leave the trunk
in the boat after this, unless we find a place
where we want to make a permanent camp
for a while," said Ken.

Before departing he carefully looked over
the ground to see that nothing was left, and
espied a heavy fish-line which George had
baited, set, and forgotten.

"Hey, George, pull up your trot-line.
It looks pretty much stretched to me.  Maybe
you've got a fish."

Ken happened to be busy at the boat when
George started to take in the line.  An
exclamation from Pepe, George's yell, and a loud
splash made Ken jump up in double-quick
time.  Hal also came running.

George was staggering on the bank, leaning
back hard on the heavy line.  A long, angry
swirl in the pool told of a powerful fish.
It was likely to pull George in.

"Let go the line!" yelled Ken.

But George was not letting go of any
fish-lines.  He yelled for Pepe, and went down
on his knees before Pepe got to him.  Both
then pulled on the line.  The fish, or
whatever it was at the other end, gave a mighty
jerk that almost dragged the two off the bank.

"Play him, play him!" shouted Ken.
"You've got plenty of line.  Give him some."

Hal now added his weight and strength,
and the three of them, unmindful of Ken's
advice, hauled back with might and main.
The line parted and they sprawled on the
grass.

"What a sockdologer!" exclaimed Hal.

"I had that hook baited with a big piece
of duck meat," said George.  "We must have
been hooked to a crocodile.  Things are
happening to us."

"Yes, so I've noticed," replied Ken, dryly.
"But if you fellows hadn't pulled so hard you
might have landed that thing, whatever it
was.  All aboard now.  We must be on the
move--we don't know what we have before us."

When they got into the boat Ken took the
oars, much to Pepe's surprise.  It was
necessary to explain to him that Ken would handle
the boat in swift water.  They shoved off,
and Ken sent one regretful glance up the river,
at the shady aisle between the green banks, at
the white rapids, and the great colored dome
of the mountain.  He almost hesitated, for
he desired to see more of that jungle-covered
mountain.  But something already warned
Ken to lose no time in the trip down the Santa
Rosa.  There did not seem to be any reason
for hurry, yet he felt it necessary.  But he
asked Pepe many questions and kept George
busy interpreting names of trees and flowers
and wild creatures.

Going down-stream on any river, mostly,
would have been pleasure, but drifting on the
swift current of the Santa Rosa and rowing
under the wonderful moss-bearded cypresses
was almost like a dream.  It was too beautiful
to seem real.  The smooth stretch before
the first rapid was short, however, and then
all Ken's attention had to be given to the
handling of the boat.  He saw that George
and Pepe both expected to get out and wade
down the rapids as they had waded up.
He had a surprise in store for them.  The
rapids that he could not shoot would have to
be pretty bad.

"You're getting close," shouted George,
warningly.

With two sweeps of the oars Ken turned
the boat stern first down-stream, then dipped
on the low green incline, and sailed down
toward the waves.  They struck the first wave
with a shock, and the water flew all over the
boys.  Pepe was tremendously excited; he
yelled and made wild motions with his hands;
George looked a little frightened.  Hal
enjoyed it.  Whatever the rapid appeared to
them, it was magnificent to Ken; and it was
play to manage the boat in such water.  A
little pull on one oar and then on the other
kept the stern straight down-stream.  The
channel he could make out a long way ahead.
He amused himself by watching George and
Pepe.  There were stones in the channel,
and the water rose angrily about them.  A
glance was enough to tell that he could float
over these without striking.  But the boys
thought they were going to hit every stone,
and were uneasy all the time.  Twice he had
to work to pass ledges and sunken trees upon
which the current bore down hard.  When
Ken neared one of these he dipped the oars
and pulled back to stop or lessen the
momentum; then a stroke turned the boat half
broadside to the current.  That would force
it to one side, and another stroke would turn
the boat straight.  At the bottom of this
rapid they encountered a long triangle of
choppy waves that they bumped and splashed
over.  They came through with nothing wet
but the raised flap of canvas in the stern.

Pepe regarded Ken with admiring eyes,
and called him *grande mozo*.

"Shooting rapids is great sport," proclaimed
George.

They drifted through several little rifts,
and then stopped at the head of the narrow
chute that had been such a stumbling-block
on the way up.  Looked at from above, this
long, narrow channel, with several S curves,
was a fascinating bit of water for a canoeist.
It tempted Ken to shoot it even with the boat.
But he remembered the four-foot waves at
the bottom, and besides he resented the
importunity of the spirit of daring so early in
the game.  Risk, and perhaps peril, would
come soon enough.  So he decided to walk
along the shore and float the boat through
with a rope.

The thing looked a good deal easier than it
turned out to be.  Half-way through, at the
narrowest point and most abrupt curve,
Pepe misunderstood directions and pulled
hard on the bow-rope, when he should have
let it slack.

The boat swung in, nearly smashing Ken
against the bank, and the sweeping current
began to swell dangerously near the gunwale.

"Let go!  Let go!" yelled Ken.  "George,
make him let go!"

But George, who was trying to get the rope
out of Pepe's muscular hands, suddenly made
a dive for his rifle.

"Deer! deer!" he cried, hurriedly throwing
a shell into the chamber.  He shot downstream,
and Ken, looking that way, saw several
deer under the firs on a rocky flat.  George
shot three more times, and the bullets went
"spinging" into the trees.  The deer bounded
out of sight.

When Ken turned again, water was roaring
into the boat.  He was being pressed harder
into the bank, and he saw disaster ahead.

"Loosen the rope--tell him, George," yelled Ken.

Pepe only pulled the harder.

"Quick, or we're ruined," cried Ken.

George shouted in Spanish, and Pepe
promptly dropped the rope in the water.
That was the worst thing he could have done.

"Grab the rope!" ordered Ken, wildly.
"Grab the bow!  Don't let it swing out!  Hal!"

Before either boy could reach it the bow
swung out into the current.  Ken was not
only helpless, but in a dangerous position.
He struggled to get out from where the
swinging stern was wedging him into the bank,
but could not budge.  Fearing that all the
outfit would be lost in the river, he held
on to the boat and called for some one to
catch the rope.

George pushed Pepe head first into the swift
current.  Pepe came up, caught the rope,
and then went under again.  The boat swung
round and, now half full of water, got away
from Ken.  It gathered headway.  Ken leaped
out on the ledge and ran along with the boat.
It careened round the bad curve and shot
down-stream.  Pepe was still under water.

"He's drowned!  He's drowned!" cried George.

Hal took a header right off the ledge, came
up, and swam with a few sharp strokes to the
drifting boat.  He gained the bow, grasped it,
and then pulled on the rope.

Ken had a sickening feeling that Pepe might
be drowned.  Suddenly Pepe appeared like
a brown porpoise.  He was touching bottom
in places and holding back on the rope.
Then the current rolled him over and over.
The boat drifted back of a rocky point into
shallow water.  Hal gave a haul that helped
to swing it out of the dangerous current.
Then Pepe came up, and he, too, pulled hard.
Just as Ken plunged in the boat sank in two
feet of water.  Ken's grip, containing camera,
films, and other perishable goods, was on top,
and he got it just in time.  He threw it out
on the rocks.  Then together the boys lifted
the boat and hauled the bow well up on the
shore.

"Pretty lucky!" exclaimed Ken, as he
flopped down.

"Doggone it!" yelled Hal, suddenly.  And
he dove for the boat, and splashed round
in the water under his seat, to bring forth a
very limp and drenched little racoon.

"Good! he's all right," said Ken.

Pepe said "Mucho malo," and pointed
to his shins, which bore several large bumps
from contact with the rocks in the channel.

"I should say mucha malo," growled George.

He jerked open his grip, and, throwing out
articles of wet clothing--for which he had no
concern--he gazed in dismay at his whole
store of cigarettes wet by the water.

"So that's all you care for," said Ken,
severely.  "Young man, I'll have something
to say to you presently.  All hands now to
unpack the boat."

Fortunately nothing had been carried away.
That part of the supplies which would have
been affected by water was packed in tin cases,
and so suffered no damage.  The ammunition
was waterproof.  Ken's Parker hammerless
and his 351 automatic rifle were full of water,
and so were George's guns and Hal's.  While
they took their weapons apart, wiped them,
and laid them in the sun, Pepe spread out the
rest of the things and then baled out the boat.
The sun was so hot that everything dried
quickly and was not any the worse for the
wetting.  The boys lost scarcely an hour by
the accident.  Before the start Ken took
George and Pepe to task, and when he finished
they were both very sober and quiet.

Ken observed, however, that by the time
they had run the next rapid they were
enjoying themselves again.  Then came a long
succession of rapids which Ken shot without
anything approaching a mishap.  When they
drifted into the level stretch Pepe relieved
him at the oars.  They glided down-stream
under the drooping bamboo, under the silken
streamers of silvery moss, under the dark, cool
bowers of matted vine and blossoming creepers.
And as they passed this time the jungle
silence awoke to the crack of George's .22
and the discordant cry of river fowl.  Ken's
guns were both at hand, and the rifle was
loaded, but he did not use either.  He
contented himself with snapping a picture here
and there and watching the bamboo thickets
and the mouths of the little dry ravines.

That ride was again so interesting, so full
of sound and action and color, that it seemed
a very short one.  The murmur of the water
on the rocks told Ken that it was time to
change seats with Pepe.  They drifted down
two short rapids, and then came to the gravelly
channels between the islands noted on the
way up.  The water was shallow down these
rippling channels; and, fearing they might
strike a stone, Ken tumbled out over the bow
and, wading slowly, let the boat down to
still water again.  He was about to get in
when he espied what he thought was an
alligator lying along a log near the river.
He pointed it out to Pepe.

That worthy yelled gleefully in Mexican,
and reached for his *machete*.

"Iguana!" exclaimed George.  "I've heard
it's good to eat."

The reptile had a body about four feet long
and a very long tail.  Its color was a steely
blue-black on top, and it had a blunt, rounded
head.

Pepe slipped out of the boat and began
to wade ashore.  When the iguana raised
itself on short, stumpy legs George shot at
it, and missed, as usual.  But he effectually
frightened the reptile, which started to climb
the bank with much nimbleness.  Pepe began
to run, brandishing his long *machete*.  George
plunged into the water in hot pursuit, and then
Hal yielded to the call of the chase.  Pepe
reached the iguana before it got up the bank,
aimed a mighty blow with his *machete*, and
would surely have cut the reptile in two
pieces if the blade had not caught on an
overhanging branch.  Then Pepe fell up the bank
and barely grasped the tail of the iguana.  Pepe
hauled back, and Pepe was powerful.  The
frantic creature dug its feet in the clay-bank
and held on for dear life.  But Pepe was too
strong.  He jerked the iguana down and
flung it square upon George, who had begun
to climb the bank.

George uttered an awful yell, as if he
expected to be torn asunder, and rolled down,
with the reptile on top of him.  Ken saw
that it was as badly frightened as George.
But Hal did not see this.  And he happened
to have gained a little sand-bar below the
bank, in which direction the iguana started
with wonderful celerity.  Then Hal made a
jump that Ken believed was a record.

Remarkably awkward as that iguana was,
he could surely cover ground with his stumpy
legs.  Again he dashed up the bank.  Pepe got
close enough once more, and again he swung
the *machete*.  The blow cut off a piece of the
long tail, but the only effect this produced
was to make the iguana run all the faster.
It disappeared over the bank, with Pepe
scrambling close behind.  Then followed a
tremendous crashing in the dry thickets,
after which the iguana could be heard
rattling and tearing away through the jungle.
Pepe returned to the boat with the
crestfallen boys, and he was much concerned over
the failure to catch the big lizard, which he
said made fine eating.

"What next?" asked George, ruefully, and
at that the boys all laughed.

"The fun is we don't have any idea what's
coming off," said Hal.

"Boys, if you brave hunters had thought
to throw a little salt on that lizard's tail you
might have caught him," added Ken.

Presently Pepe espied another iguana in
the forks of a tree, and he rowed ashore.
This lizard was only a small one, not over two
feet in length, but he created some
excitement among the boys.  George wanted him
to eat, and Hal wanted the skin for a
specimen, and Ken wanted to see what the
lizard looked like close at hand.  So they all
clamored for Pepe to use caution and to be
quick.

When Pepe started up the tree the iguana
came down on the other side, quick as a
squirrel.  Then they had a race round the
trunk until Pepe ended it with a well-directed
blow from his *machete*.

Hal began to skin the iguana.

"Ken, I'm going to have trouble preserving
specimens in this hot place," he said.

"Salt and alum will do the trick.  Remember
what old Hiram used to say," replied Ken.

Shortly after that the boat passed the scene
of the first camp, and then drifted under the
railroad bridge.

Hal and George, and Pepe too, looked as if
they were occupied with the same thought
troubling Ken--that once beyond the bridge
they would plunge into the jungle wilderness
from which there could be no turning back.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FIRST TIGER-CAT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   VIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FIRST TIGER-CAT

.. vspace:: 2

The Santa Rosa opened out wide, and ran
swiftly over smooth rock.  Deep cracks, a
foot or so wide, crossed the river diagonally,
and fish darted in and out.

The boys had about half a mile of this,
when, after turning a hilly bend, they entered
a long rapid.  It was a wonderful stretch
of river to look down.

"By George!" said Ken, as he stood up to
survey it.  "This is great!"

"It's all right *now*," added George, with
his peculiar implication as to the future.

"What gets me is the feeling of what
might be round the next bend," said Hal.

This indeed, Ken thought, made the
fascination of such travel.  The water was
swift and smooth and shallow.  There was
scarcely a wave or ripple.  At times the boat
stuck fast on the flat rock, and the boys would
have to get out to shove off.  As far ahead as
Ken could see extended this wide slant of
water.  On the left rose a thick line of huge
cypresses all festooned with gray moss that
drooped to the water; on the right rose a bare
bluff of crumbling rock.  It looked like blue
clay baked and cracked by the sun.  A few
palms fringed the top.

"Say, we can beat this," said Ken, as for
the twentieth time the boys had to step out
and shove off a flat, shallow place.  "Two of
you in the bow and Pepe with me in the stern,
feet overboard."

The little channels ran every way, making
it necessary often to turn the boat.  Ken's
idea was to drift along and keep the boat
from grounding by an occasional kick.

"Ken manages to think of something once
in a while," observed Hal.

Then the boat drifted down-stream, whirling
round and round.  Here Pepe would drop
his brown foot in and kick his end clear of a
shallow ledge; there George would make a
great splash when his turn came to ward off
from a rock; and again Hal would give a
greater kick than was necessary to the
righting of the boat.  Probably Hal was much
influenced by the fact that when he kicked
hard he destroyed the lazy equilibrium of
his companions.

It dawned upon Ken that here was a new
and unique way to travel down a river.  It
was different from anything he had ever tried
before.  The water was swift and seldom
more than a foot deep, except in diagonal
cracks that ribbed the river-bed.  This long,
shut-in stretch appeared to be endless.  But
for the quick, gliding movement of the boat,
which made a little breeze, the heat would
have been intolerable.  When one of Hal's
kicks made Ken lurch overboard to sit down
ludicrously, the cool water sent thrills over
him.  Instead of retaliating on Hal, he was
glad to be wet.  And the others, soon
discovering the reason for Ken's remarkable
good-nature, went overboard and lay flat in
the cool ripples.  Then little clouds of steam
began to rise from their soaked clothes.

Ken began to have an idea that he had been
wise in boiling the water which they drank.
They all suffered from a parching thirst.
Pepe scooped up water in his hand; George
did likewise, and then Hal.

"You've all got to stop that," ordered Ken,
sharply.  "No drinking this water unless it's
boiled."

The boys obeyed, for the hour, but they
soon forgot, or deliberately allayed their
thirst despite Ken's command.  Ken himself
found his thirst unbearable.  He squeezed
the juice of a wild lime into a cup of water
and drank that.  Then he insisted on giving
the boys doses of quinine and anti-malaria
pills, which treatment he meant to continue
daily.

Toward the lower part of that rapid, where
the water grew deeper, fish began to be so
numerous that the boys kicked at many as
they darted under the boat.  There were
thousands of small fish and some large ones.
Occasionally, as a big fellow lunged for a
crack in the rock, he would make the water
roar.  There was a fish that resembled a mullet,
and another that Hal said was some kind of
bass with a blue tail.  Pepe chopped at them
with his *machete*; George whacked with an
oar; Hal stood up in the boat and shot at
them with his .22 rifle.

"Say, I've got to see what that blue-tailed
bass looks like," said Ken.  "You fellows
will never get one."

Whereupon Ken jointed up a small rod
and, putting on a spinner, began to cast it
about.  He felt two light fish hit it.  Then
came a heavy shock that momentarily checked
the boat.  The water foamed as the line cut
through, and Ken was just about to jump off
the boat to wade and follow the fish, when
it broke the leader.

"That was a fine exhibition," remarked the
critical Hal.

"What's the matter with you?" retorted
Ken, who was sensitive as to his fishing
abilities.  "It was a big fish.  He broke
things."

"Haven't you got a reel on that rod and
fifty yards of line?" queried Hal.

Ken did not have another spinner, and he
tried an artificial minnow, but could not get
a strike on it.  He took Hal's gun and shot
at several of the blue-tailed fish, but though
he made them jump out of the water like
a real northern black-bass, it was all of no
avail.

Then Hal caught one with a swoop of the
landing net.  It was a beautiful fish, and it
did have a blue tail.  Pepe could not name
it, nor could Ken classify it, so Hal was sure
he had secured a rare specimen.

When the boat drifted round a bend to
enter another long, wide, shallow rapid, the
boys demurred a little at the sameness of
things.  The bare blue bluffs persisted, and
the line of gray-veiled cypresses and the
strange formation of stream-bed.  Five more
miles of drifting under the glaring sun made
George and Hal lie back in the boat, under
an improvised sun-shade.  The ride was novel
and strange to Ken Ward, and did not pall
upon him, though he suffered from the heat
and glare.  He sat on the bow, occasionally
kicking the boat off a rock.

All at once a tense whisper from Pepe
brought Ken round with a jerk.  Pepe was
pointing down along the right-hand shore.
George heard, and, raising himself, called
excitedly: "Buck!  buck!"

Ken saw a fine deer leap back from the water
and start to climb the side of a gully that
indented the bluff.  Snatching up the .351
rifle, he shoved in the safety catch.  The
distance was far--perhaps two hundred yards--but
without elevating the sights he let
drive.  A cloud of dust puffed up under the
nose of the climbing deer.

"Wow!" yelled George, and Pepe began to
jabber.  Hal sprang up, nearly falling
overboard, and he shouted: "Give it to him, Ken!"

The deer bounded up a steep, winding trail,
his white flag standing, his reddish coat
glistening.  Ken fired again.  The bullet sent
up a white puff of dust, this time nearer still.
That shot gave Ken the range, and he pulled
the automatic again--and again.  Each bullet
hit closer.  The boys were now holding their
breath, watching, waiting.  Ken aimed a little
firmer and finer at the space ahead of the
deer--for in that instant he remembered
what the old hunter on Penetier had told
him--and he pulled the trigger twice.

The buck plunged down, slipped off the
trail, and, raising a cloud of dust, rolled over
and over.  Then it fell sheer into space,
and whirled down to strike the rock with a
sodden crash.

It was Ken's first shooting on this trip,
and he could not help adding a cry of exultation
to the yells of his admiring comrades.

"Guess you didn't plug him!" exclaimed
Hal Ward, with flashing eyes.

Wading, the boys pulled the boat ashore.
Pepe pronounced the buck to be very large,
but to Ken, remembering the deer in Coconino
Forest, it appeared small.  If there was an
unbroken bone left in that deer, Ken greatly
missed his guess.  He and Pepe cut out the
haunch least crushed by the fail.

"There's no need to carry along more
meat than we can use," said George.  "It
spoils overnight.  That's the worst of this
jungle, I've heard hunters say."

Hal screwed up his face in the manner he
affected when he tried to imitate old Hiram
Bent.  "Wal, youngster, I reckon I'm right
an' down proud of thet shootin'.  You air
comin' along."

Ken was as pleased as Hal, but he replied,
soberly: "Well, kid, I hope I can hold as
straight as that when we run up against a jaguar."

"Do you think we'll see one?" asked Hal.

"Just you wait!" exclaimed George, replying
for Ken.  "Pepe says we'll have to sleep
in the boat, and anchor the boat in the
middle of the river."

"What for?"

"To keep those big yellow tigers from
eating us up."

"How nice!" replied Hal, with a rather
forced laugh.

So, talking and laughing, the boys resumed
their down-stream journey.  Ken, who was
always watching with sharp eyes, saw buzzards
appear, as if by magic.  Before the boat was
half a mile down the river buzzards were
circling over the remains of the deer.  These
birds of prey did not fly from the jungle on
either side of the stream.  They sailed,
dropped down from the clear blue sky where
they had been invisible.  How wonderful
that was to Ken!  Nature had endowed these
vulture-like birds with wonderful scent or
instinct or sight, or all combined.  But Ken
believed that it was power of sight which
brought the buzzards so quickly to the scene
of the killing.  He watched them circling,
sweeping down till a curve in the river hid
them from view.

And with this bend came a welcome change.
The bluff played out in a rocky slope below
which the green jungle was relief to aching
eyes.  As the boys made this point, the
evening breeze began to blow.  They beached
the boat and unloaded to make camp.

"We haven't had any work to-day, but
we're all tired just the same," observed Ken.

"The heat makes a fellow tired," said George.

They were fortunate in finding a grassy
plot where there appeared to be but few
ticks and other creeping things.  That evening
it was a little surprise to Ken to realize
how sensitive he had begun to feel about
these jungle vermin.

Pepe went up the bank for fire-wood.  Ken
heard him slashing away with his *machete*.
Then this sound ceased, and Pepe yelled in
fright.  Ken and George caught up guns as
they bounded into the thicket; Hal started
to follow, likewise armed.  Ken led the way
through a thorny brake to come suddenly
upon Pepe.  At the same instant Ken
caught a glimpse of gray, black-striped forms
slipping away in the jungle.  Pepe shouted
out something.

"Tiger-cats!" exclaimed George.

Ken held up his finger to enjoin silence.
With that he stole cautiously forward, the
others noiselessly at his heels.  The thicket
was lined with well-beaten trails, and by
following these and stooping low it was
possible to go ahead without rustling the
brush.  Owing to the gathering twilight Ken
could not see very far.  When he stopped to
listen he heard the faint crackling of dead
brush and soft, quick steps.  He had not
proceeded far when pattering footsteps halted
him.  Ken dropped to his knee.  The boys
knelt behind him, and Pepe whispered.
Peering along the trail Ken saw what he took for
a wildcat.  Its boldness amazed him.  Surely
it had heard him, but instead of bounding
into the thicket it crouched not more than
twenty-five feet away.  Ken took a quick
shot at the gray huddled form.  It jerked,
stretched out, and lay still.  Then a crashing
in the brush, and gray streaks down the trail
told Ken of more game.

"There they go.  Peg away at them," called Ken.

George and Hal burned a good deal of
powder and sent much lead whistling through
the dry branches, but the gray forms vanished
in the jungle.

"We got one, anyway," said Ken.

He advanced to find his quarry quite dead.
It was bigger than any wildcat Ken had
ever seen.  The color was a grayish yellow,
almost white, lined and spotted with black.
Ken lifted it and found it heavy enough to
make a good load.

"He's a beauty," said Hal.

"Pepe says it's a tiger-cat," remarked
George.  "There are two or three kinds
besides the big tiger.  We may run into a
lot of them and get some skins."

It was almost dark when they reached
camp.  While Pepe and Hal skinned the
tiger-cat and stretched the pelt over a framework
of sticks the other boys got supper.  They
were all very hungry and tired, and pleased
with the events of the day.  As they sat
round the camp-fire there was a constant
whirring of water-fowl over their heads and
an incessant hum of insects from the jungle.

"Ken, does it feel as wild to you here as on
Buckskin Mountain?" asked Hal.

"Oh yes, much wilder, Hal," replied his
brother.  "And it's different, somehow.  Out
in Arizona there was always the glorious
expectancy of to-morrow's fun or sport.  Here
I have a kind of worry--a feeling--"

But he concluded it wiser to keep to himself
that strange feeling of dread which came
over him at odd moments.

"It suits me," said Hal.  "I want to get
a lot of things and keep them alive.  Of course,
I want specimens.  I'd like some skins for
my den, too.  But I don't care so much
about killing things."

"Just wait!" retorted George, who evidently
took Hal's remark as a reflection upon his
weakness.  "Just wait!  You'll be shooting
pretty soon for your life."

"Now, George, what do you mean by
that?" questioned Ken, determined to pin
George down to facts.  "You said you didn't
really know anything about this jungle.
Why are you always predicting disaster for us?"

"Why?  Because I've heard things about
the jungle," retorted George.  "And Pepe
says wait till we get down off the mountain.
He doesn't *know* anything, either.  But it's
his instinct--Pepe's half Indian.  So I say,
too, wait till we get down in the jungle!"

"Confound you!  Where are we now?" queried Ken.

"The real jungle is the lowland.  There
we'll find the tigers and the crocodiles and the
wild cattle and wild pigs."

"Bring on your old pigs and things," replied Hal.

But Ken looked into the glowing embers
of the camp-fire and was silent.  When he
got out his note-book and began his drawing,
he forgot the worry and dread in the interest
of his task.  He was astonished at his memory,
to see how he could remember every turn in
the river and yet not lose his sense of
direction.  He could tell almost perfectly the
distance traveled, because he knew so well just
how much a boat would cover in swift or
slow waters in a given time.  He thought he
could give a fairly correct estimate of the
drop of the river.  And, as for descriptions
of the jungle life along the shores, that was a
delight, all except trying to understand and
remember and spell the names given to him
by Pepe.  Ken imagined Pepe spoke a mixture
of Toltec, Aztec, Indian, Spanish, and English.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN THE WHITE WATER`:

.. class:: center large bold

   IX


.. class:: center medium bold

   IN THE WHITE WATER

.. vspace:: 2

Upon awakening next morning Ken found
the sun an hour high.  He was stiff and
sore and thirsty.  Pepe and the boys slept
so soundly it seemed selfish to wake them.

All around camp there was a melodious
concourse of birds.  But the parrots did not
make a visit that morning.  While Ken was
washing in the river a troop of deer came down
to the bar on the opposite side.  Ken ran for
his rifle, and by mistake took up George's
.32.  He had a splendid shot at less than one
hundred yards.  But the bullet dropped
fifteen feet in front of the leading buck.  The
deer ran into the deep, bushy willows.

"That gun's leaded," muttered Ken.  "It
didn't shoot where I aimed."

Pepe jumped up; George rolled out of his
blanket with one eye still glued shut; and
Hal stretched and yawned and groaned.

"Do I have to get up?" he asked.

"Shore, lad," said Ken, mimicking Jim Williams,
"or I'll hev to be reconsiderin' that idee
of mine about you bein' pards with me."

Such mention of Hal's ranger friend brought
the boy out of his lazy bed with amusing
alacrity.

"Rustle breakfast, now, you fellows," said
Ken, and, taking his rifle, he started off to
climb the high river bluff.

It was his idea to establish firmly in mind
the trend of the mountain-range, and the
relation of the river to it.  The difficulty
in mapping the river would come after it
left the mountains to wind away into the
wide lowlands.  The matter of climbing the
bluff would have been easy but for the fact
that he wished to avoid contact with grass,
brush, trees, even dead branches, as all were
covered with ticks.  The upper half of the
bluff was bare, and when he reached that part
he soon surmounted it.  Ken faced south
with something of eagerness.  Fortunately
the mist had dissolved under the warm rays
of the sun, affording an unobstructed view.
That scene was wild and haunting, yet
different from what his fancy had pictured.  The
great expanse of jungle was gray, the green
line of cypress, palm, and bamboo following
the southward course of the river.  The
mountain-range some ten miles distant sloped
to the south and faded away in the haze.
The river disappeared in rich dark verdure,
and but for it, which afforded a water-road
back to civilization, Ken would have been
lost in a dense gray-green overgrowth of
tropical wilderness.  Once or twice he thought
he caught the faint roar of a waterfall on the
morning breeze, yet could not be sure, and he
returned toward camp with a sober appreciation
of the difficulty of his enterprise
and a more thrilling sense of its hazard and
charm.

"Didn't see anything to peg at, eh?"
greeted Hal.  "Well, get your teeth in some
of this venison before it's all gone."

Soon they were under way again, Pepe
strong and willing at the oars.  This time
Ken had his rifle and shotgun close at hand,
ready for use.  Half a mile below, the river,
running still and deep, entered a shaded
waterway so narrow that in places the branches
of wide-spreading and leaning cypresses met
and intertwined their moss-fringed foliage.
This lane was a paradise for birds, that ranged
from huge speckled cranes, six feet high, to
little yellow birds almost too small to see.

Black squirrels were numerous and very
tame.  In fact, all the creatures along this
shaded stream were so fearless that it was
easy to see they had never heard a shot.
Ken awoke sleepy cranes with his fishing-rod
and once pushed a blue heron off a log.
He heard animals of some species running
back from the bank, out could not see them.
All at once a soft breeze coming up-stream
bore a deep roar of tumbling rapids.  The
sensation of dread which had bothered Ken
occasionally now returned and fixed itself in
his mind.  He was in the jungle of Mexico,
and knew not what lay ahead of him.  But if
he had been in the wilds of unexplored
Brazil and had heard that roar, it would have
been familiar to him.  In his canoe experience
on the swift streams of Pennsylvania Ken Ward
had learned, long before he came to rapids,
to judge what they were from the sound.
His attention wandered from the beautiful
birds, the moss-shaded bowers, and the
overhanging jungle.  He listened to the heavy,
sullen roar of the rapids.

"That water sounds different," remarked George.

"Grande," said Pepe, with a smile.

"Pretty heavy, Ken, eh?" asked Hal,
looking quickly at his brother.

But Ken Ward made his face a mask, and
betrayed nothing of the grim nature of his
thought.  Pepe and the boys had little idea
of danger, and they had now a blind faith in Ken.

"I dare say we'll get used to that roar,"
replied Ken, easily, and he began to pack his
guns away in their cases.

Hal forgot his momentary anxiety; Pepe
rowed on, leisurely; and George lounged in his
seat.  There was no menace for them in that
dull, continuous roar.

But Ken knew they would soon be in fast
water and before long would drop down into
the real wilderness.  It was not now too late
to go back up the river, but soon that would
be impossible.  Keeping a sharp lookout
ahead, Ken revolved in mind the necessity
for caution and skilful handling of the boat.
But he realized, too, that overzealousness on
the side of caution was a worse thing for such
a trip than sheer recklessness.  Good
judgment in looking over rapids, a quick eye to
pick the best channel, then a daring spirit--that
was the ideal to be striven for in going
down swift rivers.

Presently Ken saw a break in the level
surface of the water.  He took Pepe's place
at the oars, and, as usual, turned the boat
stern first down-stream.  The banks were low
and shelved out in rocky points.  This
relieved Ken, for he saw that he could land just
above the falls.  What he feared was a
narrow gorge impossible to portage round or go
through.  As the boat approached the break
the roar seemed to divide itself, hollow and
shallow near at hand, rushing and heavy
farther on.

Ken rowed close to the bank and landed on
the first strip of rock.  He got out and,
walking along this ledge, soon reached the fall.
It was a straight drop of some twelve or fifteen
feet.  The water was shallow all the way across.

"Boys, this is easy," said Ken.  "We'll
pack the outfit round the fall, and slide the
boat over."

But Ken did not say anything about the
white water extending below the fall as far
as he could see.  From here came the sullen
roar that had worried him.

Portaging the supplies around that place
turned out to be far from easy.  The portage
was not long nor rugged, but the cracked,
water-worn, rock made going very difficult.
The boys often stumbled.  Pepe fell and
broke open a box, and almost broke his leg.
Ken had a hard knock.  Then, when it came
to carrying the trunk, one at each corner,
progress was laborious and annoying.  Full
two hours were lost in transporting the
outfit around the fall.

Below there was a wide, shelving apron,
over which the water ran a foot or so in depth.
Ken stationed Pepe and the boys there, and
went up to get the boat.  He waded out with
it.  Ken saw that his end of this business was
going to be simple enough, but he had doubts
as to what would happen to the boys.

"Brace yourselves, now," he yelled.  "When
I drop her over she'll come a-humming.
Hang on if she drags you a mile!"

Wading out deeper Ken let the boat swing
down with the current till the stern projected
over the fall.  He had trouble in keeping
his footing, for the rock was slippery.  Then
with a yell he ran the stern far out over the
drop, bore down hard on the bow, and
shoved off.

The boat shot out and down, to alight with
a heavy souse.  Then it leaped into the swift
current.  George got his hands on it first,
and went down like a ninepin.  The boat
floated over him.  The bow struck Hal, and
would have dragged him away had not Pepe
laid powerful hands on the stern.  They waded
to the lower ledge.

"Didn't ship a bucketful," said Hal.
"Fine work, Ken."

"I got all the water," added the drenched
and dripping George.

"Bail out, boys, and repack, while I look
below," said Ken.

He went down-stream a little way to take
a survey of the rapids.  If those rapids had
been back in Pennsylvania, Ken felt that he
could have gone at them in delight.  If the
jungle country had been such that damage to
boat or supplies could have been remedied or
replaced, these rapids would not have appeared
so bad.  Ken walked up and down looking
over the long white inclines more than was
wise, and he hesitated about going into them.
But it had to be done.  So he went back to
the boys.  Then he took the oars with
gripping fingers.

"George, can you swim?" he asked.

"I'm a second cousin to a fish," replied
George.

"All right.  We're off.  Now, if we upset,
hang to the boat, if you can, and hold up
your legs.  George, tell Pepe."

Ken backed the boat out from the shore.
To his right in the middle of the narrow river
was a racy current that he kept out of as long
as possible.  But presently he was drawn
into it, and the boat shot forward, headed
into the first incline, and went racing smoothly
down toward the white waves of the rapids.

This was a trying moment for Ken.  Grip
as hard as he might, the oar-handles slipped
in his sweaty hands.

The boys were yelling, but Ken could not
hear for the din of roaring waters.  The boat
sailed down with swift, gliding motion.  When
it thumped into the back-lash of the first
big waves the water threshed around and over
the boys.  Then they were in the thick of
rush and roar.  Ken knew he was not
handling the boat well.  It grazed stones that
should have been easy to avoid, and bumped
on hidden ones, and got half broadside to
the current.  Pepe, by quick action with an
oar, pushed the stern aside from collision with
more than one rock.  Several times Ken
missed a stroke when a powerful one was
needed.  He passed between stones so close
together that he had to ship the oars.  It was
all rapid water, this stretch, but the bad
places, with sunken rocks, falls, and big waves,
were strung out at such distances apart that
Ken had time to get the boat going right
before entering them.

Ken saw scarcely anything of the banks
of the river.  They blurred in his sight.
Sometimes they were near, sometimes far.
The boat turned corners where rocky ledges
pointed out, constricting the stream and
making a curved channel.  What lay around the
curve was always a question and a cause for
suspense.  Often the boat raced down a
chute and straight toward a rocky wall.
Ken would pull back with all his might, and
Pepe would break the shock by striking the
wall with his oar.

More than once Pepe had a narrow escape
from being knocked overboard.  George tried
to keep him from standing up.  Finally at
the end of a long rapid, Pepe, who had the
stern-seat, jumped up and yelled.  Ken saw
a stone directly in the path of the boat, and
he pulled back on the oars with a quick,
strong jerk.  Pepe shot out of the stern as
if he had been flung from a catapult.  He
swam with the current while the boat drifted.
He reached smooth water and the shore
before Ken could pick him up.

It was fun for everybody but Ken.  There
were three inches of water in the boat.  The
canvas, however, had been arranged to
protect guns, grips, and supplies.  George had
been wet before he entered the rapids, so a
little additional water did not matter to him.
Hal was almost as wet as Pepe.

"I'm glad that's past," said Ken.

With that long rapid behind him he felt
different.  It was what he had needed.  His
nervousness disappeared and he had no dread
of the next fall.  While the boys bailed out
the boat Ken rested and thought.  He had
made mistakes in that rapid just passed.
Luck had favored him.  He went over the
mistakes and saw where he had been wrong,
and how he could have avoided them if he
had felt right.  Ken realized now that this
was a daredevil trip.  And the daredevil
in him had been shut up in dread.  It took
just that nervous dread, and the hard work,
blunders and accidents, the danger and luck,
to liberate the spirit that would make the
trip a success.  Pepe and George were loud
in their praises of Ken.  But they did not
appreciate the real hazard of the undertaking,
and if Hal did he was too much of a wild
boy to care.

"All aboard," called George.

Then they were on their way again.  Ken
found himself listening for rapids.  It was no
surprise to hear a dull roar round the next
bend.  His hair rose stiffly under his hat.
But this time he did not feel the chill, the
uncertainty, the lack of confidence that had
before weakened him.

At the head of a long, shallow incline the
boys tumbled overboard, Ken and Hal at
the bow, Pepe and George at the stern.
They waded with the bow up-stream.  The
water tore around their legs, rising higher
and higher.  Soon Pepe and George had to
climb in the boat, for the water became so
deep and swift they could not wade.

"Jump in, Hal," called Ken.

Then he held to the bow an instant longer,
wading a little farther down.  This was
ticklish business, and all depended upon
Ken.  He got the stern of the boat straight
in line with the channel he wanted to run,
then he leaped aboard and made for the oars.
The boat sped down.  At the bottom of this
incline was a mass of leaping green and white
waves.  The blunt stern of the boat made a
great splash and the water flew over the boys.
They came through the roar and hiss and spray
to glide into a mill-race current.

"Never saw such swift water!" exclaimed Ken.

This incline ended in a sullen plunge
between two huge rocks.  Ken saw the danger
long before it became evident to his
companions.  There was no other way to shoot the
rapid.  He could not reach the shore.  He
must pass between the rocks.  Ken pushed
on one oar, then on the other, till he got the
boat in line, and then he pushed with both
oars.  The boat flew down that incline.  It
went so swiftly that if it had hit one of the
rocks it would have been smashed to kindling
wood.  Hal crouched low.  George's face was
white.  And Pepe leaned forward with his big
arms outstretched, ready to try to prevent a
collision.

Down! down with the speed of the wind!
The boat flashed between the black stones.
Then it was raised aloft, light as a feather, to
crash into the back-lashers.  The din deafened
Ken; the spray blinded him.  The boat seemed
to split a white pall of water, then, with many
a bounce, drifted out of that rapid into little
choppy waves, and from them into another
long, smooth runway.

Ken rested, and had nothing to say.  Pepe
shook his black head.  Hal looked at his
brother.  George had forgotten his rifle.  No
one spoke.

Soon Ken had more work on hand.  For
round another corner lay more fast water.
The boat dipped on a low fall, and went down
into the midst of green waves with here and
there ugly rocks splitting the current.  The
stream-bed was continually new and strange
to Ken, and he had never seen such queer
formation of rocks.  This rapid, however, was
easy to navigate.  A slanting channel of swift
water connected it with another rapid.  Ken
backed into that one, passed through, only
to face another.  And so it went for a long
succession of shallow rapids.

A turn in the winding lane of cypresses
revealed walls of gray, between which the
river disappeared.

"Aha!" muttered Ken.

"Ken, I'll bet this is the place you've been
looking for," said Hal.

The absence of any roar of water
emboldened Ken.  Nearing the head of the
ravine, he stood upon the seat and looked
ahead.  But Ken could not see many rods
ahead.  The ravine turned, and it was the
deceiving turns in the river that he had
feared.  What a strange sensation Ken had
when he backed the boat into the mouth of
that gorge!  He was forced against his will.
Yet there seemed to be a kind of blood-tingling
pleasure in the prospect.

The current caught the boat and drew
it between the gray-green walls of rock.

"It's coming to us," said the doubtful George.

The current ran all of six miles an hour.
This was not half as fast as the boys had
traveled in rapids, but it appeared swift
enough because of the nearness of the
overshadowing walls.  In the shade the water
took on a different coloring.  It was brown
and oily.  It slid along silently.  It was
deep, and the swirling current suggested
power.  Here and there long, creeping ferns
covered the steep stone sides, and above ran
a stream of blue sky fringed by leaning palms.
Once Hal put his hands to his lips and yelled:
"Hel-lo!"  The yell seemed to rip the silence
and began to clap from wall to wall.  It
gathered quickness until it clapped in one
fiendish rattle.  Then it wound away from
the passage, growing fainter and fainter, and
at last died in a hollow echo.

"Don't do that again," ordered Ken.

He began to wish he could see the end of
that gorge.  But it grew narrower, and the
shade changed to twilight, and there were
no long, straight stretches.  The river kept
turning corners.  Quick to note the slightest
change in conditions, Ken felt a breeze,
merely a zephyr, fan his hot face.  The
current had almost imperceptibly quickened.
Yet it was still silent.  Then on the gentle
wind came a low murmur.  Ken's pulse
beat fast.  Turning his ear down-stream, he
strained his hearing.  The low murmur ceased.
Perhaps he had imagined it.  Still he kept
listening.  There!  Again it came, low, far
away, strange.  It might have been the wind
in the palms.  But no, he could not possibly
persuade himself it was wind.  And as that
faint breeze stopped he lost the sound once
more.  The river was silent, and the boat,
and the boys--it was a silent ride.  Ken
divined that his companions were enraptured.
But this ride had no beauty, no charm for him.

There!  Another faint puff of wind, and
again the low murmur!  He fancied it was
louder.  He was beginning to feel an icy
dread when all was still once more.  So the
boat drifted swiftly on with never a gurgle
of water about her gunwales.  The river
gleamed in brown shadows.  Ken saw bubbles
rise and break on the surface, and there
was a slight rise or swell of the water toward
the center of the channel.  This bothered him.
He could not understand it.  But then there
had been many other queer formations of
rock and freaks of current along this river.

The boat glided on and turned another
corner, the sharpest one yet.  A long, shadowy
water-lane, walled in to the very sides, opened
up to Ken's keen gaze.  The water here
began to race onward, still wonderfully silent.
And now the breeze carried a low roar.  It
was changeable yet persistent.  It deepened.

Once more Ken felt his hair rise under
his hat.  Cold sweat wet his skin.  Despite
the pounding of his heart and the throb of
his veins, his blood seemed to clog, to freeze,
to stand still.

That roar was the roar of rapids.  Impossible
to go back!  If there had been four
sets of oars, Ken and his comrades could not
row the heavy boat back up that swift,
sliding river.

They must go on.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`LOST!`:

.. class:: center large bold

   X


.. class:: center medium bold

   LOST!

.. vspace:: 2

"Ken, old man, do you hear that?"
questioned Hal, waking from his trance.

George likewise rose out of his lazy
contentment.  "Must be rapids," he muttered.
"If we strike rapids in this gorge it's all day
with us.  What did I tell you!"

Pepe's dark, searching eyes rested on Ken.

But Ken had no word for any of them.
He was fighting an icy numbness, and the
weakness of muscle and the whirl of his
mind.  It was thought of responsibility that
saved him from collapse.

"It's up to you, old man," said Hal, quietly.

In a moment like this the boy could not
wholly be deceived.

Ken got a grip upon himself.  He looked
down the long, narrow lane of glancing water.
Some hundred yards on, it made another turn
round a corner, and from this dim curve came
the roar.  The current was hurrying the boat
toward it, but not fast enough to suit Ken.
He wanted to see the worst, to get into the
thick of it, to overcome it.  So he helped the
boat along.  A few moments sufficed to cover
that gliding stretch of river, yet to Ken it
seemed never to have an end.  The roar
steadily increased.  The current became still
stronger.  Ken saw eruptions of water rising
as from an explosion beneath the surface.
Whirlpools raced along with the boat.  The
dim, high walls re-echoed the roaring of the
water.

The first thing Ken saw when he sailed
round that corner was a widening of the chasm
and bright sunlight ahead.  Perhaps an eighth
of a mile below the steep walls ended abruptly.
Next in quick glance he saw a narrow channel
of leaping, tossing, curling white-crested waves
under sunlighted mist and spray.

Pulling powerfully back and to the left
Ken brought the boat alongside the cliff.
Then he shipped his oars.

"Hold hard," he yelled, and he grasped the
stone.  The boys complied, and thus stopped
the boat.  Ken stood up on the seat.  It was
a bad place he looked down into, but he could
not see any rocks.  And rocks were what he
feared most.

"Hold tight, boys," he said.  Then he
got Pepe to come to him and sit on the seat.
Ken stepped up on Pepe's shoulders and, by
holding to the rock, was able to get a good
view of the rapid.  It was not a rapid at all,
but a constriction of the channel, and also a
steep slant.  The water rushed down so swiftly
to get through that it swelled in the center
in a long frothy ridge of waves.  The water
was deep.  Ken could not see any bumps or
splits or white-wreathed rocks, such as were
conspicuous in a rapid.  The peril here for
Ken was to let the boat hit the wall or turn
broadside or get out of that long swelling
ridge.

He stepped down and turned to the white-faced
boys.  He had to yell close to them to
make them hear him in the roar.

"I--can--run--this--place.  But--you've
got--to help.  Pull--the canvas--up higher
in the stern--and hold it."

Then he directed Pepe to kneel in the
bow of the boat with an oar and be ready to
push off from the walls.

If Ken had looked again or hesitated a
moment he would have lost his nerve.  He
recognized that fact.  And he shoved off
instantly.  Once the boat had begun to
glide down, gathering momentum, he felt
his teeth grind hard and his muscles grow
tense.  He had to bend his head from side to
side to see beyond the canvas George and Hal
were holding round their shoulders.  He
believed with that acting as a buffer in the stern
he could go pounding through those waves.
Then he was in the middle of the channel,
and the boat fairly sailed along.  Ken kept
his oars poised, ready to drop either one for
a stroke.  All he wanted was to enter those
foaming, tumultuous waves with his boat
pointed right.  He knew he could not hope
to see anything low down after he entered
the race.  He calculated that the last instant
would give him an opportunity to get his
direction in line with some object.

Then, even as he planned it, the boat dipped
on a beautiful glassy incline, and glided down
toward the engulfing, roaring waves.  Above
them, just in the center, Ken caught sight of
the tufted top of a palm-tree.  That was his
landmark!

The boat shot into a great, curling,
back-lashing wave.  There was a heavy shock, a
pause, and then Ken felt himself lifted high,
while a huge sheet of water rose fan-shape
behind the buffer in the stern.  Walls and
sky and tree faded under a watery curtain.
Then the boat shot on again; the light came,
the sky shone, and Ken saw his palm-tree.
He pulled hard on the right oar to get the
stern back in line.  Another heavy shock,
a pause, a blinding shower of water, and then
the downward rush!  Ken got a fleeting
glimpse of his guiding mark, and sunk the left
oar deep for a strong stroke.  The beating
of the waves upon the upraised oars almost
threw him out of the boat.  The wrestling
waters hissed and bellowed.  Down the boat
shot and up, to pound and pound, and then
again shoot down.  Through the pall of mist
and spray Ken always got a glimpse, quick as
lightning, of the palm-tree, and like a demon
he plunged in his oars to keep the boat in
line.  He was only dimly conscious of the
awfulness of the place.  But he was not
afraid.  He felt his action as being inspirited
by something grim and determined.  He was
fighting the river.

All at once a grating jar behind told him
the bow had hit a stone or a wall.  He did
not dare look back.  The most fleeting
instant of time might be the one for him to
see his guiding mark.  Then the boat lurched
under him, lifted high with bow up, and
lightened.  He knew Pepe had been pitched
overboard.

In spite of the horror of the moment, Ken
realized that the lightening of the boat made
it more buoyant, easier to handle.  That
weight in the bow had given him an
unbalanced craft.  But now one stroke here and
one there kept the stern straight.  The
palm-tree loomed higher and closer through the
brightening mist.  Ken no longer felt the
presence of the walls.  The thunderous roar
had begun to lose some of its volume.
Then with a crash through a lashing wave
the boat raced out into the open light.  Ken
saw a beautiful foam-covered pool, down
toward which the boat kept bumping over a
succession of diminishing waves.

He gave a start of joy to see Pepe's black
head bobbing in the choppy channel.  Pepe
had beat the boat to the outlet.  He was
swimming easily, and evidently he had not
been injured.

Ken turned the bow toward him.  But
Pepe did not need any help, and a few more
strokes put him in shallow water.  Ken
discovered that the boat, once out of the current,
was exceedingly loggy and hard to row.  It
was half full of water.  Ken's remaining
strength went to pull ashore, and there he
staggered out and dropped on the rocky bank.

The blue sky was very beautiful and sweet
to look at just then.  But Ken had to close
his eyes.  He did not have strength left to
keep them open.  For a while all seemed dim
and obscure to him.  Then he felt a dizziness,
which in turn succeeded to a racing riot of
his nerves and veins.  His heart gradually
resumed a normal beat, and his bursting
lungs seemed to heal.  A sickening languor
lay upon him.  He could not hold little stones
which he felt under his fingers.  He could
not raise his hands.  The life appeared to
have gone from his legs.

All this passed, at length, and, hearing Hal's
voice, Ken sat up.  The outfit was drying
in the sun; Pepe was bailing out the boat;
George was wiping his guns; and Hal was
nursing a very disheveled little racoon.

"You can bring on any old thing now, for
all I care," said Hal.  "I'd shoot Lachine
Rapids with Ken at the oars."

"He's a fine boatman," replied George.
"Weren't you scared when we were in the
middle of that darned place?"

"Me?  Naw!"

"Well, I was scared, and don't you forget
it," said Ken to them.

"You were all in, Ken," replied Hal.
"Never saw you so tuckered out.  The day
you and Prince went after the cougar along
that cañon precipice--you were all in that
time.  George, it took Ken six hours to
climb out of that hole."

"Tell me about it," said George, all eyes.

"No stories now," put in Ken.  "The
sun is still high.  We've got to be on our
way.  Let's look over the lay of the land."

Below the pool was a bold, rocky bluff,
round which the river split.  What branch
to take was a matter of doubt and anxiety
to Ken.  Evidently this bluff was an island.
It had a yellow front and long bare ledges
leading into the river.

Ken climbed the bluff, accompanied by the
boys, and found it covered with palm-trees.
Up there everything was so dry and hot
that it did not seem to be jungle at all.  Even
the palms were yellow and parched.  Pepe
stood the heat, but the others could not
endure it.  Ken took one long look at the
surrounding country, so wild and dry and still,
and then led the way down the loose, dusty
shelves.

Thereupon he surveyed the right branch
of the river and followed it a little distance.
The stream here foamed and swirled among
jagged rocks.  At the foot of this rapid
stretched the first dead water Ken had
encountered for miles.  A flock of wild geese
rose from under his feet and flew down-stream.

"Geese!" exclaimed Ken.  "I wonder if
that means we are getting down near lagoons
or big waters.  George, wild geese don't
frequent little streams, do they?"

"There's no telling where you'll find them
in this country," answered George.  "I've
chased them right in our orange groves."

They returned to look at the left branch
of the river.  It was open and one continuous
succession of low steps.  That would have
decided Ken even if the greater volume of
water had not gone down on this left side.
As far as he could see was a wide, open river
running over little ledges.  It looked to be
the easiest and swiftest navigation he had
come upon, and so indeed it proved.  The
water was swift, and always dropped over
some ledge in a rounded fall that was safe
for him to shoot.  It was great fun going
over these places.  The boys hung their
feet over the gunwales most of the time,
sliding them along the slippery ledge or giving
a kick to help the momentum.  When they
came to a fall, Ken would drop off the bow,
hold the boat back and swing it straight,
then jump in, and over it would go--souse!

There were so many of these ledges, and
they were so close together, that going over
them grew to be a habit.  It induced
carelessness.  The boat drifted to a brow of a fall
full four feet high.  Ken, who was at the bow.
leaped off just in time to save the boat.  He
held on while the swift water surged about
his knees.  He yelled for the boys to jump.
As the stern where they sat was already over
the fall it was somewhat difficult to make the
boys vacate quickly enough.

"Tumble out!  Quick!" bawled Ken.  "Do
you think I'm Samson?"

Over they went, up to their necks in the
boiling foam, and not a second too soon, for
Ken could hold the boat no longer.  It went
over smoothly, just dipping the stern under
water.  If the boys had remained aboard,
the boat would have swamped.  As it was,
Pepe managed to catch the rope, which Ken
had wisely thrown out, and he drifted down
to the next ledge.  Ken found this nearly as
high as the last one.  So he sent the boys
below to catch the boat.  This worked all
right.  The shelves slanted slightly, with the
shallow part of the water just at the break of
the ledge.  They passed half a dozen of these,
making good time, and before they knew it were
again in a deep, smooth jungle lane with
bamboo and streamers of moss waving over them.

The shade was cool, and Ken settled down
in the stern-seat, grateful for a rest.  To his
surprise, he did not see a bird.  The jungle
was asleep.  Once or twice Ken fancied he
heard the tinkle and gurgle of water running
over rocks.  The boat glided along silently,
with Pepe rowing leisurely, George asleep,
Hal dreaming.

Ken watched the beautiful green banks.
They were high, a mass of big-leafed vines,
flowering and fragrant, above which towered
the jungle giants.  Ken wanted to get out
and study those forest trees.  But he made
no effort to act upon his good intentions, and
felt that he must take the most of his forestry
study at long range.  He was reveling in the
cool recesses under the leaning cypresses, in
the soft swish of bearded moss, and the
strange rustle of palms, in the dreamy hum
of the resting jungle, when his pleasure was
brought to an abrupt end.

"Santa Maria!" yelled Pepe.

George woke up with a start.  Hal had
been jarred out of his day-dream, and looked
resentful.  Ken gazed about him with the
feeling of a man going into a trance, instead
of coming out of one.

The boat was fast on a mud-bank.  That
branch of the river ended right there.  The
boys had come all those miles to run into a
blind pocket.

Ken's glance at the high yellow bank,
here crumbling and bare, told him there was
no outlet.  He had a sensation of blank dismay.

"Gee!" exclaimed Hal, softly.

George rubbed his eyes; and, searching for
a cigarette, he muttered: "We're lost!  I said
it was coming to us.  We've got to go back!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AN ARMY OF SNAKES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XI


.. class:: center medium bold

   AN ARMY OF SNAKES

.. vspace:: 2

For a moment Ken Ward was utterly
crushed under the weight of this sudden
blow.  It was so sudden that he had no time
to think; or his mind was clamped on the
idea of attempting to haul the boat up that
long, insurmountable series of falls.

"It 'll be an awful job," burst out Hal.

No doubt in the mind of each boy was the
same idea--the long haul, wading over
slippery rocks; the weariness of pushing legs
against the swift current; the packing of
supplies uphill; and then the toil of lifting the
heavy boat up over a fall.

"Mucho malo," said Pepe, and he groaned.
That was significant, coming from a *mozo*,
who thought nothing of rowing forty miles
in a day.

"Oh, but it's tough luck," cried Ken.
"Why didn't I choose the right branch of this
pesky river?"

"I think you used your head at that,"
said Hal.  "Most of the water came down
on this side.  Where did it go?"

Hal had hit the vital question, and it
cleared Ken's brain.

"Hal, you're talking sense.  Where did
that water go?  It couldn't all have sunk into
the earth.  We'll find out.  We won't try
to go back.  We *can't* go back."

Pepe shoved off the oozy mud, and, reluctantly,
as if he appreciated the dilemma, he
turned the boat and rowed along the shore.
As soon as Ken had recovered somewhat he
decided there must be an outlet which he had
missed.  This reminded him that at a point
not far back he had heard the tinkle and gurgle
of unseen water flowing over rocks.

He directed Pepe to row slowly along the
bank that he thought was the island side.
As they glided under the drooping bamboos
and silky curtains of moss George began to
call out: "Low bridge!  Low bridge!"  For a
boy who was forever voicing ill-omened
suggestions as to what might soon happen he
was extraordinarily cheerful.

There were places where all had to lie
flat and others where Pepe had to use his
*machete*.  This disturbed the *siesta* of many
aquatic birds, most of which flew swiftly
away.  But there were many of the
gray-breasted, blue-backed bitterns that did not
take to flight.  These croaked dismally, and
looked down upon the boys with strange,
protruding eyes.

"Those darn birds 'll give me the willies,"
declared Hal.  "George, you just look like
them when you croak about what's coming
to us."

"Just wait!" retorted George.  "It 'll come,
all right.  Then I'll have the fun of seeing
you scared silly."

"What!  You'll not do anything of the
kind!" cried Hal, hotly.  "I've been in places
where such--such a skinny little sap-head as
you--"

"Here, you kids stop wrangling," ordered
Ken, who sensed hostilities in the air.  "We've
got trouble enough."

Suddenly Ken signaled Pepe to stop rowing.

"Boys, I hear running water.  Aha!  Here's
a current.  See--it's making right under this
bank."

Before them was a high wall of broad-leaved
vines, so thick that nothing could be
seen through them.  Apparently this
luxuriant canopy concealed the bank.  Pepe poked
an oar into it, but found nothing solid.

"Pepe, cut a way through.  We've got
to see where this water runs."

It was then that Ken came to a full appreciation
of a *machete*.  He had often fancied
it a much less serviceable tool than an ax.
Pepe flashed the long, bright blade up, down,
and around, and presently the boat was its
own length in a green tunnel.  Pepe kept on
slashing while Ken poled the boat in and the
other boys dumped the cut foliage overboard.
Soon they got through this mass of hanging
vine and creeper.  Much to Ken's surprise
and delight, he found no high bank, but low,
flat ground, densely wooded, through which
ran a narrow, deep outlet of the river.

"By all that's lucky!" ejaculated Ken.

George and Hal whooped their pleasure,
and Pepe rubbed his muscular hands.  Then
all fell silent.  The deep, penetrating silence
of that jungle was not provocative of speech.
The shade was so black that when a ray of
sunlight did manage to pierce the dense
canopy overhead it resembled a brilliant
golden spear.  A few lofty palms and a few
clumps of bamboo rather emphasized the
lack of these particular species in this forest.
Nor was there any of the familiar streaming
moss hanging from the trees.  This glen was
green, cool, dark.  It did not smell exactly
swampy, but rank, like a place where many
water plants were growing.

.. _`KEN SHOT TWICE AT THE HEAD OF THE SNAKE`:

.. figure:: images/img-130.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: KEN SHOT TWICE AT THE HEAD OF THE SNAKE

   KEN SHOT TWICE AT THE HEAD OF THE SNAKE

The outlet was so narrow that Ken was not
able to use the oars.  Still, as the current
was swift, the boat went along rapidly.  He
saw a light ahead and heard the babble of
water.  The current quickened, and the boat
drifted suddenly upon the edge of an oval
glade, where the hot sun beat down.  A
series of abrupt mossy benches, over which
the stream slid almost noiselessly, blocked
further progress.

The first thing about this glade that Ken
noted particularly, after the difficulties
presented by the steep steps, was the multitude
of snakes sunning themselves along the line
of further progress.

"Boys, it 'll be great wading down there,
hey?" he queried.

Pepe grumbled for the first time on the
trip.  Ken gathered from the native's looks
and speech that he did not like snakes.

"Watch me peg 'em!" yelled Hal, and he
began to throw stones with remarkable
accuracy.  "Hike, you brown sons-of-guns!"

George, not to be outdone, made a dive
for his .22 and began to pop as if he had no
love for snakes.  Ken had doubts about this
species.  The snakes were short, thick, dull
brown in color, and the way they slipped
into the stream proved they were
water-snakes.  Ken had never read of a brown
water-moccasin, so he doubted that these belonged
to that poisonous family.  Anyway, snakes
were the least of his troubles.

"Boys, you're doing fine," he said.  "There
are about a thousand snakes there, and you've
hit about six."

He walked down through the glade into the
forest, and was overjoyed to hear once more
the heavy roar of rapids.  He went on.  The
timber grew thinner, and light penetrated the
jungle.  Presently he saw the gleam of water
through the trees.  Then he hurried back.

"All right, boys," he shouted.  "Here's
the river."

The boys were so immensely relieved that
packing the outfit round the waterfalls was
work they set about with alacrity.  Ken,
who had on his boots, broke a trail through
the ferns and deep moss.  Pepe, being barefoot,
wasted time looking for snakes.  George
teased him.  But Pepe was deadly serious.
And the way he stepped and looked made
Ken thoughtful.  He had made his last trip
with supplies, and was about to start back
to solve the problem of getting the boat
down, when a hoarse yell resounded through
the sleeping jungle.  Parrots screeched, and
other birds set up a cackling.

Ken bounded up the slope.

"Santa Maria!" cried Pepe.

Ken followed the direction indicated by
Pepe's staring eyes and trembling finger.
Hanging from a limb of a tree was a huge
black-snake.  It was as thick as Ken's leg.
The branch upon which it poised its neck
so gracefully was ten feet high, and the tail
curled into the ferns on the ground.

"Boys, it's one of the big fellows," cried Ken.

"Didn't I tell you!" yelled George, running
down for his gun.

Hal seemed rooted to the spot.  Pepe
began to jabber.  Ken watched the snake,
and felt instinctively from its sinister looks
that it was dangerous.  George came running
back with his .32 and waved it in the air as
he shot.  He was so frightened that he
forgot to aim.  Ken took the rifle from him.

"You can't hit him with this.  Run after
your shotgun.  Quick!"

But the sixteen-gage was clogged with a
shell that would not eject.  Ken's guns were
in their cases.

"Holy smoke!" cried George.  "He's coming down."

The black-snake moved his body and began
to slide toward the tree-trunk.

Ken shot twice at the head of the snake.
It was a slow-swaying mark hard to hit.
The reptile stopped and poised wonderfully
on the limb.  He was not coiled about it,
but lay over it with about four feet of neck
waving, swaying to and fro.  He watched
the boys, and his tongue, like a thin, black
streak, darted out viciously.

Ken could not hit the head, so he sent a
bullet through the thick part of the body.
Swift as a gleam the snake darted from the limb.

"Santa Maria!" yelled Pepe, and he ran off.

"Look out, boys," shouted Ken.  He
picked up Pepe's *machete* and took to his
heels.  George and Hal scrambled before him.
They ran a hundred yards or more, and Ken
halted in an open rocky spot.  He was angry,
and a little ashamed that he had run.  The
snake did not pursue, and probably was as
badly frightened as the boys had been.  Pepe
stopped some distance away, and Hal and
George came cautiously back.

"I don't see anything of him," said Ken.
"I'm going back."

He walked slowly, keeping a sharp outlook,
and, returning to the glade, found blood-stains
under the tree.  The snake had disappeared
without leaving a trail.

"If I'd had my shotgun ready!" exclaimed
Ken, in disgust.  And he made a note that in
the future he would be prepared to shoot.

"Wasn't he a whopper, Ken?" said Hal.
"We ought to have got his hide.  What a
fine specimen!"

"Boys, you drive away those few little
snakes while I figure on a way to get the boat
down."

"Not on your life!" replied Hal.

George ably sustained Hal's objection.

"Mucho malo," said Pepe, and then added
a loud "No" in English.

"All right, my brave comrades," rejoined
Ken, scornfully.  "As I've not done any work
yet or taken any risks, I'll drive the snakes
away."

With Pepe's *machete* he cut a long forked
pole, trimmed it, and, armed with this weapon,
he assaulted the rolls and bands and balls
of brown snakes.  He stalked boldly down
upon them, pushed and poled, and even
kicked them off the mossy banks.  Hal
could not stand that, and presently he got
a pole and went to Ken's assistance.

"Who's hollering now?" he yelled to George.

Whereupon George cut a long branch and
joined the battle.  They whacked and threshed
and pounded, keeping time with yells.
Everywhere along the wet benches slipped and
splashed the snakes.  But after they were
driven into the water they did not swim away.
They dove under the banks and then stretched
out their pointed heads from the dripping
edge of moss.

"Say, fellows, we're making it worse for
us," declared Ken.  "See, the brown devils
won't swim off.  We'd better have left them
on the bank.  Let's catch one and see if he'll
bite."

He tried to pick up one on his pole, but
it slipped off.  George fished after another.
Hal put the end of his stick down inside the
coil of still another and pitched it.  The
brown, wriggling, wet snake shot straight at
the unsuspecting George, and struck him and
momentarily wound about him.

"Augrrh!" bawled George, flinging off the
reptile and leaping back.  "What 'd you do
that for?  I'll punch you!"

"George, he didn't mean it," said Ken.
"It was an accident.  Come on, let's tease
that fellow and see if he'll bite."

The snake coiled and raised his flat head
and darted a wicked tongue out and watched
with bright, beady eyes, but he did not
strike.  Ken went as close as he thought
safe and studied the snake.

"Boys, his head isn't a triangle, and there
are no little pits under his eyes.  Those are
two signs of a poisonous snake.  I don't
believe this fellow's one."

"He'll be a dead snake, b' gosh," replied
George, and he fell to pounding it with his
pole.

"Don't smash him.  I want the skin,"
yelled Hal.

Ken pondered on the situation before him.

"Come, the sooner we get at this the better,"
he said.

There was a succession of benches through
which the stream zigzagged and tumbled.
These benches were rock ledges over which
moss had grown fully a foot thick, and they
were so oozy and slippery that it was no easy
task to walk upon them.  Then they were
steep, so steep that it was remarkable how
the water ran over them so smoothly, with
very little noise or break.  It was altogether
a new kind of waterfall to Ken.  But if the
snakes had not been hidden there, navigation
would have presented an easier problem.

"Come on boys, alongside now, and hold
back," he ordered, gripping the bow.

Exactly what happened the next few seconds
was not clear in his mind.  There was a rush,
and all were being dragged by the boat.
The glade seemed to whizz past.  There were
some sodden thumps, a great splashing, a check--and
lo! they were over several benches.  It
was the quickest and easiest descent he had
ever made down a steep waterfall.

"Fine!" ejaculated George, wiping the ooze
from his face.

"Yes, it was fine," Ken replied.  "But
unless this boat has wings something 'll
happen soon."

Below was a long, swift curve of water,
very narrow and steep, with a moss-covered
rock dividing the lower end.  Ken imagined
if there was a repetition of the first descent
the boat would be smashed on that rock.
He ordered Pepe, who was of course the strongest,
to go below and jump to the rock.  There
he might prevent a collision.

Pepe obeyed, but as he went he yelled and
doubled up in contortions as he leaped over
snakes in the moss.

Then gently, gingerly the boys started the
boat off the bench, where it had lodged.
George was at the stern, Ken and Hal at the
bow.  Suddenly Hal shrieked and jumped
straight up, to land in the boat.

"Snakes!" he howled.

"Give us a rest!" cried Ken, in disgust.

The boat moved as if instinct with life.
It dipped, then--*wheeze!* it dove over the
bench.  Hal was thrown off his feet, fell
back on the gunwale, and thence into the
snaky moss.  George went sprawling face
downward into the slimy ooze, and Ken was
jerked clear off the bench into the stream.
He got his footing and stood firm in water to
his waist, and he had the bow-rope coiled
round his hands.

"Help!  Help!" he yelled, as he felt the
dragging weight too much for him.

If Ken retarded the progress of the boat at
all, it was not much.  George saw his distress
and the danger menacing the boat, and he
leaped valiantly forward.  As he dashed down
a slippery slant his feet flew up higher than
where his head had been; he actually turned
over in the air, and fell with a great sop.

Hal had been trying to reach Ken, but
here he stopped and roared with laughter.

Despite Ken's anger and fear of snakes,
and his greater fear for the boat, he likewise
had to let out a peal of laughter.  That
tumble of George's was great.  Then Ken's
footing gave way and he went down.  His
mouth filled with nasty water, nearly
strangling him.  He was almost blinded, too.  His
arms seemed to be wrenched out of their
sockets, and he felt himself bumping over
moss-covered rocks as soft as cushions.  Slimy
ropes or roots of vegetation, that felt like
snakes, brushed his face and made him cold
and sick.  It was impossible to hold the boat
any longer.  He lodged against a stone, and
the swift water forced him upon it.  Blinking
and coughing, he stuck fast.

Ken saw the boat headed like a dart for
the rock where Pepe stood.

"Let 'er go!" yelled Ken.  "Don't try to
stop her.  Pepe, you'll be smashed!"

Pepe acted like a man determined to make
up for past cowardice.  He made a great show
of brave intentions.  He was not afraid of a
boat.  He braced himself and reached out
with his brawny arms.  Ken feared for the
obstinate native's life, for the boat moved
with remarkable velocity.

At the last second Pepe's courage vanished.
He turned tail to get out of the way.  But
he slipped.  The boat shot toward him and
the blunt stern struck him with a dull thud.
Pepe sailed into the air, over the rock, and
went down cleaving the water.

The boat slipped over the stone as easily
as if it had been a wave and, gliding into still
water below, lodged on the bank.

Ken crawled out of the stream, and when
he ascertained that no one was injured he
stretched himself on the ground and gave up
to mirth.  Pepe resembled a drowned rat;
Hal was an object to wonder at; and George,
in his coating of slime and with strings of
moss in his hair, was the funniest thing Ken
had ever seen.  It was somewhat of a
surprise to him to discover, presently, that the
boys were convulsed with fiendish glee over
the way he himself looked.

By and by they recovered, and, with many
a merry jest and chuckle of satisfaction, they
repacked the boat and proceeded on their
way.  No further obstacle hindered them.
They drifted out of the shady jungle into the
sunlit river.

In half a mile of drifting the heat of the
sun dried the boys' clothes.  The water was
so hot that it fairly steamed.  Once more the
boat entered a placid aisle over which the
magnificent gray-wreathed cypresses bowed,
and the west wind waved long ribbons of
moss, and wild fowl winged reluctant flight.

Ken took advantage of this tranquil stretch
of river to work on his map.  He realized that
he must use every spare moment and put
down his drawings and notes as often as time
and travel permitted.  It had dawned on
Ken that rapids and snakes, and all the
dangers along the river, made his task of
observation and study one apt to be put into
eclipse at times.  Once or twice he landed
on shore to climb a bluff, and was pleased
each time to see that he had lined a
comparatively true course on his map.  He had
doubts of its absolute accuracy, yet he could
not help having pride in his work.  So far
so good, he thought, and hoped for
good-fortune farther down the river.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CATCHING STRANGE FISH`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XII


.. class:: center medium bold

   CATCHING STRANGE FISH

.. vspace:: 2

Beyond a bend in the river the boys
came upon an island with a narrow,
shaded channel on one side, a wide shoal on
the other, and a group of huge cypresses at
the up-stream end.

"Looks good to me," said Hal.

The instant Ken saw the island he knew it
was the place he had long been seeking to
make a permanent camp for a few days.
They landed, to find an ideal camping site.
The ground under the cypresses was flat,
dry, and covered with short grass.  Not a ray
of sunlight penetrated the foliage.  A pile
of driftwood had lodged against one of the
trees, and this made easy the question of
fire-wood.

"Great!" exclaimed Ken.  "Come on, let's
look over the ground."

The island was about two hundred yards
long, and the lower end was hidden by a
growth of willows.  Bursting through this,
the boys saw a weedy flat leading into a wide,
shallow back-eddy.  Great numbers of ducks
were sporting and feeding.  The stones of
the rocky shore were lined with sleeping ducks.
Herons of all colors and sizes waded about,
or slept on one leg.  Snipe ran everywhere.
There was a great squawking and flapping of
wings.  But at least half the number of
waterfowl were too tame or too lazy to fly.

Ken returned to camp with his comrades,
all highly elated over the prospects.  The
best feature about this beautiful island was
the absence of ticks and snakes.

"Boys, this is the place," said Ken.  "We'll
hang up here for a while.  Maybe we won't
strike another such nice place to stay."

So they unloaded the boat, taking everything
out, and proceeded to pitch a camp
that was a delight.  They were all loud in
expressions of satisfaction.  Then Pepe set
about leisurely peeling potatoes; George took
his gun and slipped off toward the lower end
of the island; Hal made a pen for his racoon,
and then more pens, as if he meant to capture
a menagerie; and Ken made a comfortable
lounging-bed under a cypress.  He wanted
to forget that nagging worry as to farther
descent of the river, and to enjoy this place.

"Bang!" went George's sixteen-gage.  A
loud whirring of wings followed, and the air
was full of ducks.

"Never touched one!" yelled Hal, in taunting voice.

A flock of teal skimmed the water and
disappeared up-stream.  The shot awakened
parrots in the trees, where for a while there
was clamor.  Ken saw George wade out
into the shoal and pick up three ducks.

"Pot-shot!" exclaimed Hal, disgustedly.
"Why couldn't he be a sport and shoot them
on the fly?"

George crossed to the opposite shore and,
climbing a bare place, stood looking before him.

"Hey, George, don't go far," called Ken.

"Fine place over here," replied George,
and, waving his hand, he passed into the
bushes out of sight.

Ken lay back upon his blanket with a
blissful sense of rest and contentment.  Many
a time he had lain so, looking up through the
broad leaves of a sycamore or the lacy foliage
of a birch or the delicate crisscross of
millions of pine needles.  This overhead canopy,
however, was different.  Only here and there
could he catch little slivers of blue sky.  The
graceful streamers of exquisite moss hung
like tassels of silver.  In the dead stillness
of noonday they seemed to float curved in the
shape in which the last soft breeze had left
them.  High upon a branch he saw a
red-headed parrot hanging back downward, after
the fashion of a monkey.  Then there were
two parrots asleep in the fork of a branch.
It was the middle of the day, and all things
seemed tired and sleepy.  The deep channel
murmured drowsily, and the wide expanse
of river on the other side lapped lazily at the
shore.  The only other sound was the
mourning of turtle-doves, one near and another far
away.  Again the full richness, the mellow
sweetness of this song struck Ken forcibly.
He remembered that all the way down the
river he had heard that mournful note.  It
was beautiful but melancholy.  Somehow it
made him think that it had broken the dreamy
stillness of the jungle noonday long, long ago.
It was sweet but sad and old.  He did not
like to hear it.

Ken yielded to the soothing influence of
the hour and fell asleep.  When he awoke
there was George, standing partially undressed
and very soberly popping ticks.  He had
enlisted the services of Pepe, and, to judge from
the remarks of both, they needed still more
assistance.

"Say, Garrapato George, many ticks over there?"

"Ticks!" shouted George, wildly, waving
his cigarette.  "Millions of 'em!  And
there's--ouch!  Kill that one, Pepe.  Wow! he's
as big as a penny.  There's game over there.
It's a flat with some kind of berry bush.
There's lots of trails.  I saw cat-tracks, and I
scared up wild turkeys--"

"Turkeys!" Ken exclaimed, eagerly.

"You bet.  I saw a dozen.  How they can
run!  I didn't flush them.  Then I saw a
flock of those black and white ducks, like the
big fellow I shot.  They were feeding.  I
believe they're Muscovy ducks."

"I'm sure I don't know, but we can call
them that."

"Well, I'd got a shot, too, but I saw some
gray things sneaking in the bushes.  I thought
they were pigs, so I got out of there quick."

"You mean javelin?"

"Yep, I mean wild pigs.  Oh!  We've struck
the place for game.  I'll bet it's coming to us."

When George anticipated pleasurable events
he was the most happy of companions.  It
was good to look forward.  He was
continually expecting things to happen; he was
always looking ahead with great eagerness.
But unfortunately he had a twist of mind
toward the unfavorable side of events, and
so always had the boys fearful.

"Well, pigs or no pigs, ticks or no ticks,
we'll hunt and fish, and see all there is to
see," declared Ken, and he went back to his
lounging.

When he came out of that lazy spell,
George and Hal were fishing.  George had
Ken's rod, and it happened to be the one
Ken thought most of.

"Do you know how to fish?" he asked.

"I've caught tarpon bigger'n you," retorted George.

That fact was indeed too much for Ken,
and he had nothing to do but risk his
beloved rod in George's hands.  And the way
George swung it about, slashed branches with
it, dropped the tip in the water, was exceedingly
alarming to Ken.  The boy would break
the tip in a minute.  Yet Ken could not
take his rod away from a boy who had caught
tarpon.

There were fish breaking water.  Where a
little while before the river had been smooth,
now it was ruffled by *ravalo*, gar, and other
fish Pepe could not name.  But George and
Hal did not get a bite.  They tried all their
artificial flies and spoons and minnows, then
the preserved mullet, and finally several
kinds of meat.

"Bah! they want pie," said Hal.

For Ken Ward to see little and big fish
capering around under his very nose and not
be able to hook one was exasperating.  He
shot a small fish, not unlike a pickerel, and
had the boys bait with that.  Still no strike
was forthcoming.

This put Ken on his mettle.  He rigged
up a minnow tackle, and, going to the lower
end of the island, he tried to catch some
minnows.  There were plenty of them in the
shallow water, but they would not bite.
Finally Ken waded in the shoal and turned
over stones.  He found some snails almost
as large as mussels, and with these he hurried
back to the boys.

"Here, if you don't get a bite on one of
these I'm no fisherman," said Ken.  "Try one."

George got his hands on the new bait in
advance of Hal and so threw his hook into
the water first.  No sooner had the bait
sunk than he got a strong pull.

"There!  Careful now," said Ken.

George jerked up, hooking a fish that made
the rod look like a buggy-whip.

"Give me the rod," yelled Ken, trying to
take it.

"It's my fish," yelled back George.

He held on and hauled with all his might.
A long, finely built fish, green as emerald,
split the water and churned it into foam.
Then, sweeping out in strong dash, it broke
Ken's rod square in the middle.  Ken eyed
the wreck with sorrow, and George with no
little disapproval.

"You said you knew how to fish," protested Ken.

"Those split-bamboo rods are no good,"
replied George.  "They won't hold a fish."

"George, you're a grand fisherman!"
observed Hal, with a chuckle.  "Why, you
only dreamed you've caught tarpon."

Just then Hal had a tremendous strike.
He was nearly hauled off the bank.  But he
recovered his balance and clung to his nodding
rod.  Hal's rod was heavy cane, and his line
was thick enough to suit.  So nothing broke.
The little brass reel buzzed and rattled.

"I've got a whale!" yelled Hal.

"It's a big gar--alligator-gar," said George.
"You haven't got him.  He's got you."

The fish broke water, showing long, open
jaws with teeth like saw-teeth.  It threshed
about and broke away.  Hal reeled in to
find the hook straightened out.  Then George
kindly commented upon the very skilful
manner in which Hal had handled the gar.
For a wonder Hal did not reply.

By four o'clock, when Ken sat down to
supper, he was so thirsty that his mouth
puckered as dry as if he had been eating green
persimmons.  This matter of thirst had
become serious.  Twice each day Ken had
boiled a pot of water, into which he mixed
cocoa, sugar, and condensed milk, and begged
the boys to drink that and nothing else.
Nevertheless Pepe and George, and occasionally
Hal, would drink unboiled water.  For
this meal the boys had venison and duck,
and canned vegetables and fruit, so they
fared sumptuously.

Pepe pointed to a string of Muscovy ducks
sailing up the river.  George had a good shot
at the tail end of the flock, and did not even
loosen a feather.  Then a line of cranes and
herons passed over the island.  When a
small bunch of teal flew by, to be followed
by several canvasbacks, Ken ran for his
shotgun.  It was a fine hammerless, a
hard-shooting gun, and one Ken used for
grouse-hunting.  In his hurry he grasped a handful
of the first shells he came to and, when he
ran to the river-bank, found they were loads
of small shot.  He decided to try them
anyhow.

While Pepe leisurely finished the supper
Ken and George and Hal sat on the bank
watching for ducks.  Just before the sun went
down a hard wind blew, making difficult
shooting.  Every few moments ducks would
whir by.  George's gun missed fire often,
and when it did work all right, he missed the
ducks.  To Ken's surprise he found the
load of small shot very deadly.  He could
sometimes reach a duck at eighty yards.
The little brown ducks and teal he stopped as
if they had hit a stone wall.  He dropped a
canvasback with the sheer dead plunge
that he liked.  Ken thought a crippled duck
enough to make a hunter quit shooting.
With six ducks killed, he decided to lay aside
his gun for that time, when Pepe pointed
down the river.

"Pato real," he said.

Ken looked eagerly and saw three of the
big black ducks flying as high as the
treetops and coming fast.  Snapping a couple
of shells in the gun, Ken stood ready.  At
the end of the island two of the ducks wheeled
to the left, but the big leader came on like
a thunderbolt.  To Ken he made a canvasback
seem slow.  Ken caught him over the
sights of the gun, followed him up till he was
abreast and beyond; then, sweeping a little
ahead of him, Ken pulled both triggers.  The
Muscovy swooped up and almost stopped
in his flight while a cloud of black feathers
puffed away on the wind.  He sagged a
little, recovered, and flew on as strong as ever.
The small shot were not heavy enough to
stop him.

"We'll need big loads for the Muscovies
and the turkeys," said George.

"We've all sizes up to BB's," replied Ken.
"George, let's take a walk over there where
you saw the turkeys.  It's early yet."

Then Pepe told George if they wanted to
see game at that hour the thing to do was to
sit still in camp and watch the game come
down to the river to drink.  And he pointed
down-stream to a herd of small deer quietly
walking out on the bar.

"After all the noise we made!" exclaimed
Ken.  "Well, this beats me.  George, we'll stay
right here and not shoot again to-night.  I've
an idea we'll see something worth while."

It was Pepe's idea, but Ken instantly saw
its possibilities.  There were no tributaries to
the river or springs in that dry jungle, and,
as manifestly the whole country abounded
in game, it must troop down to the river in
the cool of the evening to allay the hot day's
thirst.  The boys were perfectly situated for
watching the dark bank on the channel side
of the island as well as the open bars on the
other.  The huge cypresses cast shadows that
even in daylight effectually concealed them.
They put out the camp-fire and, taking
comfortable seats in the folds of the great gnarled
roots, began to watch and listen.

The vanguard of thirsty deer had prepared
Ken for something remarkable, and he was in
no wise disappointed.  The trooping of deer
down to the water's edge and the flight of
wild fowl up-stream increased in proportion
to the gathering shadows of twilight.  The
deer must have got a scent, for they raised
their long ears and stood still as statues,
gazing across toward the upper end of the
island.  But they showed no fear.  It was
only when they had drunk their fill and
wheeled about to go up the narrow trails
over the bank that they showed uneasiness
and haste.  This made Ken wonder if they
were fearful of being ambushed by jaguars.
Soon the dark line of deer along the shore
shaded into the darkness of night.  Then
Ken heard soft splashes and an occasional
patter of hard hoofs.  The whir of wings
had ceased.

A low exclamation from Pepe brought
attention to interesting developments closer
at hand.

"Javelin!" he whispered.

On the channel side of the island was
impenetrable pitchy blackness.  Ken tried to
pierce it with straining eyes, but he could
not even make out the shore-line that he knew
was only ten yards distant.  Still he could
hear, and that was thrilling enough.  Everywhere
on this side, along the edge of the water
and up the steep bank, were faint tickings of
twigs and soft rustlings of leaves.  Then
there was a continuous sound, so low as to
be almost inaudible, that resembled nothing
Ken could think of so much as a long line of
softly dripping water.  It swelled in volume
to a tiny roll, and ended in a sharp clicking
on rocks and a gentle splashing in the water.
A drove of *javelin* had come down to drink.
Occasionally the glint of green eyes made
the darkness all the more weird.  Suddenly a
long, piercing wail, a keen cry almost human,
quivered into the silence.

"Panther!" Ken whispered, instantly, to
the boys.  It was a different cry from that of
the lion of the cañon, but there was a strange
wild note that betrayed the species.  A
stillness fell, dead as that of a subterranean
cavern.  Strain his ears as he might, Ken
could not detect the slightest sound.  It
was as if no *javelin* or any other animals
had come down to drink.  That listening,
palpitating moment seemed endless.  What
mystery of wild life it meant, that silence
following the cry of the panther!  Then the
jungle sounds recommenced--the swishing of
water, the brushing in the thicket, stealthy
padded footsteps, the faint snapping of twigs.
Some kind of a cat uttered an unearthly squall.
Close upon this the clattering of deer up the
bank on the other side rang out sharply.
The deer were running, and the striking of
the little hoofs ceased in short order.  Ken
listened intently.  From far over the bank came
a sound not unlike a cough--deep, hoarse,
inexpressibly wild and menacing.

"Tigre!" cried Pepe, gripping Ken hard
with both hands.  He could feel him
trembling.  It showed how the native of the
jungle-belt feared the jaguar.

Again the cough rasped out, nearer and
louder this time.  It was not a
courage-provoking sound, and seemed on second
thought more of a growl than a cough.  Ken
felt safe on the island; nevertheless, he took
up his rifle.

"That's a tiger," whispered George.  "I
heard one once from the porch of the Alamitas
hacienda."

A third time the jaguar told of his arrival
upon the night scene.  Ken was excited, and
had a thrill of fear.  He made up his mind
to listen with clearer ears, but the cough or
growl was not repeated.

Then a silence set in, so unbroken that it
seemed haunted by the echoes of those wild
jungle cries.  Perhaps Ken had the haunting
echoes in mind.  He knew what had sent
the deer away and stilled the splashings and
creepings.  It was the hoarse voice of the lord
of the jungle.

Pepe and the boys, too, fell under the spell
of the hour.  They did not break the charm
by talking.  Giant fireflies accentuated the
ebony blackness and a low hum of insects
riveted the attention on the stillness.  Ken
could not understand why he was more
thoughtful on this trip than he had ever been
before.  Somehow he felt immeasurably older.
Probably that was because it had seemed
necessary for him to act like a man, even if he
was only a boy.

The black mantle of night lifted from under
the cypresses, leaving a gloom that slowly
paled.  Through the dark foliage, low down
over the bank, appeared the white tropical
moon.  Shimmering gleams chased the shadows
across the ripples, and slowly the river
brightened to a silver sheen.

A great peace fell upon the jungle world.
How white, how wild, how wonderful!  It
only made the island more beautiful and
lonely.  The thought of leaving it gave Ken
Ward a pang.  Almost he wished he were a
savage.

And he lay there thinking of the wild places
that he could never see, where the sun shone,
the wind blew, the twilight shadowed, the
rain fell; where the colors and beauties changed
with the passing hours; where a myriad of
wild creatures preyed upon each other and
night never darkened but upon strife and death.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A TURKEY-HUNT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   A TURKEY-HUNT

.. vspace:: 2

Upon awakening in the early morning
Ken found his state one of huge
enjoyment.  He was still lazily tired, but the
dead drag and ache had gone from his bones.
A cool breeze wafted the mist from the river,
breaking it up into clouds, between which
streamed rosy shafts of sunlight.  Wood-smoke
from the fire Pepe was starting blew
fragrantly over him.  A hundred thousand
birds seemed to be trying to burst their
throats.  The air was full of music.  He lay
still, listening to this melodious herald of the
day till it ceased.

Then a flock of parrots approached and
circled over the island, screeching like a band
of flying imps.  Presently they alighted in
the cypresses, bending the branches to a
breaking-point and giving the trees a spotted
appearance of green and red.  Pepe waved
his hand toward another flock sweeping over.

"Parrakeets," he said.

These birds were a solid green, much smaller
than the red-heads, with longer tails.  They
appeared wilder than the red-heads, and flew
higher, circling the same way and screeching,
but they did not alight.  Other flocks sailed
presently from all directions.  The last one
was a cloud of parrots, a shining green and
yellow mass several acres in extent.  They
flew still higher than the parrakeets.

"Yellow-heads!" shouted George.  "They're
the big fellows, the talkers.  If there ain't a
million of 'em!"

The boys ate breakfast in a din that made
conversation useless.  The red-heads swooped
down upon the island, and the two unfriendly
species flew back and forth, manifestly trying
to drive the boys off.  The mist had blown
away, the sun was shining bright, when the
myriad of parrots, in large and small flocks,
departed to other jungle haunts.

Pepe rowed across the wide shoal to the
sand-bars.  There in the soft ooze, among
the hundreds of deer-tracks, Ken found a
jaguar-track larger than his spread hand.
It was different from a lion-track, yet he could
not distinguish just what the difference was.
Pepe, who had accompanied the boys to
carry the rifles and game, pointed to the track
and said, vehemently:

"Tigre!" He pronounced it "tee-gray."  And
he added, "Grande!"

"Big he certainly is," Ken replied.  "Boys,
we'll kill this jaguar.  We'll bait this
drinking-trail with a deer carcass and watch to-night."

Once upon the bank, Ken was surprised
to see a wide stretch of comparatively flat
land.  It was covered with a low vegetation,
with here and there palm-trees on the little
ridges and bamboo clumps down in the swales.
Beyond the flat rose the dark line of dense
jungle.  It was not clear to Ken why that low
piece of ground was not overgrown with the
matted thickets and vines and big trees
characteristic of other parts of the jungle.
They struck into one of the trails, and had
not gone a hundred paces when they espied
a herd of deer.  The grass and low bushes
almost covered them.  George handed his
shotgun to Pepe and took his rifle.

"Shoot low," said Ken.

George pulled the trigger, and with the
report a deer went down, but it was not the one
Ken was looking at, nor the one at which he
believed George had aimed.  The rest of the
herd bounded away, to disappear in a swale.
Wading through bushes and grass, they found
George's quarry, a small deer weighing
perhaps sixty pounds.  Pepe carried it over to
the trail.  Ken noted that he was exceedingly
happy to carry the rifles.  They went on at
random, somehow feeling that, no matter in
what direction, they would run into something
to shoot at.

The first bamboo swale was alive with
*chicalocki*.  Up to this time Ken had not
seen this beautiful pheasant fly in the open,
and he was astonished at its speed.  It
would burst out of the thick bamboo, whir its
wings swiftly, then sail.  That sail was a most
graceful thing to see.  George pulled his
16-gage twice, and missed both times.  He
had the beginner's fault--shooting too soon.
Presently Pepe beat a big cock *chicalocki*
out of the bush.  He made such a fine target,
he sailed so evenly, that Ken simply looked
at him over the gun-sights and followed him
till he was out of sight.  The next one he
dropped like a plummet.  Shooting *chicalocki*
was too easy, he decided; they presented so
fair a mark that it was unfair to pull on them.

George was an impetuous hunter.  Ken
could not keep near him, nor coax or command
him to stay near.  He would wander off by
himself.  That was one mark in his favor:
at least he had no fear.  Pepe hung close to
Ken and Hal, with his dark eyes roving
everywhere.  Ken climbed out on one side of the
swale, George on the other.  Catching his
whistle, Ken turned to look after him.  He
waved, and, pointing ahead, began to stoop
and slip along from bush to bush.  Presently
a flock of Muscovy ducks rose before him,
sailed a few rods, and alighted.  Then from
right under his feet labored up great gray
birds.  Wild geese!  Ken recognized them
as George's gun went *bang*!  One tumbled
over, the others wheeled toward the river.
Ken started down into the swale to cross to
where George was, when Pepe touched his arm.

"Turkeys!" he whispered.

That changed Ken's mind.  Pepe pointed
into the low bushes ahead and slowly led
Ken forward.  He heard a peculiar low
thumping.  Trails led everywhere, and here and
there were open patches covered with a scant
growth of grass.  Across one of these flashed
a bronze streak, then another and another.

"Shoot!  Shoot!" said Pepe, tensely.

Those bronze streaks were running turkeys!
The thumpings were made by their rapidly
moving feet!

"Don't they flush--fly?" Ken queried of Pepe.

"No--no--shoot!" exclaimed he, as another
streak of brown crossed an open spot.  Ken
hurriedly unbreached his gun and changed
the light shells for others loaded with heavy
shot.  He reached the edge of a bare spot
across which a turkey ran with incredible
swiftness.  He did not get the gun in line
with it at all.  Then two more broke out
of the bushes.  Run!  They were as swift as
flying quail.  Ken took two snap-shots, and
missed both times.  If any one had told him
that he would miss a running turkey at fifty
feet, he would have been insulted.  But he
did not loosen a feather.  Loading again, he
yelled for George.

"Hey, George--turkeys!"

He whooped, and started across on the run.

"Gee!" said Hal.  "Ken, I couldn't do
any worse shooting than you.  Let me take
a few pegs."

Ken handed over the heavy gun and fell
back a little, giving Hal the lead.  They
walked on, peering closely into the bushes.
Suddenly a beautiful big gobbler ran out of a
thicket, and then stopped to stretch out his
long neck and look.

"Shoot--hurry!" whispered Ken.  "What a chance!"

"That's a tame turkey," said Hal.

"Tame!  Why, you tenderfoot!  He's as
wild as wild.  Can't you see that?"

Ken's excitement and Pepe's intense
eagerness all at once seemed communicated to Hal.
He hauled up the gun, fingered the triggers
awkwardly, then shot both barrels.  He tore
a tremendous hole in the brush some few feet
to one side of the turkey.  Then the great
bird ran swiftly out of sight.

"Didn't want to kill him sitting, anyhow,"
said Hal, handing the gun back to Ken.

"We want to eat some wild turkey, don't
we?  Well, we'd better take any chance.
These birds are game, Hal, and don't you
forget that!"

"What's all the shooting?" panted George,
as he joined the march.

Just then there was a roar in the bushes,
and a brown blur rose and whizzed ahead like
a huge bullet.  That turkey had flushed.
Ken watched him fly till he went down out
of sight into a distant swale.

"Pretty nifty flier, eh?" said George.
"He was too quick for me."

"Great!" replied Ken.

There was another roar, and a huge bronze
cannon-ball sped straight ahead.  Ken shot
both barrels, then George shot one, all clean
misses.  Ken watched this turkey fly, and saw
him clearer.  He had to admit that the wild
turkey of the Tamaulipas jungle had a
swifter and more beautiful flight than his
favorite bird, the ruffled grouse.

"Walk faster," said George.  "They'll flush
better.  I don't see how I'm to hit one.  This
goose I'm carrying weighs about a ton."

The hunters hurried along, crashing through
the bushes.  They saw turkey after turkey.
*Bang!* went George's gun.

Then a beautiful sight made Ken cry out
and forget to shoot.  Six turkeys darted across
an open patch--how swiftly they ran!--then
rose in a bunch.  The roar they made, the
wonderfully rapid action of their powerful
wings, and then the size of them, their
wildness and noble gameness made them the royal
game for Ken.

At the next threshing in the bushes his gun
was leveled; he covered the whistling bronze
thing that shot up.  The turkey went down
with a crash.  Pepe yelled, and as he ran
forward the air all about him was full of fine
bronze feathers.  Ken hurried forward to
see his bird.  Its strength and symmetry,
and especially the beautiful shades of bronze,
captivated his eye.

"Come on, boys--this is the greatest game
I ever hunted," he called.

Again Pepe yelled, and this time he pointed.
From where Ken stood he could not see
anything except low, green bushes.  In great
excitement George threw up his gun and shot.
Ken heard a squealing.

"Javelin!  Javelin!" yelled Pepe, in piercing
alarm.

George jerked a rifle from him and began to
shoot.  Hal pumped his .22 into the bushes.
The trampling of hard little hoofs and a
cloud of dust warned Ken where the javelin
were.  Suddenly Pepe broke and fled for the
river.

"Hyar, Pepe, fetch back my rifle," shouted
Ken, angrily.

Pepe ran all the faster.

George turned and dashed away yelling:
"Wild pigs!  Wild pigs!"

"Look out, Ken!  Run!  Run!" added Hal;
and he likewise took to his heels.

It looked as if there was nothing else for Ken
to do but to make tracks from that vicinity.
Never before had he run from a danger which
he had not seen; but the flight of the boys was
irresistibly contagious, and this, coupled with
the many stories he had heard of the *javelin*,
made Ken execute a sprint that would have
been a record but for the hampering weight
of gun and turkey.  He vowed he would hold
on to both, pigs or no pigs; nevertheless he
listened as he ran and nervously looked back
often.  It may have been excited imagination
that the dust-cloud appeared to be traveling
in his wake.  Fortunately, the distance to the
river did not exceed a short quarter of a mile.
Hot, winded, and thoroughly disgusted with
himself, Ken halted on the bank.  Pepe was
already in the boat, and George was
scrambling aboard.

"A fine--chase--you've given--me," Ken
panted.  "There's nothing--after us."

"Don't you fool yourself," returned George,
quickly.  "I saw those pigs, and, like the ass
I am, I blazed away at one with my shotgun."

"Did he run at you?  That's what I want
to know?" demanded Ken.

George said he was not certain about that,
but declared there always was danger if a
wounded *javelin* squealed.  Pepe had little
to say; he refused to go back after the deer
left in the trail.  So they rowed across the
shoal, and on the way passed within a rod of a
big crocodile.

"Look at that fellow," cried George.  "Wish
I had my rifle loaded.  He's fifteen feet long."

"Oh no, George, he's not more than ten
feet," said Ken.

"You don't see his tail.  He's a whopper.
Pepe told me there was one in this pool.
We'll get him, all right."

They reached camp tired out, and all a
little ruffled in temper, which certainly was
not eased by the discovery that they were
covered with ticks.  Following the cue of his
companions, Ken hurriedly stripped off his
clothes and hung them where they could
singe over the camp-fire.  There were broad
red bands of *pinilius* round both ankles, and
reddish patches on the skin of his arms.  Here
and there were black spots about the size
of his little finger-nail, and these were
*garrapatoes*.  He picked these off one by one, rather
surprised to find them come off so easily.
Suddenly he jumped straight up with a pain
as fierce as if it had been a puncture from a
red-hot wire.

Pepe grinned; and George cried:

"Aha! that was a garrapato bite, that was!
You just wait!"

George had a hundred or more of the big
black ticks upon him, and he was remorselessly
popping them with his cigarette.  Some
of them were biting him, too, judging from the
way he flinched.  Pepe had attracted to
himself a million or more of the *pinilius*, but very
few of the larger pests.  He generously came
to Ken's assistance.  Ken was trying to pull
off the *garrapato* that had bitten a hole in
him.  Pepe said it had embedded its head,
and if pulled would come apart, leaving the
head buried in the flesh, which would cause
inflammation.  Pepe held the glowing end
of his cigarette close over the tick, and it
began to squirm and pull out its head.  When
it was free of the flesh Pepe suddenly touched
it with the cigarette, and it exploded with a
pop.  A difficult question was: Which hurt
Ken the most, the burn from the cigarette or
the bite of the tick?  Pepe scraped off as many
*pinilius* as would come, and then rubbed
Ken with *canya*, the native alcohol.  If this
was not some kind of vitriol, Ken missed his
guess.  It smarted so keenly he thought his
skin was peeling off.  Presently, however,
the smarting subsided, and so did the ticks.

Hal, who by far was the most sensitive one
in regard to the crawling and biting of the
jungle pests, had been remarkably fortunate
in escaping them.  So he made good use of
his opportunity to poke fun at the others,
particularly Ken.

George snapped out: "Just wait, Hollering Hal!"

"Don't you call me that!" said Hal,
belligerently.

Ken eyed his brother in silence, but with
a dark, meaning glance.  It had occurred to
Ken that here in this jungle was the only place
in the world where he could hope to pay off
old scores on Hal.  And plots began to form
in his mind.

They lounged about camp, resting in the
shade during the hot midday hours.  For
supper they had a superfluity of meat, the
waste of which Ken deplored, and he
assuaged his conscience by deciding to have
a taste of each kind.  The wild turkey he
found the most toothsome, delicious meat it
had ever been his pleasure to eat.  What
struck him at once was the flavor, and he
could not understand it until Pepe explained
that the jungle turkey lived upon a red pepper.
So the Tamaulipas wild turkey turned out
to be doubly the finest game he had ever shot.

All afternoon the big crocodile sunned
himself on the surface of the shoal.

Ken wanted a crocodile-skin, and this was
a chance to get one; but he thought it as well
to wait, and kept the boys from wasting
ammunition.

Before sundown Pepe went across the river
and fetched the deer carcass down to the
sandbar, where the jaguar-trail led to the water.

At twilight Ken stationed the boys at the
lower end of the island, ambushed behind
stones.  He placed George and Pepe some
rods below his own position.  They had
George's .32 rifle, and the 16-gage loaded with
a solid ball.  Ken put Hal, with the
double-barreled shotgun, also loaded with ball, some
little distance above.  And Ken, armed with
his automatic, hid just opposite the deer-trails.

"Be careful where you shoot," Ken warned
repeatedly.  "Be cool--think quick--and aim."

Ken settled down for a long wait, some
fifty yards from the deer carcass.  A
wonderful procession of wild fowl winged swift
flight over his head.  They flew very low.
It was strange to note the difference in the
sound of their flying.  The cranes and herons
softly swished the air, the teal and canvasbacks
whirred by, and the great Muscovies
whizzed like bullets.

When the first deer came down to drink it
was almost dark, and when they left the moon
was up, though obscured by clouds.  Faint
sounds rose from the other side of the island.
Ken listened until his ears ached, but he could
hear nothing.  Heavier clouds drifted over
the moon.  The deer carcass became
indistinct, and then faded entirely, and the bar
itself grew vague.  He was about to give up
watching for that night when he heard a faint
rustling below.  Following it came a grating
or crunching of gravel.

Bright flares split the darkness--*crack! crack!*
rang out George's rifle, then the heavy
*boom! boom!* of the shotgun.

"There he is!" yelled George.  "He's down--we
got him--there's two!  Look out!"

*Boom!  Boom!* roared the heavy shotgun
from Hal's covert.

"George missed him!  I got him!" yelled
Hal.  "No, there he goes--Ken!  Ken!"

Ken caught the flash of a long gray body
in the hazy gloom of the bar and took a
quick shot at it.  The steel-jacketed bullet
scattered the gravel and then hummed over
the bank.  The gray body moved fast up the
bank.  Ken could just see it.  He turned
loose the little automatic and made the
welkin ring.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A FIGHT WITH A JAGUAR`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   A FIGHT WITH A JAGUAR

.. vspace:: 2

When the echoes of the shots died away
the stillness seemed all the deeper.  No
rustle in the brush or scuffle on the sand
gave evidence of a wounded or dying jaguar.
George and Hal and Pepe declared there
were two tigers, and that they had hit one.
Ken walked out upon the stones till he could
see the opposite bar, but was not rewarded
by a sight of dead game.  Thereupon they
returned to camp, somewhat discouraged at
their ill luck, but planning another night-watch.

In the morning George complained that he
did not feel well.  Ken told him he had been
eating too much fresh meat, and that he had
better be careful.  Then Ken set off alone,
crossed the river, and found that the deer
carcass was gone.  In the sand near where
it had lain were plenty of cat-tracks, but none
of the big jaguar.  Upon closer scrutiny he
found the cat-tracks to be those of a panther.
He had half dragged, half carried the carcass
up one of the steep trails, but from that point
there was no further trace.

Ken struck out across the fiat, intending
to go as far as the jungle.  Turtle-doves
fluttered before him in numberless flocks.
Far to one side he saw Muscovy ducks rising,
sailing a few rods, then alighting.  This
occurred several times before he understood
what it meant.  There was probably a large
flock feeding on the flat, and the ones in the
rear were continually flying to get ahead of
those to the fore.

Several turkeys ran through the bushes
before Ken, but as he was carrying a rifle
he paid little heed to them.  He kept a keen
lookout for *javelin*.  Two or three times he
was tempted to turn off the trail into little
bamboo hollows; this, however, owing to a
repugnance to ticks, he did not do.  Finally,
as he neared the high moss-decked wall of
the jungle, he came upon a runway leading
through the bottom of a deep swale, and here
he found tiger-tracks.

Farther down the swale, under a great
cluster of bamboo, he saw the scattered bones
of several deer.  Ken was sure that in this
spot the lord of the jungle had feasted more
than once.  It was an open hollow, with the
ground bare under the bamboos.  The runway
led on into dense, leafy jungle.  Ken planned
to bait that lair with a deer carcass and watch
it during the late afternoon.

First, it was necessary to get the deer.
This might prove bothersome, for Ken's hands
and wrists were already sprinkled with *pinilius*,
and he certainly did not want to stay very
long in the brush.  Ken imagined he felt an
itching all the time, and writhed inside his
clothes.

"Say, blame you! bite!" he exclaimed,
resignedly, and stepped into the low bushes.
He went up and out of the swale.  Scarcely
had he reached a level when he saw a troop
of deer within easy range.  Before they
winded danger Ken shot, and the one he had
singled out took a few bounds, then fell over
sideways.  The others ran off into the brush.
Ken remembered that the old hunter on
Penetier had told him how seldom a deer
dropped at once.  When he saw the work of
the soft-nose .351 bullet, he no longer
wondered at this deer falling almost in his
tracks.

"If I ever hit a jaguar like that it will be all
day with him," was Ken's comment.

There were two things about hunting the
jaguar that Ken had been bidden to keep in
mind--fierce aggressiveness and remarkable
tenacity of life.

Ken dragged the deer down into the
bamboo swale and skinned out a haunch.  Next
to wild-turkey meat, he liked venison best.
He was glad to have that as an excuse, for
killing these tame tropical deer seemed like
murder to Ken.  He left the carcass in a
favorable place and then hurried back to camp.

To Ken's relief, he managed to escape
bringing any *garrapatoes* with him, but it
took a half-hour to rid himself of the
collection of *pinilius*.

"George, ask Pepe what's the difference
between a garrapato and a pinilius," said Ken.

"The big tick is the little one's mother,"
replied Pepe.

"Gee! you fellows fuss a lot about ticks,"
said Hal, looking up from his task.  He was
building more pens to accommodate the
turtles, snakes, snails, mice, and young birds
that he had captured during the morning.

Pepe said there were few ticks there in the
uplands compared to the number down along
the Panuco River.  In the lowlands where
the cattle roamed there were millions in every
square rod.  The under side of every leaf and
blade of grass was red with ticks.  The size
of these pests depended on whether or not they
got a chance to stick to a steer or any beast.
They appeared to live indefinitely, but if they
could not suck blood they could not grow.
The *pinilius* grew into a *garrapato*, and a
*garrapato* bred a hundred thousand *pinilius*
in her body.  Two singular things concerning
these ticks were that they always crawled
upward, and they vanished from the earth
during the wet season.

Ken soaked his Duxbax hunting-suit in
kerosene in the hope that this method would
enable him to spend a reasonable time
hunting.  Then, while the other boys fished and
played around, he waited for the long, hot
hours to pass.  It was cool in the shade, but
the sunlight resembled the heat of fire.  At
last five o'clock came, and Ken put on the
damp suit.  Soaked with the oil, it was
heavier and hotter than sealskin, and before
he got across the river he was nearly roasted.
The evening wind sprang up, and the gusts
were like blasts from a furnace.  Ken's body
was bathed in perspiration; it ran down his
wrists, over his hands, and wet the gun.
This cure for ticks--if it were one--was
worse than their bites.  When he reached the
shade of the bamboo swale it was none too
soon for him.  He threw off the coat, noticing
there were more ticks upon it than at
anytime before.  The bottom of his trousers,
too, had gathered an exceeding quantity.  He
brushed them off, muttering the while that
he believed they liked kerosene, and looked
as if they were drinking it.  Ken found it
easy, however, to brush them off the wet
Duxbax, and soon composed himself to rest
and watch.

The position chosen afforded Ken a clear
view of the bare space under the bamboos
and of the hollow where the runway
disappeared in the jungle.  The deer carcass,
which lay as he had left it, was about a
hundred feet from him.  This seemed rather
close, but he had to accept it, for if he had
moved farther away he could not have
commanded both points.

Ken sat with his back against a clump of
bamboos, the little rifle across his knees and
an extra clip of cartridges on the ground
at his left.  After taking that position he
determined not to move a yard when the tiger
came, and to kill him.

Ken went over in mind the lessons he had
learned hunting bear in Penetier Forest with
old Hiram Bent and lassoing lions on the
wild north-rim of the Grand Cañon.  Ken
knew that the thing for a hunter to do, when
his quarry was dangerous, was to make up
his mind beforehand.  Ken had twelve powerful
shells that he could shoot in the half of
twelve seconds.  He would have been willing
to face two jaguars.

The sun set and the wind died down.
What a relief was the cooling shade!  The
little breeze that was left fortunately blew at
right angles to the swale, so that there did
not seem much danger of the tiger winding
Ken down the jungle runway.

For long moments he was tense and alert.
He listened till he thought he had almost
lost the sense of hearing.  The jungle leaves
were whispering; the insects were humming.
He had expected to hear myriad birds and
see processions of deer, and perhaps a drove
of *javelin*.  But if any living creatures
ventured near him it was without his knowledge.
The hour between sunset and twilight passed--a
long wait; still he did not lose the feeling
that something would happen.  Ken's faculties
of alertness tired, however, and needed
distraction.  So he took stock of the big
clump of bamboos under which lay the deer
carcass.

It was a remarkable growth, that gracefully
drooping cluster of slender bamboo poles.  He
remembered how, as a youngster, not many
years back, he had wondered where the
fishing-poles came from.  Here Ken counted
one hundred and sixty-nine in a clump no
larger than a barrel.  They were yellow in
color with black bands, and they rose straight
for a few yards, then began to lean out, to
bend slightly, at last to droop with their
abundance of spiked leaves.  Ken was getting
down to a real, interested study of this
species of jungle growth when a noise startled
him.

He straightened out of his lounging position
and looked around.  The sound puzzled him.
He could not place its direction or name what
it was.  The jungle seemed strangely quiet.
He listened.  After a moment of waiting he
again heard the sound.  Instantly Ken was
as tense and vibrating as a violin string.  The
thing he had heard was from the lungs of
some jungle beast.  He was almost ready to
pronounce it a cough.  Warily he glanced
around, craning his neck.  Then a deep,
hoarse growl made him whirl.

There stood a jaguar with head up and paw
on the deer carcass.  Ken imagined he felt
perfectly cool, but he knew he was astounded.
And even as he cautiously edged the rifle
over his knee he took in the beautiful points
of the jaguar.  He was yellow, almost white,
with black spots.  He was short and stocky,
with powerful stumpy bow-legs.  But his
head most amazed Ken.  It was enormous.
And the expression of his face was so
singularly savage and wild that Ken seemed to
realize instantly the difference between a
mountain-lion and this fierce tropical brute.

.. _`182`:

The jaguar opened his jaws threateningly.
He had an enormous stretch of jaw.  His long,
yellow fangs gleamed.  He growled again.

Not hurriedly, nor yet slowly, Ken fired.

He heard the bullet strike him as plainly
as if he had hit him with a board.  He saw
dust fly from his hide.  Ken expected to see
the jaguar roll over.  Instead of that he leaped
straight up with a terrible roar.  Something
within Ken shook.  He felt cold and sick.

When the jaguar came down, sprawled on
all fours, Ken pulled the automatic again,
and he saw the fur fly.  Then the jaguar
leaped forward with a strange, hoarse cry.
Ken shot again, and knocked the beast flat.
He tumbled and wrestled about, scattering the
dust and brush.  Three times more Ken fired,
too hastily, and inflicted only slight wounds.

In reloading Ken tried to be deliberate in
snapping in the second clip and pushing down
the rod that threw the shell into the barrel.
But his hands shook.  His fingers were all
thumbs, and he fumbled at the breech of the
rifle.

In that interval, if the jaguar could have
kept his sense of direction, he would have
reached Ken.  But the beast zigzagged; he
had lost his equilibrium; he was hard hit.

Then he leaped magnificently.  He landed
within twenty-five feet of Ken, and when
he plunged down he rolled clear over.  Ken
shot him through and through.  Yet he got
up, wheezing blood, uttering a hoarse bellow,
and made again at Ken.

Ken had been cold, sick.  Now panic
almost overpowered him.  The rifle wabbled.
The bamboo glade blurred in his sight.  A
terrible dizziness and numbness almost
paralyzed him.  He was weakening, sinking, when
thought of life at stake lent him a momentary
grim and desperate spirit.

Once while the jaguar was in the air Ken
pulled, twice while he was down.  Then the
jaguar stood up pawing the air with great
spread claws, coughing, bleeding, roaring.
He was horrible.

Ken shot him straight between the
wide-spread paws.

With twisted body, staggering, and blowing
bloody froth all over Ken, the big tiger blindly
lunged forward and crashed to earth.

Then began a furious wrestling.  Ken
imagined it was the death-throes of the jaguar.
Ken could not see him down among the leaves
and vines; nevertheless, he shot into the
commotion.  The struggles ceased.  Then a
movement of the weeds showed Ken that the
jaguar was creeping toward the jungle.

Ken fell rather than sat down.  He found
he was wringing wet with cold sweat.  He was
panting hard.

"Say, but--that--was--awful!" he gasped.
"What--was--wrong--with me?"

He began to reload the clips.  They were
difficult to load for even a calm person, and
now, in the reaction, Ken was the farthest
removed from calm.  The jaguar crept steadily
away, as Ken could tell by the swaying
weeds and shaking vines.

"What--a hard-lived beast!" muttered Ken.
"I--must have shot--him all to pieces.  Yet
he's getting away from me."

At last Ken's trembling fingers pushed
some shells in the two clips, and once more
he reloaded the rifle.  Then he stood up,
drew a deep, full breath, and made a strong
effort at composure.

"I've shot at bear--and deer--and lions
out West," said Ken.  "But this was different.
I'll never get over it."

How close that jaguar came to reaching
Ken was proved by the blood coughed into
his face.  He recalled that he had felt the
wind of one great sweeping paw.

Ken regained his courage and determination.
He meant to have that beautiful
spotted skin for his den.  So he hurried along
the runway and entered the jungle.  Beyond
the edge, where the bushes made a dense
thicket, it was dry forest, with little green
low down.  The hollow gave place to a dry
wash.  He could not see the jaguar, but he
could hear him dragging himself through the
brush, cracking sticks, shaking saplings.

Presently Ken ran across a bloody trail
and followed it.  Every little while he would
stop to listen.  When the wounded jaguar
was still, he waited until he started to move
again.  It was hard going.  The brush was
thick, and had to be broken and crawled
under or through.  As Ken had left his coat
behind, his shirt was soon torn to rags.  He
peered ahead with sharp eyes, expecting every
minute to come in sight of the poor, crippled
beast.  He wanted to put him out of agony.
So he kept on doggedly for what must have
been a long time.

The first premonition he had of carelessness
was to note that the shadows were
gathering in the jungle.  It would soon be
night.  He must turn back while there was
light enough to follow his back track out
to the open.  The second came in shape of
a hot pain in his arm, as keen as if he had
jagged it with a thorn.  Holding it out, he
discovered to his dismay that it was spotted
with *garrapatoes*.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE VICIOUS GARRAPATOES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XV


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE VICIOUS GARRAPATOES

.. vspace:: 2

At once Ken turned back, and if he thought
again of the jaguar it was that he could
come after him the next day or send Pepe.
Another vicious bite, this time on his leg,
confirmed his suspicions that many of the
ticks had been on him long enough to get
their heads in.  Then he was bitten in several
places.

Those bites were as hot as the touch of a
live coal, yet they made Ken break out in
dripping cold sweat.  It was imperative that
he get back to camp without losing a moment
which could be saved.  From a rapid walk
he fell into a trot.  He got off his back trail
and had to hunt for it.  Every time a tick
bit he jumped as if stung.  The worst of it
was that he knew he was collecting more
*garrapatoes* with almost every step.  When
he grasped a dead branch to push it out of
the way he could feel the ticks cling to his
hand.  Then he would whip his arm in the
air, flinging some of them off to patter on the
dry ground.  Impossible as it was to run
through that matted jungle, Ken almost
accomplished it.  When he got out into the
open he did run, not even stopping for his
coat, and he crossed the flat at top speed.

It was almost dark when Ken reached the
river-bank and dashed down to frighten a
herd of drinking deer.  He waded the narrowest
part of the shoal.  Running up the island
he burst into the bright circle of camp-fire.
Pepe dropped a stew-pan and began to jabber.
George dove for a gun.

"What's after you?" shouted Hal, in alarm.

Ken was so choked up and breathless that
at first he could not speak.  His fierce aspect
and actions, as he tore off his sleeveless and
ragged shirt and threw it into the fire, added
to the boys' fright.

"Good Lord! are you bug-house, Ken?"
shrieked Hal.

"*Bug-house!  Yes!*" roared Ken, swiftly
undressing.  "Look at me!"

In the bright glare he showed his arms
black with *garrapatoes* and a sprinkling of
black dots over the rest of his body.

"Is that all?" demanded Hal, in real or
simulated scorn.  "Gee! but you're a brave
hunter.  I thought not less than six tigers
were after you."

"I'd rather have six tigers after me,"
yelled Ken.  "You little freckle-faced redhead!"

It was seldom indeed that Ken called his
brother that name.  Hal was proof against
any epithets except that one relating to his
freckles and his hair.  But just now Ken
felt that he was being eaten alive.  He was
in an agony, and he lost his temper.  And
therefore he laid himself open to Hal's
scathing humor.

"Never mind the kid," said Ken to Pepe
and George.  "Hurry now, and get busy with
these devils on me."

It was well for Ken that he had a native
like Pepe with him.  For Pepe knew just
what to do.  First he dashed a bucket of cold
water over Ken.  How welcome that was!

"Pepe says for you to point out the ticks
that 're biting the hardest," said George.

In spite of his pain Ken stared in mute
surprise.

"Pepe wants you to point out the ticks
that are digging in the deepest," explained
George.  "Get a move on, now."

"What!" roared Ken, glaring at Pepe and
George.  He thought even the native might
be having fun with him.  And for Ken this
was not a funny time.

But Pepe was in dead earnest.

"Say, it's impossible to tell *where* I'm being
bitten most!  It's all over!" protested Ken.

Still he discovered that by absolute
concentration on the pain he was enduring he
was able to locate the severest points.  And
that showed him the soundness of Pepe's
advice.

"Here--this one--here--there....  Oh! here,"
began Ken, indicating certain ticks.

"Not so fast, now," interrupted the
imperturbable George, as he and Pepe set to
work upon Ken.

Then the red-hot cigarette-tips scorched
Ken's skin.  Ken kept pointing and
accompanying his directions with wild gestures
and exclamations.

"Here....  Oo-oo!  Here....  Wow!  Here....
Ouch!--that one stung!  Here....  *Augh*!
Say, can't you hurry?  Here! ... Oh! that
one was in a mile!  Here....  *Hold on*!
You're burning a hole in me! ... George,
you're having fun out of this.  Pepe gets two
to your one."

"He's been popping ticks all his life," was
George's reasonable protest.

"Hurry!" cried Ken, in desperation.
"George, if you monkey round--fool over
this job--I'll--I'll punch you good."

All this trying time Hal Ward sat on a
log and watched the proceedings with great
interest and humor.  Sometimes he smiled,
at others he laughed, and yet again he burst
out into uproarious mirth.

"George, he wouldn't punch anybody,"
said Hal.  "I tell you he's all in.  He hasn't
any nerve left.  It's a chance of your life.
You'll never get another.  He's been bossing
you around.  Pay him up.  Make him holler.
Why, what's a few little ticks?  Wouldn't
phase me!  But Ken Ward's such a delicate,
fine-skinned, sensitive, girly kind of a boy!
He's too nice to be bitten by bugs.  Oh
dear, yes, yes! ... Ken, why don't you show
courage?"

Ken shook his fist at Hal.

"All right," said Ken, grimly.  "Have all
the fun you can.  Because I'll get even with you."

Hal relapsed into silence, and Ken began to
believe he had intimidated his brother.  But
he soon realized how foolish it was to suppose
such a thing.  Hal had only been working
his fertile brain.

"George, here's a little verse for the
occasion," said Hal.

   |  "There was a brave hunter named Ken,
   |  And he loved to get skins for his den,
   |  Not afraid was he of tigers or pigs,
   |  Or snakes or cats or any such things,
   |  But one day in the jungle he left his clothes,
   |  And came hollering back with *garrapatoes*."
   |

"Gre-at-t-t!" sputtered Ken.  "Oh, brother
mine, we're a long way from home, I'll
make you crawl."

Pepe smoked, and wore out three cigarettes,
and George two, before they had popped all
the biting ticks.  Then Ken was still covered
with them.  Pepe bathed him in *canya*,
which was like a bath of fire, and soon removed
them all.  Ken felt flayed alive, peeled of his
skin, and sprinkled with fiery sparks.  When
he lay down he was as weak as a sick cat.
Pepe said the *canya* would very soon take the
sting away, but it was some time before Ken
was resting easily.

It would not have been fair to ask Ken just
then whether the prize for which he worked
was worth his present gain.  *Garrapatoes* may
not seem important to one who simply reads
about them, but such pests are a formidable
feature of tropical life.

However, Ken presently felt that he was
himself again.

Then he put his mind to the serious problem
of his note-book and the plotting of the
island.  As far as his trip was concerned,
Cypress Island was an important point.
When he had completed his map down to
the island, he went on to his notes.  He
believed that what he had found out from his
knowledge of forestry was really worth
something.  He had seen a gradual increase in the
size and number of trees as he had proceeded
down the river, a difference in the density and
color of the jungle, a flattening-out of the
mountain range, and a gradual change from
rocky to clayey soil.  And on the whole his
note-book began to assume such a character
that he was beginning to feel willing to submit
it to his uncle.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`FIELD WORK OF A NATURALIST`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   FIELD WORK OF A NATURALIST

.. vspace:: 2

That night Ken talked natural history to
the boys and read extracts from a small
copy of Sclater he had brought with him.

They were all particularly interested in the
cat tribe.

The fore feet of all cats have five toes, the
hind feet only four.  Their claws are curved
and sharp, and, except in case of one species
of leopard, can be retracted in their sheaths.
The claws of the great cat species are kept
sharp by pulling them down through bark
of trees.  All cats walk on their toes.  And
the stealthy walk is due to hairy pads or
cushions.  The claws of a cat do not show in
its track as do those of a dog.  The tongues
of all cats are furnished with large papillæ.
They are like files, and the use is to lick bones
and clean their fur.  Their long whiskers are
delicate organs of perception to aid them in
finding their way on their night quests.  The
eyes of all cats are large and full, and can be
altered by contraction or expansion of iris,
according to the amount of light they receive.
The usual color is gray or tawny with dark
spots or stripes.  The uniform tawny color
of the lion and the panther is perhaps an
acquired color, probably from the habit of
these animals of living in desert countries.  It
is likely that in primitive times cats were all
spotted or striped.

Naturally the boys were most interested
in the jaguar, which is the largest of the cat
tribe in the New World.  The jaguar ranges
from northern Mexico to northern Patagonia.
Its spots are larger than those of the leopard.
Their ground color is a rich tan or yellow,
sometimes almost gold.  Large specimens
have been known nearly seven feet from nose
to end of tail.

The jaguar is an expert climber and
swimmer.  Humboldt says that where the South
American forests are subject to floods the
jaguar sometimes takes to tree life, living on
monkeys.  All naturalists agree on the
ferocious nature of jaguars, and on the loudness
and frequency of their cries.  There is no
record of their attacking human beings
without provocation.  Their favorite haunts are
the banks of jungle rivers, and they often prey
upon fish and turtles.

The attack of a jaguar is terrible.  It
leaps on the back of its prey and breaks its
neck.  In some places there are well-known
scratching trees where jaguars sharpen their
claws.  The bark is worn smooth in front
from contact with the breasts of the animals
as they stand up, and there is a deep groove
on each side.  When new scars appear on
these trees it is known that jaguars are in the
vicinity.  The cry of the jaguar is loud, deep,
hoarse, something like *pu, pu, pu*.  There is
much enmity between the panther, or mountain-lion,
and the jaguar, and it is very strange
that generally the jaguar fears the lion,
although he is larger and more powerful.

Pepe had interesting things to say about
jaguars, or *tigres*, as he called them.  But
Ken, of course, could not tell how much
Pepe said was truth and how much just native
talk.  At any rate, Pepe told of one Mexican
who had a blind and deaf jaguar that he had
tamed.  Ken knew that naturalists claimed
the jaguar could not be tamed, but in this
instance Ken was inclined to believe Pepe.
This blind jaguar was enormous in size,
terrible of aspect, and had been trained to
trail anything his master set him to.  And
Tigre, as he was called, never slept or stopped
till he had killed the thing he was trailing.
As he was blind and deaf, his power of scent
had been abnormally developed.

Pepe told of a fight between a huge crocodile
and a jaguar in which both were killed.  He
said jaguars stalked natives and had absolutely
no fear.  He knew natives who said that
jaguars had made off with children and eaten
them.  Lastly, Pepe told of an incident that
had happened in Tampico the year before.
There was a ship at dock below Tampico,
just on the outskirts where the jungle began,
and one day at noon two big jaguars leaped
on the deck.  They frightened the crew out
of their wits.  George verified this story, and
added that the jaguars had been chased by
dogs, had boarded the ship, where they
climbed into the rigging, and stayed there
till they were shot.

"Well," said Ken, thoughtfully, "from my
experience I believe a jaguar would do anything."

The following day promised to be a busy
one for Hal, without any time for tricks.
George went hunting before breakfast--in
fact, before the others were up--and just as
the boys were sitting down to eat he appeared
on the nearer bank and yelled for Pepe.
It developed that for once George had bagged game.

He had a black squirrel, a small striped
wildcat, a peccary, a three-foot crocodile, and a
duck of rare plumage.

After breakfast Hal straightway got busy,
and his skill and knowledge earned praise
from George and Pepe.  They volunteered
to help, which offer Hal gratefully accepted.
He had brought along a folding canvas tank,
forceps, knives, scissors, several packages of
preservatives, and tin boxes in which to pack
small skins.

His first task was to mix a salt solution
in the canvas tank.  This was for immersing
skins.  Then he made a paste of salt and
alum, and after that a mixture of two-thirds
glycerin and one-third water and carbolic
acid, which was for preserving small skins
and to keep them soft.

And as he worked he gave George directions
on how to proceed with the wildcat
and squirrel skins.

"Skin carefully and tack up the pelts fur
side down.  Scrape off all the fat and oil,
but don't scrape through.  To-morrow when
the skins are dry soak them in cold water
till soft.  Then take them out and squeeze
dry.  I'll make a solution of three quarts
water, one-half pint salt, and one ounce oil
of vitriol.  Put the skins in that for half an
hour.  Squeeze dry again, and hang in shade.
That 'll tan the skin, and the moths will never
hurt them."

When Hal came to take up the duck he
was sorry that some of the beautiful plumage
had been stained.

"I want only a few water-fowl," he said.
"And particularly one of the big Muscovies.
And you must keep the feathers from getting
soiled."

It was interesting to watch Hal handle
that specimen.  First he took full measurements.
Then, separating the feathers along
the breast, he made an incision with a sharp
knife, beginning high up on breast-bone and
ending at tail.  He exercised care so as not
to cut through the abdomen.  Raising the skin
carefully along the cut as far as the muscles of
the leg, he pushed out the knee joint and cut it
off.  Then he loosened the skin from the legs
and the back, and bent the tail down to cut
through the tail joint.  Next he removed the
skin from the body and cut off the wings at
the shoulder joint.  Then he proceeded down
the neck, being careful not to pull or stretch the
skin.  Extreme care was necessary in cutting
round the eyes.  Then, when he had loosened
the skin from the skull, he severed the head
and cleaned out the skull.  He coated all
with the paste, filled the skull with cotton,
and then immersed them in the glycerin bath.

The skinning of the crocodile was an easy
matter compared with that of the duck.  Hal
made an incision at the throat, cut along the
middle of the abdomen all the way to the tip
of the tail, and then cut the skin away all
around the carcass.  Then he set George and
Pepe to scraping the skin, after which he
immersed it in the tank.

About that time Ken, who was lazily fishing
in the shade of the cypresses, caught one of
the blue-tailed fish.  Hal was delighted.  He
had made a failure of the other specimen of
this unknown fish.  This one was larger and
exquisitely marked, being dark gold on the
back, white along the belly, and its tail had
a faint bluish tinge.  Hal promptly killed
the fish, and then made a dive for his
suitcase.  He produced several sheets of stiff
cardboard and a small box of water-colors
and brushes.  He laid the fish down on a
piece of paper and outlined its exact size.
Then, placing it carefully in an upright
position on a box, he began to paint it in the
actual colors of the moment.  Ken laughed
and teased him.  George also was inclined to
be amused.  But Pepe was amazed and
delighted.  Hal worked on unmindful of his
audience, and, though he did not paint a very
artistic picture, he produced the vivid colors
of the fish before they faded.

His next move was to cover the fish with
strips of thin cloth, which adhered to the scales
and kept them from being damaged.  Then he
cut along the middle line of the belly, divided
the pelvic arch where the ventral fins joined,
cut through the spines, and severed the fins
from the bones.  Then he skinned down to the
tail, up to the back, and cut through caudal
processes.  The vertebral column he severed
at the base of the skull.  He cleaned and
scraped the entire inside of the skin, and then
put it to soak.

"Hal, you're much more likely to make good
with Uncle Jim than I am," said Ken.
"You've really got skill, and you know what
to do.  Now, my job is different.  So far
I've done fairly well with my map of the river.
But as soon as we get on level ground I'll
be stumped."

"We'll cover a hundred miles before we get
to low land," replied Hal, cheerily.  "That's
enough, even if we do get lost for the rest
of the way.  You'll win that trip abroad,
Ken, never fear, and little Willie is going
to be with you."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A MIXED-UP TIGER-HUNT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XVII


.. class:: center medium bold

   A MIXED-UP TIGER-HUNT

.. vspace:: 2

Next morning Hal arose bright as a lark,
but silent, mysterious, and with far-seeing
eyes.  It made Ken groan in spirit to
look at the boy.  Yes, indeed, they were far
from home, and the person did not live on the
earth who could play a trick on Hal Ward
and escape vengeance.

After breakfast Hal went off with a
long-handled landing-net, obviously to capture
birds or fish or mice or something.

George said he did not feel very well, and
he looked grouchy.  He growled around camp
in a way that might have nettled Ken, but
Ken, having had ten hours of undisturbed sleep,
could not have found fault with anybody.

"Garrapato George, come out of it.  Cheer
up," said Ken.  "Why don't you take Pinilius
Pepe as gun-bearer and go out to shoot
something?  You haven't used up much
ammunition yet."

Ken's sarcasm was not lost upon George.

"Well, if I do go, I'll not come running
back to camp without some game."

"My son," replied Ken, genially, "if you
should happen to meet a jaguar you'd--you'd
just let out one squawk and then never touch
even the high places of the jungle.  You'd
take that crazy .32 rifle for a golf-stick."

"Would I?" returned George.  "All right."

Ken watched George awhile that morning.
The lad performed a lot of weird things around
camp.  Then he bounced bullets off the water
in vain effort to locate the basking crocodile.
Then he tried his hand at fishing once more.
He could get more bites than any fisherman
Ken ever saw, but he could not catch anything.

By and by the heat made Ken drowsy,
and, stretching himself in the shade, he
thought of a scheme to rid the camp of the
noisy George.

"Say, George, take my hammerless and get
Pepe to row you up along the shady bank of
the river," suggested Ken.  "Go sneaking
along and you'll have some sport."

George was delighted with that idea.  He
had often cast longing eyes at the hammerless
gun.  Pepe, too, looked exceedingly pleased.
They got in the boat and were in the act of
starting when George jumped ashore.  He
reached for his .32 and threw the lever down
to see if there was a shell in the chamber.
Then he proceeded to fill his pockets with
ammunition.

"Might need a rifle," he said.  "You can't
tell what you're going to see in this unholy
jungle."

Whereupon he went aboard again and Pepe
rowed leisurely up-stream.

"Be careful, boys," Ken called, and
composed himself for a nap.  He promptly fell
asleep.  How long he slept he had no idea,
and when he awoke he lay with languor, not
knowing at the moment what had awakened
him.  Presently he heard a shout, then a
rifle-shot.  Sitting up, he saw the boat some
two hundred yards above, drifting along
about the edge of the shade.  Pepe was in it
alone.  He appeared to be excited, for Ken
observed him lay down an oar and pick up a
gun, and then reverse the performance.  Also
he was jabbering to George, who evidently
was out on the bank, but invisible to Ken.

"Hey, Pepe!" Ken yelled.  "What 're you doing?"

Strange to note, Pepe did not reply or even
turn.

"Now where in the deuce is George?" Ken
said, impatiently.

The hollow crack of George's .32 was a
reply to the question.  Ken heard the singing
of a bullet.  Suddenly, *spou!* it twanged
on a branch not twenty feet over his head,
and then went whining away.  He heard it
tick a few leaves or twigs.  There was not
any languor in the alacrity with which Ken
put the big cypress-tree between him and
up-stream.  Then he ventured to peep forth.

"Look out where you're slinging lead!"
he yelled.  He doubted not that George had
treed a black squirrel or was pegging away at
parrots.  Yet Pepe's motions appeared to
carry a good deal of feeling, too much, he
thought presently, for small game.  So Ken
began to wake up thoroughly.  He lost sight
of Pepe behind a low branch of a tree that
leaned some fifty yards above the island.
Then he caught sight of him again.  He was
poling with an oar, evidently trying to go up
or down--Ken could not tell which.

*Spang*!  *Spang*!  George's .32 spoke twice
more, and the bullets both struck in the middle
of the stream and ricochetted into the far
bank with little thuds.

Something prompted Ken to reach for his
automatic, snap the clip in tight, and push
in the safety.  At the same time he muttered
George's words: "You can never tell what's
coming off in this unholy jungle."

Then, peeping out from behind the cypress,
Ken watched the boat drift down-stream.
Pepe had stopped poling and was looking
closely into the thick grass and vines of the
bank.  Ken heard his voice, but could not
tell what he said.  He watched keenly for
some sight of George.  The moments passed,
the boat drifted, and Ken began to think
there was nothing unusual afoot.  In this
interval Pepe drifted within seventy-five yards
of camp.  Again Ken called to ask him what
George was stalking, and this time Pepe yelled;
but Ken did not know what he said.  Hard
upon this came George's sharp voice:

"Look out, there, on the island.  Get
behind something.  I've got him between the
river and the flat.  He's in this strip of shore
brush.  There!"

*Spang*!  *Spang*!  *Spang*!  Bullets hummed
and whistled all about the island.  Ken was
afraid to peep out with even one eye.  He
began to fancy that George was playing
Indian.

"Fine, Georgie!  You're doing great!" he
shouted.  "You couldn't come any closer to
me if you were aiming at me.  What is it?"

Then a crashing of brush and a flash of
yellow low down along the bank changed the
aspect of the situation.

"Panther! or jaguar!" Ken ejaculated, in
amaze.  In a second he was tight-muscled,
cold, and clear-witted.  At that instant he
saw George's white shirt about the top of the
brush.

"Go back!  Get out in the open!" Ken
ordered.  "Do you hear me?"

"Where is he?" shouted George, paying not
the slightest attention to Ken.  Ken jumped
from behind the tree, and, running to the
head of the island, he knelt low near the water
with rifle ready.

"Tigre!  Tigre!  Tigre!" screamed Pepe,
waving his arms, then pointing.

George crashed into the brush.  Ken saw
the leaves move, then a long yellow shape.
With the quickness of thought and the aim
of the wing-shot, Ken fired.  From the brush
rose a strange wild scream.  George aimed
at a shaking mass of grass and vines, but,
before he could fire, a long, lean, ugly beast
leaped straight out from the bank to drop
into the water with a heavy splash.

Like a man half scared to death Pepe waved
Ken's double-barreled gun.  Then a yellow
head emerged from the water.  It was in line
with the boat.  Ken dared not shoot.

"Kill him, George," yelled Ken.  "Tell
Pepe to kill him."

George seemed unaccountably silent.  But
Ken had no time to look for him, for his
eyes were riveted on Pepe.  The native did
not know how to hold a gun properly, let
alone aim it.  He had, however, sense enough
to try.  He got the stock under his chin,
and, pointing the gun, he evidently tried to
fire.  But the hammerless did not go off.
Then Pepe fumbled at the safety-catch, which
he evidently remembered seeing Ken use.

The jaguar, swimming with difficulty,
perhaps badly wounded, made right for the boat.
Pepe was standing on the seat.  Awkwardly
he aimed.

*Boom*!  He had pulled both triggers.  The
recoil knocked him backward.  The hammerless
fell in the boat, and Pepe's broad back hit
the water; his bare, muscular legs clung to
the gunwale, and slipped loose.

He had missed the jaguar, for it kept on
toward the boat.  Still Ken dared not shoot.

"George, what on earth is the matter with
you?" shouted Ken.

Then Ken saw him standing in the brush
on the bank, fussing over the crazy .32.  Of
course at the critical moment something had
gone wrong with the old rifle.

Pepe's head bobbed up just on the other
side of the boat.  The jaguar was scarcely
twenty feet distant and now in line with both
boat and man.  At that instant a heavy swirl
in the water toward the middle of the river
drew Ken's attention.  He saw the big
crocodile, and the great creature did not seem at
all lazy at that moment.

George began to scream in Spanish.  Ken
felt his hair stiffen and his face blanch.  Pepe,
who had been solely occupied with the
jaguar, caught George's meaning and turned
to see the peril in his rear.

He bawled his familiar appeal to the saints.
Then he grasped the gunwale of the boat
just as it swung against the branches of the
low-leaning tree.  He vaulted rather than
climbed aboard.

Ken forgot that Pepe could understand
little English, and he yelled: "Grab an oar,
Pepe.  Keep the jaguar in the water.  Don't
let him in the boat."

But Pepe, even if he had understood, had
a better idea.  Nimble, he ran over the boat
and grasped the branches of the tree just as
the jaguar flopped paws and head over the
stern gunwale.

Ken had only a fleeting instant to get a
bead on that yellow body, and before he could
be sure of an aim the branch weighted with
Pepe sank down to hide both boat and
jaguar.  The chill of fear for Pepe changed to
hot rage at this new difficulty.

Then George began to shoot.

*Spang*!

Ken heard the bullet hit the boat.

"George--wait!" shouted Ken.  "Don't
shoot holes in the boat.  You'll sink it."

*Spang*!  *Spang*!  *Spang*!  *Spang*!

That was as much as George cared about
such a possibility.  He stood on the bank and
worked the lever of his .32 with wild haste.
Ken plainly heard the spat of the bullets, and
the sound was that of lead in contact with
wood.  So he knew George was not hitting
the jaguar.

"You'll ruin the boat!" roared Ken.

Pepe had worked up from the lower end
of the branch, and as soon as he straddled
it and hunched himself nearer shore the
foliage rose out of the water, exposing the boat.
George kept on shooting till his magazine was
empty.  Ken's position was too low for him
to see the jaguar.

Then the boat swung loose from the branch
and, drifting down, gradually approached the
shore.

"Pull yourself together, George," called
Ken.  "Keep cool.  Make sure of your aim.
We've got him now."

"He's mine!  He's mine!  He's mine!
Don't you dare shoot!" howled George.  "I
got him!"

"All right.  But steady up, can't you?
Hit him once, anyway."

Apparently without aim George fired.  Then,
jerking the lever, he fired again.  The boat
drifted into overhanging vines.  Once more
Ken saw a yellow and black object, then a
trembling trail of leaves.

"He's coming out below you.  Look out,"
yelled Ken.

George disappeared.  Ken saw no sign of
the jaguar and heard no shot or shout from
George.  Pepe dropped from his branch to
the bank and caught the boat.  Ken called,
and while Pepe rowed over to the island, he
got into some clothes fit to hunt in.  Then
they hurried back across the channel to the
bank.

Ken found the trail of the jaguar, followed
it up to the edge of the brush, and lost it in
the weedy flat.  George came out of a patch
of bamboos.  He looked white and shaky
and wild with disappointment.

"Oh, I had a dandy shot as he came out,
but the blamed gun jammed again.  Come
on, we'll get him.  He's all shot up.  I bet
I hit him ten times.  He won't get away."

Ken finally got George back to camp.  The
boat was half full of water, making it necessary
to pull it out on the bank and turn it over.
There were ten bullet-holes in it.

"George, you hit the boat, anyway," Ken
said; "now we've a job on our hands."

Hal came puffing into camp.  He was red
of face, and the sweat stood out on his
forehead.  He had a small animal of some kind
in a sack, and his legs were wet to his knees.

"What was--all the--pegging about?" he
asked, breathlessly.  "I expected to find camp
surrounded by Indians."

"Kid, it's been pretty hot round here for a
little.  George and Pepe rounded up a tiger.
Tell us about it, George," said Ken.

So while Ken began to whittle pegs to
pound into the bullet-holes, George wiped his
flushed, sweaty face and talked.

"We were up there a piece, round the bend.
I saw a black squirrel and went ashore to get
him.  But I couldn't find him, and in
kicking round in the brush I came into a kind of
trail or runway.  Then I ran plumb into that
darned jaguar.  I was so scared I couldn't
remember my gun.  But the cat turned and
ran.  It was lucky he didn't make at me.
When I saw him run I got back my courage.
I called for Pepe to row down-stream and keep
a lookout.  Then I got into the flat.  I must
have come down a good ways before I saw
him.  I shot, and he dodged back into the
brush again.  I fired into the moving bushes
where he was.  And pretty soon I ventured
to get in on the bank, where I had a better
chance.  I guess it was about that time that
I heard you yell.  Then it all happened.
You hit him!  Didn't you hear him scream?
What a jump he made!  If it hadn't been
so terrible when your hammerless kicked
Pepe overboard, I would have died laughing.
Then I was paralyzed when the jaguar swam
for the boat.  He was hurt, for the water was
bloody.  Things came off quick, I tell you.
Like a monkey Pepe scrambled into the tree.
When I got my gun loaded the jaguar was
crouched down in the bottom of the boat
watching Pepe.  Then I began to shoot.  I
can't realize he got away from us.  What
was the reason you didn't knock him?"

"Well, you see, George, there were two
good reasons," Ken replied.  "The first was
that at that time I was busy dodging bullets
from your rifle.  And the second was that you
threatened my life if I killed your jaguar."

"Did I get as nutty as that?  But it was
pretty warm there for a little....  Say, was
he a big one?  My eyes were so hazy I didn't
see him clear."

"He wasn't big, not half as big as the one
I lost yesterday.  Yours was a long, wiry
beast, like a panther, and mean-looking."

Pepe sat on the bank, and while he nursed
his bruises he smoked.  Once he made a
speech that was untranslatable, but Hal gave
it an interpretation which was probably near
correct.

"That's right, Pepe.  Pretty punk
tiger-hunters--mucho punk!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`WATCHING A RUNWAY`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XVIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   WATCHING A RUNWAY

.. vspace:: 2

"I'll tell you what, fellows," said Hal.  "I
know where we *can* get a tiger."

"We'll get one in the neck if we don't
watch out," replied George.

Ken thought that Hal looked very frank
and earnest, and honest and eager, but there
was never any telling about him.

"Where?" he asked, skeptically.

"Down along the river.  You know I've
been setting traps all along.  There's a flat
sand-bar for a good piece down.  I came to
a little gully full of big tracks, big as my
two hands.  And fresh!"

"Honest Injun, kid?" queried Ken.

"Hope to die if I'm lyin'," replied Hal.
"I want to see somebody kill a tiger.  Now
let's go down there in the boat and wait for
one to come to drink.  There's a big log with
driftwood lodged on it.  We can hide
behind that."

"Great idea, Hal," said Ken.  "We'd be
pretty safe in the boat.  I want to say that
tigers have sort of got on my nerves.  I ought
to go over in the jungle to look for the one I
crippled.  He's dead by now.  But the longer
I put it off the harder it is to go.  I'll back
out yet....  Come, we'll have an early dinner.
Then to watch for Hal's tiger."

The sun had just set, and the hot breeze
began to swirl up the river when Ken slid the
boat into the water.  He was pleased to
find that it did not leak.

"We'll take only two guns," said Ken,
"my .351 and the hammerless, with some
ball-cartridges.  We want to be quiet to-night, and
if you fellows take your guns you'll be pegging
at ducks and things.  That won't do."

Pepe sat at the oars with instructions to
row easily.  George and Hal occupied the
stern-seats, and Ken took his place in the bow,
with both guns at hand.

The hot wind roared in the cypresses, and
the river whipped up little waves with white
crests.  Long streamers of gray moss waved
out over the water and branches tossed and
swayed.  The blow did not last for many
minutes.  Trees and river once more grew
quiet.  And suddenly the heat was gone.

As Pepe rowed on down the river, Cypress
Island began to disappear round a bend, and
presently was out of sight.  Ducks were
already in flight.  They flew low over the boat,
so low that Ken could almost have reached
them with the barrel of his gun.  The river here
widened.  It was full of huge snags.  A high,
wooded bluff shadowed the western shore.  On
the left, towering cypresses, all laced together
in dense vine and moss webs, leaned out.

Under Hal's direction Pepe rowed to a pile
of driftwood, and here the boat was moored.
The gully mentioned by Hal was some sixty
yards distant.  It opened like the mouth of
a cave.  Beyond the cypresses thick,
intertwining bamboos covered it.

"I wish we'd gone in to see the tracks,"
said Ken.  "But I'll take your word, Hal."

"Oh, they're there, all right."

"I don't doubt it.  Looks great to me!
That's a runway, Hal....  Now, boys, get a
comfortable seat, and settle down to wait.
Don't talk.  Just listen and watch.
Remember, soon we'll be out of the jungle,
back home.  So make hay while the sun
shines.  Watch and listen!  Whoever sees
or hears anything first is the best man."

For once the boys were as obedient as
lambs.  But then, Ken thought, the surroundings
were so beautiful and wild and silent that
any boys would have been watchful.

There was absolutely no sound but the
intermittent whir of wings.  The water-fowl
flew by in companies--ducks, cranes, herons,
snipe, and the great Muscovies.  Ken never
would have tired of that procession.  It
passed all too soon, and then only an
occasional water-fowl swept swiftly by, as if
belated.

Slowly the wide river-lane shaded.  But it
was still daylight, and the bank and the
runway were clearly distinguishable.  There was
a moment--Ken could not tell just how he
knew--when the jungle awakened.  It was not
only the faint hum of insects; it was a sense
as if life stirred with the coming of twilight.

Pepe was the first to earn honors at the
listening game.  He held up a warning
forefinger.  Then he pointed under the bluff.
Ken saw a doe stepping out of a fringe of
willows.

"Don't move--don't make a noise," whispered Ken.

The doe shot up long ears and watched the
boat.  Then a little fawn trotted out and
splashed in the water.  Both deer drank,
then seemed in no hurry to leave the river.

Next moment Hal heard something downstream
and George saw something up-stream.
Pepe again whispered.  As for Ken, he saw
little dark shapes moving out of the shadow
of the runway.  He heard a faint trampling
of hard little hoofs.  But if these animals
were *javelin*--of which he was sure--they did
not come out into the open runway.  Ken
tried to catch Pepe's attention without
making a noise; however, Pepe was absorbed in
his side of the river.  Ken then forgot he
had companions.  All along the shores were
faint splashings and rustlings and crackings.

A loud, trampling roar rose in the runway
and seemed to move backward toward the
jungle, diminishing in violence.

"Pigs running--something scared 'em,"
said George.

"S-s-s-sh!" whispered Ken.

All the sounds ceased.  The jungle seemed
to sleep in deep silence.

Ken's eyes were glued to the light patch of
sand-bank where it merged in the dark of the
runway.  Then Ken heard a sound--what, he
could not have told.  But it made his heart
beat fast.

There came a few pattering thuds, soft as
velvet; and a shadow, paler than the dark
background, moved out of the runway.

With that a huge jaguar loped into the open.
He did not look around.  He took a long, easy
bound down to the water and began to lap.

Either Pepe or George jerked so violently
as to make the boat lurch.  They seemed to
be stifling.

"Oh, Ken, don't miss!" whispered Hal.

Ken had the automatic over the log and in
line.  His teeth were shut tight, and he was
cold and steady.  He meant not to hurry.

The jaguar was a heavy, squat, muscular
figure, not graceful and beautiful like the one
Ken had crippled.  Suddenly he raised his
head and looked about.  He had caught a scent.

It was then that Ken lowered the rifle till
the sight covered the beast--lower yet to
his huge paws, then still lower to the edge of
the water.  Ken meant to shoot low enough
this time.  Holding the rifle there, and
holding it with all his strength, he pressed the
trigger once--twice.  The two shots rang out
almost simultaneously.  Ken expected to see
this jaguar leap, but the beast crumpled up
and sank in his tracks.

Then the boys yelled, and Ken echoed
them.  Pepe was wildly excited, and began
to fumble with the oars.

"Wait!  Wait, I tell you!" ordered Ken.

"Oh, Ken, you pegged him!" cried Hal.
"He doesn't move.  Let's go ashore.  What
did I tell you?  It took me to find the tiger."

Ken watched with sharp eyes and held his
rifle ready, but the huddled form on the sand
never so much as twitched.

"I guess I plugged him," said Ken, with
unconscious pride.

Pepe rowed the boat ashore, and when near
the sand-bar he reached out with an oar to
touch the jaguar.  There was no doubt about
his being dead.  The boys leaped ashore and
straightened out the beast.  He was huge,
dirty, spotted, bloody, and fiercely savage even
in death.  Ken's bullets had torn through the
chest, making fearful wounds.  Pepe jabbered,
and the boys all talked at once.  When it
came to lifting the jaguar into the boat they
had no slight task.  The short, thick-set body
was very heavy.  But at last they loaded
it in the bow, and Pepe rowed back to the
island.  It was still a harder task to get the
jaguar up the high bank.  Pepe kindled a fire
so they would have plenty of light, and then
they set to work at the skinning.

What with enthusiasm over the stalk, and
talk of the success of the trip, and compliments
to Ken's shooting, and care of the skinning,
the boys were three hours at the job.  Ken,
remembering Hiram Bent's teachings, skinned
out the great claws himself.  They salted the
pelt and nailed it up on the big cypress.

"You'd never have got one but for me,"
said Hal.  "That's how I pay you for the
tricks you've played me!"

"By George, Hal, it's a noble revenge!"
cried Ken, who, in the warmth and glow of
happiness of the time, quite believed his
brother.

Pepe went to bed first.  George turned in
next.  Ken took a last look at the great pelt
stretched on the cypress, and then he sought his
blankets.  Hal, however, remained up.  Ken
heard him pounding stakes in the ground.

"Hal, what 're you doing?"

"I'm settin' my trot-lines," replied Hal,
cheerfully.

"Well, come to bed."

"Keep your shirt on, Ken, old boy.  I'll
be along presently."

Ken fell asleep.  He did not have peaceful
slumbers.  He had been too excited to rest
well.  He would wake up out of a nightmare,
then go to sleep again.  He seemed to
wake suddenly out of one of these black spells,
and he was conscious of pain.  Something
tugged at his leg.

"What the dickens!" he said, and raised
on his elbow.  Hal was asleep between George
and Pepe, who were snoring.

Just then Ken felt a violent jerk.  The
blankets flew up at his feet, and his left leg
went out across his brother's body.  There was
a string--a rope--something fast round his
ankle, and it was pulling hard.  It hurt.

"Jiminy!" shouted Ken, reaching for his
foot.  But before he could reach it another
tug, more violent, pulled his leg straight out.
Ken began to slide.

"What on earth?" yelled Ken.  "Say!
Something's got me!"

The yells and Ken's rude exertions aroused
the boys.  And they were frightened.  Ken
got an arm around Hal and the other around
George and held on for dear life.  He was
more frightened than they.  Pepe leaped up,
jabbering, and, tripping, he fell all in a heap.

"Oh! my leg!" howled Ken.  "It's being
pulled off.  Say, I can't be dreaming!"

Most assuredly Ken was wide awake.  The
moonlight showed his bare leg sticking out
and round his ankle a heavy trot-line.  It was
stretched tight.  It ran down over the bank.
And out there in the river a tremendous fish
or a crocodile was surging about, making the
water roar.

Pepe was trying to loosen the line or break
it.  George, who was always stupid when first
aroused, probably imagined he was being
mauled by a jaguar, for he loudly bellowed.
Ken had a strangle-hold on Hal.

"Oh!  *Oh*!  *Oh-h-h*!" bawled Ken.  Not
only was he scared out of a year's growth;
he was in terrible pain.  Then his cries grew
unintelligible.  He was being dragged out of
the tent.  Still he clung desperately to the
howling George and the fighting Hal.

All at once something snapped.  The
tension relaxed.  Ken fell back upon Hal.

"Git off me, will you?" shouted Hal.
"Are you c-c-cr-azy?"

But Hal's voice had not the usual note
when he was angry or impatient.  He
was laughing so he could not speak naturally.

"Uh-huh!" said Ken, and sat up.  "I guess
here was where I got it.  Is my leg broken?
What came off?"

Pepe was staggering about on the bank,
going through strange motions.  He had the
line in his hands, and at the other end was
a monster of some land threshing about in
the water.  It was moonlight and Ken could
see plainly.  Around the ankle that felt
broken was a twisted loop of trot-line.  Hal
had baited a hook and slipped the end of
the trot-line over Ken's foot.  During the
night the crocodile or an enormous fish had
taken the bait.  Then Ken had nearly been
hauled off the island.

Pepe was doing battle with the hooked
thing, whatever it was, and Ken was about
to go to his assistance when again the line
broke.

"Great!  Hal, you have a nice disposition,"
exclaimed Ken.  "You have a wonderful
affection for your brother.  You care a lot
about his legs or his life.  Idiot!  Can't you
play a safe trick?  If I hadn't grabbed you
and George, I'd been pulled into the river.
Eaten up, maybe!  And my ankle is sprained.
It won't be any good for a week.  You are a
bright boy!"

And in spite of his laughter Hal began to
look ashamed.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ADVENTURES WITH CROCODILES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XIX


.. class:: center medium bold

   ADVENTURES WITH CROCODILES

.. vspace:: 2

The rest of that night Ken had more dreams;
and they were not pleasant.  He awoke
from one in a cold fright.

It must have been late, for the moon was
low.  His ankle pained and throbbed, and to
that he attributed his nightmare.  He was
falling asleep again when the clink of tin
pans made him sit up with a start.  Some
animal was prowling about camp.  He peered
into the moonlit shadows, but could make
out no unfamiliar object.  Still he was not
satisfied; so he awoke Pepe.

Certainly it was not Ken's intention to let
Pepe get out ahead; nevertheless he was lame
and slow, and before he started Pepe rolled
out of the tent.

"Santa Maria!" shrieked Pepe.

Ken fumbled under his pillow for a gun.
Hal raised up so quickly that he bumped Ken's
head, making him see a million stars.  George
rolled over, nearly knocking down the tent.

From outside came a sliddery, rustling
noise, then another yell that was deadened
by a sounding splash.  Ken leaped out with
his gun, George at his elbow.  Pepe stood
just back of the tent, his arms upraised, and
he appeared stunned.  The water near the
bank was boiling and bubbling; waves were
dashing on the shore and ripples spreading
in a circle.

George shouted in Spanish.

"Crocodile!" cried Ken.

"Si, si, Señor," replied Pepe.  Then he said
that when he stepped out of the tent the
crocodile was right in camp, not ten feet from
where the boys lay.  Pepe also said that
these brutes were man-eaters, and that he had
better watch for the rest of the night.  Ken
thought him, like all the natives, inclined
to exaggerate; however, he made no objection
to Pepe's holding watch over the crocodile.

"What'd I tell you?" growled George.
"Why didn't you let me shoot him?  Let's
go back to bed."

In the morning when Ken got up he viewed
his body with great curiosity.  The ticks
and the cigarette burns had left him a
beautifully tattoed specimen of aborigine.  His
body, especially his arms, bore hundreds of
little reddish scars--bites and burns
together.  There was not, however, any itching
or irritation, for which he made sure he had
to thank Pepe's skill and the *canya*.

George did not get up when Ken called
him.  Thinking his sleep might have been
broken, Ken let him alone a while longer, but
when breakfast was smoking he gave him a
prod.  George rolled over, looking haggard
and glum.

"I'm sick," he said.

Ken's cheerfulness left him, for he knew
what sickness or injury did to a camping trip.
George complained of aching bones, headache
and cramps, and showed a tongue with a
yellow coating.  Ken said he had eaten too
much fresh meat, but Pepe, after looking
George over, called it a name that sounded
like *calentura*.

"What's that?" Ken inquired.

"Tropic fever," replied George.  "I've had
it before."

For a while he was a very sick boy.  Ken
had a little medicine-case, and from it he
administered what he thought was best, and
George grew easier presently.  Then Ken sat
down to deliberate on the situation.

Whatever way he viewed it, he always came
back to the same thing--they must get out
of the jungle; and as they could not go back,
they must go on down the river.  That was a
bad enough proposition without being
hampered by a sick boy.  It was then Ken had a
subtle change of feeling; a shade of gloom
seemed to pervade his spirit.

By nine o'clock they were packed, and,
turning into the shady channel, soon were out
in the sunlight saying good-by to Cypress
Island.  At the moment Ken did not feel
sorry to go, yet he knew that feeling would
come by and by, and that Cypress Island
would take its place in his memory as one
more haunting, calling wild place.

They turned a curve to run under a rocky
bluff from which came a muffled roar of rapids.
A long, projecting point of rock extended across
the river, allowing the water to rush through
only at a narrow mill-race channel close to
the shore.  It was an obstacle to get around.
There was no possibility of lifting the boat
over the bridge of rock, and the alternative
was shooting the channel.  Ken got out
upon the rocks, only to find that drifting the
boat round the sharp point was out of the
question, owing to a dangerously swift
current.  Ken tried the depth of the
water--about four feet.  Then he dragged the boat
back a little distance and stepped into the river.

"Look!  Look!" cried Pepe, pointing to the bank.

About ten yards away was a bare shelf of
mud glistening with water and showing the
deep tracks of a crocodile.  It was a slide,
and manifestly had just been vacated.  The
crocodile-tracks resembled the imprints of a
giant's hand.

"Come out!" yelled George, and Pepe
jabbered to his saints.

"We've got to go down this river," Ken
replied, and he kept on wading till he got the
boat in the current.  He was frightened, of
course, but he kept on despite that.  The
boat lurched into the channel, stern first, and
he leaped up on the bow.  It shot down with
the speed of a toboggan, and the boat whirled
before he could scramble to the oars.  What
was worse, an overhanging tree with dead
snags left scarce room to pass beneath.  Ken
ducked to prevent being swept overboard,
and one of the snags that brushed and scraped
him ran under his belt and lifted him into the
air.  He grasped at the first thing he could
lay hands on, which happened to be a box,
but he could not hold to it because the boat
threatened to go on, leaving him kicking in
midair and holding up a box of potatoes.  Ken
clutched a gunwale, only to see the water
swell dangerously over the edge.  In angry
helplessness he loosened his hold.  Then the
snag broke, just in the nick of time, for in
a second more the boat would have been
swept away.  Ken fell across the bow, held
on, and soon drifted from under the threshing
branches, and seized the oars.

Pepe and George and Hal walked round the
ledge and, even when they reached Ken,
had not stopped laughing.

"Boys, it wasn't funny," declared Ken, soberly.

"I said it was coming to us," replied George.

There were rapids below, and Ken went at
them with stern eyes and set lips.  It was the
look of men who face obstacles in getting out
of the wilderness.  More than one high wave
circled spitefully round Pepe's broad shoulders.

They came to a fall where the river dropped
a few feet straight down.  Ken sent the boys
below.  Hal and George made a detour.  But
Pepe jumped off the ledge into shallow water.

"*Ah-h!*" yelled Pepe.

Ken was becoming accustomed to Pepe's
wild yell, but there was a note in this which
sent a shiver over him.  Before looking, Ken
snatched his rifle from the boat.

Pepe appeared to be sailing out into the
pool.  But his feet were not moving.

Ken had only an instant, but in that he saw
under Pepe a long, yellow, swimming shape,
leaving a wake in the water.  Pepe had
jumped upon the back of a crocodile.  He
seemed paralyzed, or else he was wisely
trusting himself there rather than in the water.
Ken was too shocked to offer advice.  Indeed,
he would not have known how to meet this
situation.

Suddenly Pepe leaped for a dry stone, and
the energy of his leap carried him into the
river beyond.  Like a flash he was out again,
spouting water.

Ken turned loose the automatic on the
crocodile and shot a magazine of shells.  The
crocodile made a tremendous surge, churning
up a slimy foam, then vanished in a pool.

"Guess this 'll be crocodile day," said
Ken, changing the clip in his rifle.  "I'll bet
I made a hole in that one.  Boys, look out
below."

Ken shoved the boat over the ledge in line
with Pepe, and it floated to him, while Ken
picked his way round the rocky shore.  The
boys piled aboard again.  The day began to
get hot.  Ken cautioned the boys to avoid
wading, if possible, and to be extremely
careful where they stepped.  Pepe pointed now
and then to huge bubbles breaking on the
surface of the water and said they were made
by crocodiles.

From then on Ken's hands were full.  He
struck swift water, where rapid after rapid,
fall on fall, took the boat downhill at a rate to
afford him satisfaction.  The current had a
five or six mile speed, and, as Ken had no
portages to make and the corrugated rapids of big
waves gave him speed, he made by far the best
time of the voyage.

The hot hours passed--cool for the boys
because they were always wet.  The sun sank
behind a hill.  The wind ceased to whip the
streamers of moss.  At last, in a gathering
twilight, Ken halted at a wide, flat rock to
make camp.

"Forty miles to-day if we made an inch!"
exclaimed Ken.

The boys said more.

They built a fire, cooked supper, and then,
weary and silent, Hal and George and Pepe
rolled into their blankets.  But Ken doggedly
worked an hour at his map and notes.  That
hard forty miles meant a long way toward
the success of his trip.

Next morning the mists had not lifted from
the river when they shoved off, determined to
beat the record of yesterday.  Difficulties beset
them from the start--the highest waterfall of
the trip, a leak in the boat, deep, short rapids,
narrows with choppy waves, and a whirlpool
where they turned round and round, unable
to row out.  Nor did they get free till Pepe
lassoed a snag and pulled them out.

About noon they came to another narrow
chute brawling down into a deep, foamy pool.
Again Ken sent the boys around, and he backed
the boat into the chute; and just as the
current caught it he leaped aboard.  He was
either tired or careless, for he drifted too close
to a half-submerged rock, and, try as he
might, at the last moment he could not avoid
a collision.

As the stern went hard on the rock Ken
expected to break something, but was
surprised at the soft thud with which he struck.
It flashed into his mind that the rock was
moss-covered.

Quick as the thought there came a rumble
under the boat, the stern heaved up, there
was a great sheet-like splash, and then a blow
that splintered the gunwale.  Then the boat
shunted off, affording the astounded Ken a
good view of a very angry crocodile.  He had
been sleeping on the rock.

The boys were yelling and crowding down
to the shore where Ken was drifting in.
Pepe waded in to catch the boat.

"What was it hit you, Ken?" asked Hal.

"Mucho malo," cried Pepe.

"The boat's half full of water--the
gunwale's all split!" ejaculated George.

"Only an accident of river travel," replied
Ken, with mock nonchalance.  "Say, Garrapato,
*when*, about *when* is it coming to me?"

"Well, if he didn't get slammed by a
crocodile!" continued George.

They unloaded, turned out the water,
broke up a box to use for repairs, and mended
the damaged gunwale--work that lost more
than a good hour.  Once again under way,
Ken made some interesting observations.  The
river ceased to stand on end in places;
crocodiles slipped off every muddy promontory,
and wide trails ridged the steep clay-banks.

"Cattle-trails, Pepe says," said George.
"Wild cattle roam all through the jungle along
the Panuco."

It was a well-known fact that the
rancheros of Tamaulipas State had no idea how
many cattle they owned.  Ken was so eager
to see if Pepe had been correct that he went
ashore, to find the trails were, indeed, those of
cattle.

"Then, Pepe, we must be somewhere near
the Panuco River," he said.

"Quien sabe?" rejoined he, quietly.

When they rounded the curve they came
upon a herd of cattle that clattered up the
bank, raising a cloud of dust.

"Wilder than deer!" Ken exclaimed.

From that point conditions along the river
changed.  The banks were no longer green; the
beautiful cypresses gave place to other trees,
as huge, as moss-wound, but more rugged
and of gaunt outline; the flowers and vines
and shady nooks disappeared.  Everywhere
wide-horned steers and cows plunged up the
banks.  Everywhere buzzards rose from
gruesome feasts.  The shore was lined with dead
cattle, and the stench of putrefying flesh was
almost unbearable.  They passed cattle mired
in the mud, being slowly tortured to death
by flies and hunger; they passed cattle that
had slipped off steep banks and could not get
back and were bellowing dismally; and also
strangely acting cattle that Pepe said had
gone crazy from ticks in their ears.  Ken
would have put these miserable beasts out of
their misery had not George restrained him
with a few words about Mexican law.

A sense of sickness came to Ken, and though
he drove the feeling from him, it continually
returned.  George and Hal lay flat on the
canvas, shaded with a couple of palm leaves;
Pepe rowed on and on, growing more and more
serious and quiet.  His quick, responsive smile
was wanting now.

By way of diversion, and also in the hope
of securing a specimen, Ken began to shoot
at the crocodiles.  George came out of his
lethargy and took up his rifle.  He would
have had to be ill indeed, to forswear any
possible shooting; and, now that Ken had
removed the bar, he forgot he had fever.
Every hundred yards or so they would come
upon a crocodile measuring somewhere from
about six feet upward, and occasionally they
would see a great yellow one, as large as a
log.  Seldom did they get within good range
of these huge fellows, and shooting from a
moving boat was not easy.  The smaller
ones, however, allowed the boat to approach
quite close.  George bounced many a .32
bullet off the bank, but he never hit a
crocodile.  Ken allowed him to have the shots for
the fun of it, and, besides, he was watching
for a big one.

"George, that rifle of yours is leaded.  It
doesn't shoot where you aim."

When they got unusually close to a small
crocodile George verified Ken's statement by
missing his game some yards.  He promptly
threw the worn-out rifle overboard, an act
that caused Pepe much concern.

Whereupon Ken proceeded to try his luck.
Instructing Pepe to row about in the middle
of the stream, he kept eye on one shore while
George watched the other.  He shot half a
dozen small crocodiles, but they slipped off
the bank before Pepe could get ashore.  This
did not appear to be the fault of the rifle, for
some of the reptiles were shot almost in two
pieces.  But Ken had yet to learn more about
the tenacity of life of these water-brutes.
Several held still long enough for Ken to shoot
them through, then with a plunge they went
into the water, sinking at once in a bloody
foam.  He knew he had shot them through,
for he saw large holes in the mud-banks
lined with bits of bloody skin and bone.

"There's one," said George, pointing.  "Let's
get closer, so we can grab him.  He's got
a good piece to go before he reaches the
water."

Pepe rowed slowly along, guiding the boat
a little nearer the shore.  At forty feet the
crocodile raised up, standing on short legs,
so that all but his tail was free of the ground.
He opened his huge jaws either in astonishment
or to intimidate them, and then Ken
shot him straight down the throat.  He
flopped convulsively and started to slide and
roll.  When he reached the water he turned
over on his back, with his feet sticking up,
resembling a huge frog.  Pepe rowed hard to
the shore, just as the crocodile with one last
convulsion rolled off into deeper water.  Ken
reached over, grasped his foot, and was
drawing it up when a sight of cold, glassy eyes
and open-fanged jaws made him let go.
Then the crocodile sank in water where Pepe
could not touch bottom with an oar.

"Let's get one if it takes a week," declared
George.  The lad might be sick, but there was
nothing wrong with his spirit.  "Look there!"
he exclaimed.  "Oh, I guess it's a log.  Too big!"

They had been unable to tell the difference
between a crocodile and a log of driftwood
until it was too late.  In this instance a
long, dirty-gray object lay upon a low bank.
Despite its immense size, which certainly
made the chances in favor of its being a log,
Ken determined this time to be fooled on the
right side.  He had seen a dozen logs--as he
thought--suddenly become animated and slip
into the river.

"Hold steady, Pepe.  I'll take a crack at
that just for luck."

The distance was about a hundred yards,
a fine range for the little rifle.  Resting on
his knee, he sighted low, under the gray
object, and pulled the trigger twice.  There were
two spats so close together as to be barely
distinguishable.  The log of driftwood leaped
into life.

"Whoop!" shouted Hal.

"It's a crocodile!" yelled George.  "You
hit--you hit!  Will you listen to that?"

"Row hard, Pepe--pull!"

He bent to the oars, and the boat flew shoreward.

The huge crocodile, opening yard-long jaws,
snapped them shut with loud cracks.  Then
he beat the bank with his tail.  It was as
limber as a willow, but he seemed unable to
move his central parts, his thick bulk, where
Ken had sent the two mushroom bullets.
*Whack*!  *Whack*!  *Whack*!  The sodden blows
jarred pieces from the clay-bank above him.
Each blow was powerful enough to have staved
in the planking of a ship.  All at once he
lunged upward and, falling over backward,
slid down his runway into a few inches of
water, where he stuck.

"Go in above him, Pepe," Ken shouted.
"Here--  Heavens!  What a monster!"

Deliberately, at scarce twenty feet, Ken
shot the remaining four shells into the
crocodile.  The bullets tore through his horny
hide, and blood and muddy water spouted up.
George and Pepe and Hal yelled, and Ken
kept time with them.  The terrible lashing
tail swung back and forth almost too swiftly
for the eye to catch.  A deluge of mud and
water descended upon the boys, bespattering,
blinding them and weighing down the boat.
They jumped out upon the bank to escape it.
They ran to and fro in aimless excitement.
Ken still clutched the rifle, but he had no
shells for it.  George was absurd enough to
fling a stone into the blood-tinged cloud of
muddy froth and spray that hid the threshing
leviathan.  Presently the commotion subsided
enough for them to see the great crocodile
lying half on his back, with belly all torn
and bloody and huge claw-like hands pawing
the air.  He was edging, slipping off into
deeper water.

"He'll get away--he'll get away!" cried
Hal.  "What 'll we do?"

Ken racked his brains.

"Pepe, get your lasso--rope him--rope
him!  Hurry! he's slipping!" yelled George.

Pepe snatched up his lariat, and, without
waiting to coil it, cast the loop.  He caught
one of the flippers and hauled tight on it just as
the crocodile slipped out of sight off the muddy
ledge.  The others ran to the boat, and,
grasping hold of the lasso with Pepe, squared
away and began to pull.  Plain it was that
the crocodile was not coming up so easily.
They could not budge him.

"Hang on, boys!" Ken shouted.  "It's a
tug-of-war."

The lasso was suddenly jerked out with a
kind of twang.  Crash! went Pepe and Hal
into the bottom of the boat.  Ken went
sprawling into the mud, and George, who had
the last hold, went to his knees, but valiantly
clung to the slipping rope.  Bounding up,
Ken grasped it from him and wound it round
the sharp nose of the bowsprit.

"Get in--hustle!" he called, falling aboard.
"You're always saying it's coming to us.
Here's where!"

George had hardly got into the boat when
the crocodile pulled it off shore, and away it
went, sailing down-stream.

"Whoop!  All aboard for Panuco!" yelled Hal.

"Now, Pepe, you don't need to row any
more--we've a water-horse," Ken added.

But Pepe did not enter into the spirit of
the occasion.  He kept calling on the saints
and crying, "Mucho malo."  George and Ken
and Hal, however, were hilarious.  They had
not yet had experience enough to know crocodiles.

Faster and faster they went.  The water
began to surge away from the bow and leave
a gurgling wake behind the stern.  Soon the
boat reached the middle of the river where the
water was deepest, and the lasso went almost
straight down.

Ken felt the stern of the boat gradually
lifted, and then, in alarm, he saw the front
end sinking in the water.  The crocodile was
hauling the bow under.

"Pepe--your machete--cut the lasso!" he
ordered, sharply.  George had to repeat the
order.

Wildly Pepe searched under the seat and
along the gunwales.  He could not find the
*machete*.

"Cut the rope!" Ken thundered.  "Use
a knife, the ax--anything--only cut
it--and cut it quick!"

Pepe could find nothing.  Knife in hand,
Ken leaped over his head, sprawled headlong
over the trunk, and slashed the taut lasso
just as the water began to roar into the
boat.  The bow bobbed up as a cork that had
been under.  But the boat had shipped six
inches of water.

.. _`KNIFE IN HAND, KEN LEAPED OVER HIS HEAD AND SLASHED THE TAUT LASSO`:

.. figure:: images/img-242.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: KNIFE IN HAND, KEN LEAPED OVER HIS HEAD AND SLASHED THE TAUT LASSO

   KNIFE IN HAND, KEN LEAPED OVER HIS HEAD AND SLASHED THE TAUT LASSO

"Row ashore, Pepe.  Steady, there.  Trim
the boat, George."

They beached at a hard clay-bank and
rested a little before unloading to turn out the
water.

"Grande!" observed Pepe.

"Yes; he was big," assented George.

"I wonder what's going to happen to us
next," added Hal.

Ken Ward looked at these companions of
his and he laughed outright.  "Well, if you
all don't take the cake for nerve!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TREED BY WILD PIGS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XX


.. class:: center medium bold

   TREED BY WILD PIGS

.. vspace:: 2

Pepe's long years of *mozo* work, rowing
for tarpon fishermen, now stood the boys
in good stead.  All the hot hours of the day
he bent steadily to the oars.  Occasionally
they came to rifts, but these were not difficult
to pass, being mere swift, shallow channels
over sandy bottom.  The rocks and the rapids
were things of the past.

George lay in a kind of stupor, and Hal
lolled in his seat.  Ken, however, kept alert,
and as the afternoon wore on began to be
annoyed at the scarcity of camp-sites.

The muddy margins of the river, the steep
banks, and the tick-infested forests offered few
places where it was possible to rest, to say
nothing of sleep.  Every turn in the widening
river gave Ken hope, which resulted in
disappointment.  He found consolation,
however, in the fact that every turn and every
hour put him so much farther on the way.

About five o'clock Ken had unexpected
good luck in shape of a small sand-bar cut
off from the mainland, and therefore free of
cattle-tracks.  It was clean and dry, with a
pile of driftwood at one end.

"Tumble out, boys," called Ken, as Pepe
beached the boat.  "We'll pitch camp here."

Neither Hal nor George showed any alacrity.
Ken watched his brother; he feared to see
some of the symptoms of George's sickness.
Both lads, however, seemed cheerful, though
too tired to be of much use in the pitching of
camp.

Ken could not recover his former good
spirits.  There was a sense of foreboding in
his mind that all was not well, that he must
hurry, hurry.  And although George appeared
to be holding his own, Hal healthy enough,
and Pepe's brooding quiet at least no worse,
Ken could not rid himself of gloom.  If he
had answered the question that knocked at
his mind he would have admitted a certainty
of disaster.  So he kept active, and when
there were no more tasks for that day he
worked on his note-book, and then watched
the flight of wild fowl.

The farther down the river the boys
traveled the more numerous were the herons
and cranes and ducks.  But they saw no more
of the beautiful *pato real*, as Pepe called them,
or the little russet-colored ducks, or the
dismal-voiced bitterns.  On the other hand, wild
geese were common, and there were flocks
and flocks of teal and canvasbacks.

Pepe, as usual, cooked duck.  And he had
to eat it.  George had lost his appetite
altogether.  Hal had lost his taste for meat,
at least.  And Ken made a frugal meal of rice.

"Boys," he said, "the less you eat from now
on the better for you."

It took resolution to drink the cocoa, for
Ken could not shut out remembrance of the
green water and the shore-line of dead and
decaying cattle.  Still, he was parched with
thirst; he had to drink.  That night he slept
ten hours without turning over.  Next
morning he had to shake Pepe to rouse him.

Ken took turns at the oars with Pepe.
It was not only that he fancied Pepe was
weakening and in need of an occasional rest,
but the fact that he wanted to be occupied,
and especially to keep in good condition.
They made thirty miles by four o'clock, and
most of it against a breeze.  Not in the whole
distance did they pass half a dozen places
fit for a camp.  Toward evening the river
narrowed again, resembling somewhat the
Santa Rosa of earlier acquaintance.  The
magnificent dark forests crowded high on
the banks, always screened and curtained by
gray moss, as if to keep their secrets.

The sun was just tipping with gold the
mossy crests of a grove of giant ceibas, when
the boys rounded a bend to come upon the
first ledge of rocks for two days.  A low,
grassy promontory invited the eyes searching
for camping-ground.  This spot appeared
ideal; it certainly was beautiful.  The ledge
jutted into the river almost to the opposite
shore, forcing the water to rush through a
rocky trough into a great foam-spotted pool
below.

They could not pitch the tent, since the
stony ground would not admit stakes, so
they laid the canvas flat.  Pepe went up
the bank with his *machete* in search of
firewood.  To Ken's utmost delight he found a
little spring of sweet water trickling from the
ledge, and by digging a hole was enabled to
get a drink, the first one in more than a week.

A little later, as he was spreading the
blankets, George called his attention to shouts
up in the woods.

"Pepe's treed something," Ken said.  "Take
your gun and hunt him up."

Ken went on making a bed and busying
himself about camp, with little heed to
George's departure.  Presently, however, he
was startled by unmistakable sounds of alarm.
George and Pepe were yelling in unison, and,
from the sound, appeared to be quite a
distance away.

"What the deuce!" Ken ejaculated, snatching
up his rifle.  He snapped a clip in the
magazine and dropped several loaded clips
and a box of extra shells into his coat pocket.
After his adventure with the jaguar he decided
never again to find himself short of ammunition.
Running up the sloping bank, he entered
the forest, shouting for his companions.
Answering cries came from in front and a little
to the left.  He could not make out what was
said.

Save for drooping moss the forest was
comparatively open, and at a hundred paces
from the river-bank were glades covered with
thickets and long grass and short palm-trees.
The ground sloped upward quite perceptibly.

"Hey, boys, where are you?" called Ken.

Pepe's shrill yells mingled with George's
shouts.  At first their meaning was
unintelligible, but after calling twice Ken
understood.

"Javelin!  Go back!  Javelin!  We're treed!
Wild pigs!  Santa Maria!  Run for your life!"

This was certainly enlightening and rather
embarrassing.  Ken remembered the other
time the boys had made him run, and he grew
hot with anger.

"I'll be blessed if I'll run!" he said, in the
pride of conceit and wounded vanity.  Whereupon
he began to climb the slope, stopping
every few steps to listen and look.  Ken
wondered what had made Pepe go so far for
fire-wood; still, there was nothing but green
wood all about.  Walking round a clump of
seared and yellow palms that rustled in the
breeze, Ken suddenly espied George's white
shirt.  He was in a scrubby sapling not
fifteen feet from the ground.  Then Ken
espied Pepe, perched in the forks of a ceiba,
high above the thickets and low shrubbery.
Ken was scarcely more than a dozen rods from
them down the gradual slope.  Both saw him
at once.

"Run, you Indian!  Run!" bawled George,
waving his hands.

George implored Ken to fly to save his
precious life.

"What for? you fools!  I don't see anything
to run from," Ken shouted back.  His temper
had soured a little during the last few days.

"You'd better run, or you'll have to climb,"
replied George.  "Wild pigs--a thousand of 'em!"

"Where?"

"Right under us.  There!  Oh, if they
see you!  Listen to this."  He broke off a
branch, trimmed it of leaves, and flung it
down.  Ken heard a low, trampling roar of
many hard little feet, brushings in the thicket,
and cracking of twigs.  As close as he was,
however, he could not see a moving object.
The dead grass and brush were several feet
high, up to his waist in spots, and, though he
changed position several times, no *javelin*
did he see.

"You want to look out.  Say, man, these
are wild pigs--boars, I tell you!  They'll
kill you!" bellowed George.

"Are you going to stay up there all night?"
Ken asked, sarcastically.

"We'll stay till they go away."

"All right, I'll scare them away," Ken
replied, and, suiting action to word, he worked
the automatic as fast as it would shoot,
aiming into the thicket under George.

Of all the foolish things a nettled hunter
ever did that was the worst.  A roar answered
the echoes of the rifle, and the roar rose from
every side of the trees the victims were in.
Nervously Ken clamped a fresh clip of shells
into the rifle.  Clouds of dust arose, and
strange little squeals and grunts seemed to
come from every quarter.  Then the grass
and bushes were suddenly torn apart by swift
gray forms with glittering eyes.  They were
everywhere.

"*Run*!  *Run*!" shrieked George, high above
the tumult.

For a thrilling instant Ken stood his ground
and fired at the bobbing gray backs.  But
every break made in the ranks by the powerful
shells filled in a flash.  Before that vicious
charge he wavered, then ran as if pursued by
demons.

The way was downhill.  Ken tripped, fell,
rolled over and over, then, still clutching
the rifle, rose with a bound and fled.  The
javelin had gained.  They were at his heels.
He ran like a deer.  Then, seeing a low branch,
he leaped for it, grasped it with one hand, and,
crooking an elbow round it, swung with the
old giant swing.

Before Ken knew how it had happened he
was astride a dangerously swaying branch
directly over a troop of brownish-gray,
sharp-snouted, fiendish-eyed little peccaries.

Some were young and sleek, others were
old and rough; some had little yellow teeth or
tusks, and all pointed their sharp noses
upward, as if expecting him to fall into their
very mouths.  Feeling safe, once more Ken
loaded the rifle and began to kill the biggest,
most vicious *javelin*.  When he had killed
twelve in twelve shots, he saw that shooting a
few would be of no avail.  There were
hundreds, it seemed, and he had scarcely fifty
shells left.  Moreover, the rifle-barrel grew so
hot that it burnt his hands.  Hearing George's
yell, he replied, somewhat to his disgust:

"I'm all right, George--only treed.  How 're you?"

"Pigs all gone--they chased you--Pepe
thinks we can risk running."

"Don't take any chances," Ken yelled, in answer.

"Hi!  Hi!  What's wrong with you gazabos?"
came Hal's yell from down the slope.

"Go back to the boat," shouted Ken.

"What for?"

"We're all treed by javelin--wild pigs."

"I've got to see that," was Hal's reply.

Ken called a sharp, angry order for Hal
to keep away.  But Hal did not obey.  Ken
heard him coming, and presently saw him
enter one of the little glades.  He had Ken's
shotgun, and was peering cautiously about.

"Ken, where are you?"

"Here!  Didn't I tell you to keep away?
The pigs heard you--some of them are edging
out there.  Look out!  Run, kid, run!"

A troop of *javelin* flashed into the glade.
Hal saw them and raised the shotgun.

*Boom*!  He shot both barrels.

The shot tore through the brush all around
Ken, but fortunately beneath him.  Neither
the noise nor the lead stopped the pugnacious
little peccaries.

Hal dropped Ken's hammerless and fled.

"Run faster!" yelled George, who evidently
enjoyed Hal's plight.  "They'll get you!
Run hard!"

The lad was running close to the record
when he disappeared.

In trying to find a more comfortable posture,
so he could apply himself to an interesting
study of his captors, Ken made the startling
discovery that the branch which upheld him
was splitting from the tree-trunk.  His heart
began to pound in his breast; then it went
up into his throat.  Every move he made--for
he had started to edge toward the
tree--widened the little white split.

"Boys, my branch is breaking!" he called,
piercingly.

"Can't you get another?" returned George.

"No; I daren't move!  Hurry, boys!  If
you don't scare these brutes off I'm a goner!"

Ken's eyes were riveted upon the gap
where the branch was slowly separating from
the tree-trunk.  He glanced about to see if
he could not leap to another branch.  There
was nothing near that would hold him.  In
desperation he resolved to drop the rifle,
cautiously get to his feet upon the branch, and
with one spring try to reach the tree.  When
about to act upon this last chance he heard
Pepe's shrill yell and a crashing in the brush.
Then followed the unmistakable roar and
crackling of fire.  Pepe had fired the
brush--no, he was making his way toward Ken, armed
with a huge torch.

"Pepe, you'll fire the jungle!" cried Ken,
forgetting what was at stake and that Pepe
could not understand much English.  But
Ken had been in one forest-fire and
remembered it with horror.

The *javelin* stirred uneasily, and ran around
under Ken, tumbling over one another.

When Pepe burst through the brush,
holding before him long-stemmed palm leaves
flaring in hissing flames, the whole pack of
pigs bowled away into the forest at breakneck
speed.

Ken leaped down, and the branch came with
him.  George came running up, his face white,
his eyes big.  Behind him rose a roar that Ken
thought might be another drove of pigs till
he saw smoke and flame.

"Boys, the jungle's on fire.  Run for the river!"

In their hurry they miscalculated the
location of camp and dashed out of the jungle
over a steep bank, and they all had a tumble.
It was necessary to wade to reach the rocky
ledge.

Ken shook hands with Pepe.

"George, tell him that was a nervy thing
to do.  He saved my life, I do believe."

"You fellows did a lot of hollering," said
Hal, from his perch in the boat.

"Say, young man, you've got to go back
after my gun.  Why didn't you do what
I told you?  Foolish, to run into danger that
way!" declared Ken, severely.

"You don't suppose I was going to overlook
a chance to see Ken Ward treed, do you?"

"Well, you saw him, and that was no joke.
But I wish Pepe could have scared those pigs
off without firing the jungle."

"Pepe says it 'll give the ticks a good
roasting," said George.

"We'll have roast pig, anyway," added Ken.

He kept watching the jungle back of the
camp as if he expected it to blow up like
a powder-mine.  But this Tamaulipas jungle
was not Penetier Forest.  A cloud of smoke
rolled up; there was a frequent roaring of dry
palms; but the green growths did not burn.
It was not much of a forest-fire, and Ken
concluded that it would soon burn out.

So he took advantage of the waning
daylight to spread out his map and plot in the
day's travel.  This time Hal watched him
with a quiet attention that was both
flattering and stimulating; and at the conclusion
of the task he said:

"Well, Ken, we're having sport, but we're
doing something more--something worth while."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE LEAPING TARPON`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XXI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE LEAPING TARPON

.. vspace:: 2

Just before dark, when the boys were at
supper, a swarm of black mosquitoes
swooped down upon camp.

Pepe could not have shown more fear at
angry snakes, and he began to pile green
wood and leaves on the fire to make a heavy
smoke.

These mosquitoes were very large, black-bodied,
with white-barred wings.  Their bite
was as painful as the sting of a bee.  After
threshing about until tired out the boys went
to bed.  But it was only to get up again, for
the mosquitoes could bite through two
thicknesses of blanket.

For a wonder every one was quiet.  Even
George did not grumble.  The only thing to
do was to sit or stand in the smoke of the
campfire.  The boys wore their gloves and wrapped
blankets round heads and shoulders.  They
crouched over the fire until tired of that
position, then stood up till they could stand
no longer.  It was a wretched, sleepless night
with the bloodthirsty mosquitoes humming
about like a swarm of bees.  They did not
go away until dawn.

"That's what I get for losing the mosquito-netting,"
said Ken, wearily.

Breakfast was not a cheerful meal, despite
the fact that the boys all tried to brace up.

George's condition showed Ken the necessity
for renewed efforts to get out of the jungle.
Pepe appeared heavy and slow, and, what was
more alarming, he had lost his appetite.  Hal
was cross, but seemed to keep well.  It was
hard enough for Ken to persuade George and
Pepe to take the bitter doses of quinine, and
Hal positively refused.

"It makes me sick, I tell you," said Hal,
impatiently.

"But Hal, you ought to be guided by my
judgment now," replied Ken, gently.

"I don't care.  I've had enough of bitter pills."

"I ask you--as a favor?" persisted Ken, quietly.

"No!"

"Well, then, I'll have to make you take them."

"Wha-at?" roared Hal.

"If necessary, I'll throw you down and pry
open your mouth and get Pepe to stuff these
pills down your throat.  There!" went on
Ken, and now he did not recognize his own
voice.

Hal looked quickly at his brother, and was
amazed and all at once shaken.

"Why, Ken--" he faltered.

"I ought to have made you take them
before," interrupted Ken.  "But I've been
too easy.  Now, Hal, listen--and you, too,
George.  I've made a bad mess of this trip.
I got you into this jungle, and I ought to have
taken better care of you, whether you would
or not.  George has fever.  Pepe is getting
it.  I'm afraid you won't escape.  You all
*would* drink unboiled water."

"Ken, that's all right, but you can get
fever from the bites of the ticks," said George.

"I dare say.  But just the same you could
have been careful about the water.  Not only
that--look how careless we have been.  Think
of the things that have happened!  We've
gotten almost wild on this trip.  We don't
realize.  But wait till we get home.  Then
we'll hardly be able to believe we ever had
these adventures.  But our foolishness, our
carelessness, must stop right here.  If we can't
profit by our lucky escapes yesterday--from
that lassoed crocodile and the wild pigs--we
are simply no good.  I love fun and sport.
But there's a limit.  Hal, remember what old
Hiram told you about being foolhardily brave.
I think we have been wonderfully lucky.
Now let's deserve our good luck.  Let's not
prove what that Tampico hotel-man said.
Let's show we are not just wild-goose-chasing
boys.  I put it to you straight.  I think the
real test is yet to come, and I want you to
help me.  No more tricks.  No more drinking
unboiled water.  No more shooting except
in self-defense.  We must not eat any more
meat.  No more careless wandering up the
banks.  No chances.  See?  And fight the
fever.  Don't give up.  Then when we get
out of this awful jungle we can look back at
our adventures--and, better, we can be sure
we've learned a lot.  We shall have accomplished
something, and that's learning.  Now,
how about it?  Will you help me?"

"You can just bet your life," replied George,
and he held out his hand.

"Ken, I'm with you," was Hal's quiet
promise; and Ken knew from the way the lad
spoke that he was in dead earnest.  When it
came to the last ditch Hal Ward was as true
as steel.  He took the raw, bitter quinine Ken
offered and swallowed it without a grimace.

"Good!" exclaimed Ken.  "Now, boys, let's
pack.  Hal, you let your menagerie go.
There's no use keeping your pets any longer.
George, you make yourself a bed on the trunk,
and fix a palm-leaf sun-shelter.  Then lie
down."

When the boat had been packed and all was
in readiness for the start, George was sound
asleep.  They shoved off into the current.
Pepe and Ken took turns at the oars, making
five miles an hour.

As on the day before, they glided under the
shadows of the great moss-twined cypresses,
along the muddy banks where crocodiles
basked in the sun and gaunt cattle came down
to drink.  Once the boat turned a bushy point
to startle a large flock of wild turkeys,
perhaps thirty-five in number.  They had been
resting in the cool sand along the river.  Some
ran up the bank, some half-dozen flew right
over the boat, and most of them squatted down
as if to evade detection.  Thereafter turkeys
and ducks and geese became so common as to
be monotonous.

About one o'clock Ken sighted a thatched
bamboo and palm-leaf hut on the bank.

"Oh, boys, look! look!" cried Ken, joyfully.

Hal was as pleased as Ken, and George
roused out of his slumber.  Pepe grinned and
nodded his head.

Some naked little children ran like quail.
A disheveled black head peeped out of a
door, then swiftly vanished.

"Indians," said George.

"I don't care," replied Ken, "they're human
beings--people.  We're getting somewhere."

From there on the little bamboo huts were
frequently sighted.  And soon Ken saw a large
one situated upon a high bluff.  Ken was
wondering if these natives would be hospitable.

Upon rounding the next bend the boys
came unexpectedly upon a connecting river.
It was twice as wide as the Santa Rosa, and
quite swift.

"Tamaulipas," said Pepe.

"Hooray! boys, this is the source of the
Panuco, sure as you're born," cried Ken.  "I
told you we were getting somewhere."

He was overcome with the discovery.  This
meant success.

"Savalo!  Savalo!" exclaimed Pepe, pointing.

"Tarpon!  Tarpon!  What do you think
of that?  'Way up here!  We must be a long
distance from tide-water," said George.

Ken looked around over the broad pool
below the junction of the two rivers.  And
here and there he saw swirls, and big splashes,
and then the silver sides of rolling tarpon.

"Boys, seeing we've packed that can of
preserved mullet all the way, and those
thundering heavy tackles, let's try for
tarpon," suggested Ken.

It was wonderful to see how the boys
responded.  Pepe was no longer slow and
heavy.  George forgot he was sick.  Hal,
who loved to fish better than to hunt, was as
enthusiastic as on the first day.

"Ken, let me boss this job," said George,
as he began to rig the tackles.  "Pepe will
row; you and Hal sit back here and troll.
I'll make myself useful.  Open the can.
See, I hook the mullet just back of the head,
letting the bar come out free.  There!  Now
run out about forty feet of line.  Steady the
butt of the rod under your leg.  Put your left
hand above the reel.  Hold the handle of the
reel in your right, and hold it hard.  The
drag is in the handle.  Now when a tarpon
takes the bait, jerk with all your might.
Their mouths are like iron, and it's hard to get
a hook to stick."

Pepe rowed at a smooth, even stroke and
made for the great curve of the pool where
tarpon were breaking water.

"If they're on the feed, we'll have more
sport than we've had yet," said George.

Ken was fascinated, and saw that Hal was
going to have the best time of the trip.  Also
Ken was very curious to have a tarpon strike.
He had no idea what it would be like.  Presently,
when the boat glided among the rolling
fish and there was prospect of one striking
at any moment, Ken could not subdue a
mounting excitement.

"Steady now--be ready," warned George.

Suddenly Hal's line straightened.  The lad
yelled and jerked at the same instant.  There
came a roar of splitting waters, and a beautiful
silver fish, longer than Hal himself, shot
up into the air.  The tarpon shook himself
and dropped back into the water with a crash.

Hal was speechless.  He wound in his line
to find the bait gone.

"Threw the hook," said George, as he
reached into the can for another bait.  "He
wasn't so big.  You'll get used to losing 'em.
There! try again."

Ken had felt several gentle tugs at his line,
as if tarpon were rolling across it.  And
indeed he saw several fish swim right over where
his line disappeared in the water.  There were
splashes all around the boat, some gentle
swishes and others hard, cutting rushes.
Then his line straightened with a heavy
jerk.  He forgot to try to hook the fish;
indeed, he had no time.  The tarpon came half
out of the water, wagged his head, and plumped
back.  Ken had not hooked the fish, nor had
the fish got the bait.  So Ken again let out his
line.

The next thing which happened was that
the boys both had strikes at the same instant.
Hal stood up, and as his tarpon leaped it
pulled him forward, and he fell into the
stern-seat.  His reel-handle rattled on the gunwale.
The line hissed.  Ken leaned back and jerked.
His fish did not break water, but he was
wonderfully active under the surface.  Pepe was
jabbering.  George was yelling.  Hal's fish
was tearing the water to shreds.  He crossed
Ken's fish; the lines fouled, and then slacked.
Ken began to wind in.  Hal rose to do likewise.

"Gee!" he whispered, with round eyes.

Both lines had been broken.  George made
light of this incident, and tied on two more
leaders and hooks and baited afresh.

"The fish are on the feed, boys.  It's a
cinch you'll each catch one.  Better troll one
at a time, unless you can stand for crossed
lines."

But Ken and Hal were too eager to catch a
tarpon to troll one at a time, so once more
they let their lines out.  A tarpon took Hal's
bait right under the stern of the boat.  Hal
struck with all his might.  This fish came up
with a tremendous splash, drenching the boys.
His great, gleaming silver sides glistened in
the sun.  He curved his body and straightened
out with a snap like the breaking of a board,
and he threw the hook whistling into the air.

Before Hal had baited up, Ken got another
strike.  This fish made five leaps, one after
the other, and upon the last threw the hook
like a bullet.  As he plunged down, a
beautiful rainbow appeared in the misty spray.

"Hal, do you see that rainbow?" cried Ken,
quickly.  "There's a sight for a fisherman!"

This time in turn, before Ken started to
troll, Hal hooked another tarpon.  This one
was not so large, but he was active.  His
first rush was a long surge on the surface.
He sent the spray in two streaks like a
motor-boat.  Then he sounded.

"Hang on, Hal!" yelled George and Ken
in unison.

Hal was bent almost double and his head
was bobbing under the strain.  He could
not hold the drag.  The line was whizzing out.

"You got that one hooked," shouted
George.  "Let go the reel--drop the handle.
Let him run."

He complied, and then his fish began a
marvelous exhibition of lofty tumbling.  He
seemed never to stay down at all.  Now he
shot up, mouth wide, gills spread, eyes wild,
and he shook himself like a wet dog.  Then
he dropped back, and before the boys had
time to think where he might be he came
up several rods to the right and cracked his
gills like pistol-shots.  He skittered on his
tail and stood on his head and dropped flat
with a heavy smack.  Then he stayed under
and began to tug.

"Hang on, now," cried George.  "Wind
in.  Hold him tight.  Don't give him an
inch unless he jumps."

This was heartbreaking work for Hal.  He
toiled to keep the line in.  He grew red in the
face.  He dripped with sweat.  He panted for
breath.  But he hung on.

Ken saw how skilfully Pepe managed the
boat.  The *mozo* seemed to know just which
way the fish headed, and always kept the boat
straight.  Sometimes he rowed back and lent
his help to Hal.  But this appeared to anger
the tarpon, for the line told he was coming
to the surface.  Then, as Pepe ceased to let
him feel the weight of the boat, the tarpon
sank again.  So the battle went on round and
round the great pool.  After an hour of it
Hal looked ready to drop.

"Land him alone if you can," said Ken.
"He's tiring, Hal."

"I'll--land him--or--or bust!" panted Hal.

"Look out, now!" warned George again.
"He's coming up.  See the line.  Be ready
to trim the boat if he drops aboard.  *Wow!*"

The tarpon slipped smoothly out of the
water and shot right over the bow of the boat.
Quick-witted George flung out his hand and
threw Hal's rod round in time to save the line
from catching.  The fish went down, came
up wagging his head, and then fell with
sullen splash.

"He's done," yelled George.  "Now, Hal,
hold him for all you're worth.  Not an inch
of line!"

Pepe headed the boat for a sandy beach;
and Hal, looking as if about to have a stroke
of apoplexy, clung desperately to the bending
rod.  The tarpon rolled and lashed his tail,
but his power was mostly gone.  Gradually he
ceased to roll, until by the time Pepe reached
shore he was sliding wearily through the water,
his silvery side glittering in the light.

The boat grated on the sand.  Pepe leaped
out.  Then he grasped Hal's line, slipped his
hands down to the long wire leader, and
with a quick, powerful pull slid the tarpon
out upon the beach.

"Oh-h!" gasped Hal, with glistening eyes.
"Oh-h!  Ken, just look!"

"I'm looking, son, and don't you forget it."

The tarpon lay inert, a beautiful silver-scaled
creature that looked as if he had just
come from a bath of melted opals.  The great
dark eyes were fixed and staring, the tail
moved feebly, the long dorsal fin quivered.

He measured five feet six inches in length,
which was one inch more than Hal's height.

"Ken, the boys back home will never believe
I caught him," said Hal, in distress.

"Take his picture to prove it," replied Ken.

Hal photographed his catch.  Pepe took
out the hook, showing, as he did so, the great
iron-like plates in the mouth of the fish.

"No wonder it's hard to hook them," said Ken.

Hal certainly wanted his beautiful fish to
go back, free and little hurt, to the river.
But also he wanted him for a specimen.  Hal
deliberated.  Evidently he was considering the
labor of skinning such a huge fish and the
difficulty of preserving and packing the hide.

"Say, Hal, wouldn't you like to see me hook
one?" queried Ken, patiently.

That brought Hal to his senses.

"Sure, Ken, old man, I want you to catch
one--a big one--bigger than mine," replied
Hal, and restored the fish to the water.

They all watched the liberated tarpon swim
wearily off and slip down under the water.

"He'll have something to tell the rest,
won't he?" said George.

In a few minutes the boat was again in the
center of the great pool among the rolling
tarpon.  Ken had a strike immediately.
He missed.  Then he tried again.  And in a
short space of time he saw five tarpon in the
air, one after the other, and not one did he
hook securely.  He got six leaps out of one,
however, and that was almost as good as
landing him.

"There 're some whales here," said George.

"Grande savalo," added Pepe, and he rowed
over to where a huge fish was rolling.

"Oh, I don't want to hook the biggest one
first," protested Ken.

Pepe rowed to and fro.  The boys were busy
trying to see the rolling tarpon.  There would
be a souse on one side, then a splash on the
other, then a thump behind.  What with
trying to locate all these fish and still keep an
eye on Ken's line the boys almost dislocated
their necks.

Then, quick as a flash, Ken had a strike
that pulled him out of his seat to his knees.
He could not jerk.  His line was like a wire.
It began to rise.  With all his strength he
held on.  The water broke in a hollow, slow
roar, and a huge humpbacked tarpon seemed
to be climbing into the air.  But he did not
get all the way out, and he plunged back
with a thunderous crash.  He made as much
noise as if a horse had fallen off a bridge.

The handle of the reel slipped out of Ken's
grasp, and it was well.  The tarpon made a
long, wonderful run and showed on the surface
a hundred yards from the boat.  He was
irresistibly powerful.  Ken was astounded and
thrilled at his strength and speed.  There,
far away from the boat, the tarpon leaped
magnificently, clearing the water, and then
went down.  He did not come up again.

"Ken, he's a whale," said George.  "I
believe he's well hooked.  He won't jump any
more.  And you've got a job on your hands."

"I want him to jump."

"The big ones seldom break water after
the first rush or so."

"Ken, it's coming to you with that
fellow," said Hal.  "My left arm is paralyzed.
Honestly, I can pinch it and not feel the pain."

Pepe worked the boat closer and Ken
reeled in yard after yard of line.  The tarpon
was headed down-stream, and he kept up a
steady, strong strain.

"Let him tow the boat," said George.
"Hold the drag, Ken.  Let him tow the boat."

"What!" exclaimed Ken, in amaze.

"Oh, he'll do it, all right."

And so it proved.  Ken's tarpon, once
headed with the current, did not turn, and
he towed the boat.

"This is a new way for me to tire out a
fish," said Ken.  "What do you think of it, Hal?"

Hal's eyes glistened.

"This is fishing.  Ken, did you see him
when he came up?"

"Not very clearly.  I had buck-fever.  You
know how a grouse looks when he flushes
right under your feet--a kind of brown blur.
Well, this was the same, only silver."

At the end of what Ken judged to be a
mile the tarpon was still going.  At the end
of the second mile he was tired.  And three
miles down the river from where the fish was
hooked Pepe beached the boat on a sandbar
and hauled ashore a tarpon six feet ten
inches long.

Here Ken echoed Hal's panting gasp
of wonder and exultation.  As he sat down
on the boat to rest he had no feeling in
his left arm, and little in his right.  His
knuckles were skinned and bloody.  No
game of baseball he had ever pitched had
taken his strength like the conquest of this
magnificent fish.

"Hal, we'll have some more of this fishing
when we get to Tampico," said Ken.  "Why,
this beats hunting.  You have the sport, and
you needn't kill anything.  This tarpon isn't
hurt."

So Ken photographed his prize and measured
him, and, taking a last lingering glance at the
great green back, the silver-bronze sides, the
foot-wide flukes of the tail, at the whole
quivering fire-tinted length, he slid the tarpon
back into the river.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`STRICKEN DOWN`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XXII


.. class:: center medium bold

   STRICKEN DOWN

.. vspace:: 2

Much as Ken would have liked to go back
to that pool, he did not think of it twice.
And as soon as the excitement had subsided
and the journey was resumed, George and Hal,
and Pepe, too, settled down into a silent
weariness that made Ken anxious.

During the afternoon Ken saw Pepe slowly
droop lower and lower at the oars till the time
came when he could scarcely lift them to
make a stroke.  And when Ken relieved him
of them, Pepe fell like a log in the boat.

George slept.  Hal seemed to be fighting
stupor.  Pepe lay motionless on his seat.  They
were all going down with the fever, that
Ken knew, and it took all his courage to face
the situation.  It warmed his heart to see how
Hal was trying to bear up under a languor
that must have been well-nigh impossible to
resist.  At last Hal said:

"Ken, let me row."  He would not admit
that he was sick.

Ken thought it would do Hal no harm to
work.  But Ken did not want to lose time.
So he hit upon a plan that pleased him.
There was an extra pair of oars in the boat.
Ken fashioned rude pegs from a stick and
drove these down into the cleat inside the
gunwales.  With stout rope he tied the oars
to the pegs, which answered fairly well as
oarlocks.  Then they had a double set of
oars going, and made much better time.

George woke and declared that he must take
a turn at the oars.  So Ken let him row, too,
and rested himself.  He had a grim foreboding
that he would need all his strength.

The succeeding few hours before sunset
George and Hal more than made up for all
their delinquencies of the past.  At first it was
not very hard for them to row; but soon they
began to weary, then weaken.  Neither one,
however, would give up.  Ken let them
row, knowing that it was good for them.
Slower and slower grew George's strokes,
there were times when he jerked up
spasmodically and made an effort, only to weaken
again.  At last, with a groan he dropped the
oars.  Ken had to lift him back into the bow.

Hal was not so sick as George, and therefore
not so weak.  He lasted longer.  Ken
had seen the lad stick to many a hard job,
but never as he did to this one.  Hal was
making good his promise.  There were times when
his breath came in whistles.  He would stop
and pant awhile, then row on.  Ken pretended
he did not notice.  But he had never been
so proud of his brother nor loved him so well.

"Ken, old man," said Hal, presently.  "I
was--wrong--about the water.  I ought to
have obeyed you.  I--I'm pretty sick."

What a confession for Hal Ward!

Ken turned in time to see Hal vomit over
the gunwale.

"It's pretty tough, Hal," said Ken, as he
reached out to hold his brother's head; "but
you're game.  I'm so glad to see that."

Whereupon Hal went back to his oars and
stayed till he dropped.  Ken lifted him and
laid him beside George.

Ken rowed on with his eyes ever in search
of a camping-site.  But there was no place to
camp.  The muddy banks were too narrow
at the bottom, too marshy and filthy.  And
they were too steep to climb to the top.

The sun set.  Twilight fell.  Darkness came
on, and still Ken rowed down the river.  At
last he decided to make a night of it at the
oars.  He preferred to risk the dangers of the
river at night rather than spend miserable
hours in the mud.  Rousing the boys, he
forced them to swallow a little cold rice and
some more quinine.  Then he covered them
with blankets, and had scarce completed the
task when they were deep in slumber.

Then the strange, dense tropical night
settled down upon Ken.  The oars were
almost noiseless, and the water gurgled softly
from the bow.  Overhead the expanse was
dark blue, with a few palpitating stars.  The
river was shrouded in gray gloom, and the
banks were lost in black obscurity.  Great
fireflies emphasized the darkness.  He trusted
a good deal to luck in the matter of going
right; yet he kept his ear keen for the sound
of quickening current, and turned every few
strokes to peer sharply into the gloom.  He
seemed to have little sense of peril, for, though
he hit submerged logs and stranded on bars,
he kept on unmindful, and by and by lost what
anxiety he had felt.  The strange wildness
of the river at night, the gray, veiled space into
which he rowed unheeding began to work
upon his mind.

That was a night to remember--a night
of sounds and smells, of the feeling of the cool
mist, the sight of long, dark forest-line and
a golden moon half hidden by clouds.  Prominent
among these was the trill of river frogs.
The trill of a northern frog was music, but
that of these great, silver-throated jungle
frogs was more than music.  Close at hand one
would thrill Ken with mellow, rich notes;
and then from far would come the answer,
a sweet, high tenor, wilder than any other
wilderness sound, long sustained, dying away
till he held his breath to listen.

So the hours passed; and the moon went
down into the weird shadows, and the Southern
Cross rose pale and wonderful.

Gradually the stars vanished in a kind of
brightening gray, and dawn was at hand.
Ken felt weary for sleep, and his arms and back
ached.  Morning came, with its steely light
on the river, the rolling and melting of vapors,
the flight of ducks and call of birds.  The
rosy sun brought no cheer.

Ken beached the boat on a sand-bar.
While he was building a fire George raised
his head and groaned.  But neither Pepe nor
Hal moved.  Ken cooked rice and boiled
cocoa, which he choked down.  He opened
a can of fruit and found that most welcome.
Then he lifted George's head, shook him,
roused him, and held him, and made him eat
and drink.  Nor did he neglect to put a
liberal dose of quinine in the food.  Pepe was
easily managed, but poor Hal was almost
unable to swallow.  Something terribly grim
mingled with a strong, passionate thrill as
Ken looked at Hal's haggard face.  Then
Ken Ward knew how much he could stand,
what work he could do to get his brother out
of the jungle.

He covered the boys again and pushed out
the boat.  At the moment he felt a strength
that he had never felt before.  There was a
good, swift current in the river, and Ken was
at great pains to keep in it.  The channel
ran from one side of the river to the other.
Many times Ken stranded on sandy shoals
and had to stand up and pole the boat into
deeper water.  This was work that required
all his attention.  It required more than
patience.  But as he rowed and poled and
drifted he studied the shallow ripples and
learned to avoid the places where the boat
would not float.

There were stretches of river where the
water was comparatively deep, and along
these he rested and watched the shores as he
drifted by.  He saw no Indian huts that
morning.  The jungle loomed high and dark,
a matted gray wall.  The heat made the
river glare and smoke.  Then where the
current quickened he rowed steadily and easily,
husbanding his strength.

More than all else, even the ravings of Hal
in fever, the thing that wore on Ken and made
him gloomy was the mourning of turtle-doves.
As there had been thousands of these
beautiful birds along the Santa Rosa River, so
there were millions along the Panuco.  Trees
were blue with doves.  There was an
incessant soft, sad moaning.  He fought his
nervous, sensitive imaginings.  And for a
time he would conquer the sense of some sad
omen sung by the doves.  Then the monotony,
the endless sweet "coo-ooo-ooo," seemed
to drown him in melancholy sound.  There were
three distinct tones--a moan, swelling to full
ring, and dying away: "Coo-*ooo*-ooo--coo-*ooo*-ooo."

All the afternoon the mourning, haunting
song filled Ken Ward's ears.  And when the
sun set and night came, with relief to his
tortured ear but not to mind, Ken kept on
without a stop.

The day had slipped behind Ken with the
miles, and now it was again dark.  It seemed
that he had little sense of time.  But his
faculties of sight and hearing were singularly
acute.  Otherwise his mind was like the weird
gloom into which he was drifting.

Before the stars came out the blackness was
as thick as pitch.  He could not see a yard
ahead.  He backed the boat stern first
down-stream and listened for the soft murmur
of ripples on shoals.  He avoided these by
hearing alone.  Occasionally a huge, dark
pile of driftwood barred his passage, and he
would have to go round it.  Snags loomed up
specter-like in his path, seemingly to reach for
him with long, gaunt arms.  Sometimes he
drifted upon sand-bars, from which he would
patiently pole the boat.

When the heavy dew began to fall he put
on his waterproof coat.  The night grew
chill.  Then the stars shone out.  This
lightened the river.  Yet everywhere were shadows.
Besides, clouds of mist hung low, in places
obscuring the stars.

Ken turned the boat bow first downstream
and rowed with slow, even stroke.
He no longer felt tired.  He seemed to have
the strength of a giant.  He fancied that with
one great heave he could lift the boat out of
the water or break the oars.  From time to
time he ceased to row, and, turning his head,
he looked and listened.  The river had numerous
bends, and it was difficult for Ken to keep
in the middle channel.  He managed pretty
well to keep right by watching the dark
shore-line where it met the deep-blue sky.
In the bends the deepest water ran close to
the shore of the outside curve.  And under
these high banks and the leaning cypresses
shadows were thicker and blacker than in the
earlier night.  There was mystery in them
that Ken felt.

The sounds he heard when he stopped
during these cautious resting intervals were
the splashes of fish breaking water, the low
hum of insects, and the trill of frogs.  The
mourning of the doves during daylight had
haunted him, and now he felt the same
sensation at this long-sustained, exquisitely sweet
trill.  It pierced him, racked him, and at last,
from sheer exhaustion of his sensibilities, he
seemed not to hear it any more, but to have
it in his brain.

The moon rose behind the left-hand jungle
wall, silvered half of the river and the
opposite line of cypresses, then hid under clouds.

Suddenly, near or far away, down the river
Ken saw a wavering light.  It was too large
for a firefly, and too steady.  He took it
for a Jack-o'-lantern.  And for a while it
enhanced the unreality, the ghostliness of the
river.  But it was the means of bringing
Ken out of his dreamy gloom.  It made him
think.  The light was moving.  It was too
wavering for a Jack-o'-lantern.  It was
coming up-stream.  It grew larger.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it
vanished.  Ken lost sight of it under a deep
shadow of overhanging shore.  As he reached
a point opposite to where it disappeared he
thought he heard a voice.  But he could not
be sure.  He did not trust his ears.  The
incident, however, gave him a chill.  What
a lonesome ride!  He was alone on that
unknown river with three sick boys in the boat.
Their lives depended upon his care, his
strength, his skill, his sight and hearing.
And the realization, striking him afresh,
steeled his arms again and his spirit.

The night wore on.  The moon disappeared
entirely.  The mists hung low like dim sheets
along the water.  Ken was wringing-wet with
dew.  Long periods of rowing he broke with
short intervals of drifting, when he rested at
the oars.

Then drowsiness attacked him.  For hours
it seemed he fought it off.  But at length it
grew overpowering.  Only hard rowing would
keep him awake.  And, as he wanted to
reserve his strength, he did not dare exert
himself violently.  He could not keep his eyes
open.  Time after time he found himself
rowing when he was half asleep.  The boat
drifted against a log and stopped.  Ken
drooped over his oars and slept, and yet he
seemed not altogether to lose consciousness.
He roused again to row on.

It occurred to him presently that he might
let the boat drift and take naps between
whiles.  When he drifted against a log or a
sand-bar the jar would awaken him.  The
current was sluggish.  There seemed to be
no danger whatever.  He must try to keep
his strength.  A little sleep would refresh
him.  So he reasoned, and fell asleep over
the oars.

Sooner or later--he never knew how long
after he had fallen asleep--a little jar awakened
him.  Then the gurgle and murmur of water
near him and the rush and roar of a swift
current farther off made him look up with a
violent start.  All about him was wide, gray
gloom.  Yet he could see the dark, glancing
gleam of the water.  Movement of the oars
told him the boat was fast on a sand-bar.
That relieved him, for he was not drifting at
the moment into the swift current he heard.
Ken peered keenly into the gloom.  Gradually
he made out a long, dark line running
diagonally ahead of him and toward the
right-hand shore.  It could not be an island or a
sand-bar or a shore-line.  It could not be
piles of driftwood.  There was a strange
regularity in the dark upheavals of this
looming object.  Ken studied it.  He studied the
black, glancing water.  Whatever the line
was, it appeared to shunt the current over to
the right, whence came the low rush and roar.

Altogether it was a wild, strange place.
Ken felt a fear of something he could not name.
It was the river--the night--the loneliness--the
unknown about him and before him.

Suddenly he saw a dull, red light far down
the river.  He stiffened in his seat.  Then
he saw another red light.  They were like
two red eyes.  Ken shook himself to see if
he had nightmare.  No; the boat was there;
the current was there; the boys were there,
dark and silent under their blankets.  This
was no dream.  Ken's fancy conjured up
some red-eyed river demon come to destroy
him and his charges.  He scorned the fancy,
laughed at it.  But, all the same, in that dark,
weird place, with the murmuring of notes
in his ears and with those strange red eyes
glowing in the distance, he could not help
what his emotions made the truth.  He was
freezing to the marrow, writhing in a clammy
sweat when a low "chug-chug-chug" enlightened
him.  The red eyes were those of a steamboat.

A steamboat on the wild Panuco!  Ken
scarcely believed his own judgment.  Then
he remembered that George said there were
a couple of boats plying up and down the
lower Panuco, mostly transporting timber and
cattle.  Besides, he had proof of his judgment
in the long, dark line that had so puzzled
him--it was a breakwater.  It turned the
current to the left, where there evidently was
a channel.

The great, red eyes gleamed closer, the
"chug-chug-chug" sounded louder.  Then
another sound amazed Ken--a man's voice
crying out steadily and monotonously.

Ken wanted to rouse the boys and Pepe,
but he refrained.  It was best for them to
sleep.  How surprised they would be when he
told them about the boat that passed in the
night!  Ken now clearly heard the splashing
of paddles, the chug of machinery, and the
man's voice.  He was singsonging: "Dos y
media, dos y media, dos y media."

Ken understood a little Mexican, and
this strange cry became clear to him.  The
man was taking soundings with a lead and
crying out to the pilot.  *Dos y media* meant two
and a half feet of water.  Then the steam-boat
loomed black in the gray gloom.  It was
pushing a low, flat barge.  Ken could not
see the man taking soundings, but he heard
him and knew he was on the front end of the
barge.  The boat passed at fair speed, and it
cheered Ken.  For he certainly ought to be
able to take a rowboat where a steamboat
had passed.  And, besides, he must be getting
somewhere near the little village of Panuco.

He poled off the bar and along the breakwater
to the channel.  It was narrow and swift.
He wondered how the pilot of the steamboat
had navigated in the gloom.  He slipped
down-stream, presently to find himself once
more in a wide river.  Refreshed by his sleep
and encouraged by the meeting with the
steamboat, Ken settled down to steady rowing.

The stars paled, the mist thickened, fog
obscured the water and shore; then all turned
gray, lightened, and dawn broke.  The sun
burst out.  Ken saw thatched huts high on
the banks and occasionally natives.  This
encouraged him all the more.

He was not hungry, but he was sick for a
drink.  He had to fight himself to keep from
drinking the dirty river-water.  How different
it was here from the clear green of the upper
Santa Rosa!  Ken would have given his best
gun for one juicy orange.  George was
restless and rolling about, calling for water;
Hal lay in slumber or stupor; and Pepe sat
up.  He was a sick-looking fellow, but he
was better; and that cheered Ken as nothing
yet had.

Ken beached the boat on a sandy shore,
and once again forced down a little rice and
cocoa.  Pepe would not eat, yet he drank a
little.  George was burning up with fever,
and drank a full cup.  Hal did not stir, and
Ken thought it best to let him lie.

As Ken resumed the journey the next thing
to attract his attention was a long canoe
moored below one of the thatched huts.
This afforded him great satisfaction.  At
least he had passed the jungle wilderness,
where there was nothing that even suggested
civilization.  In the next few miles he noticed
several canoes and as many natives.  Then
he passed a canoe that was paddled by two
half-naked bronze Indians.  Pepe hailed them,
but either they were too unfriendly to reply
or they did not understand him.

Some distance below Pepe espied a banana
grove, and he motioned Ken to row ashore.
Ken did so with pleasure at the thought of
getting some fresh fruit.  There was a canoe
moored to the roots of a tree and a path
leading up the steep bank.  Pepe got out and
laboriously toiled up the bare path.  He was
gone a good while.

Presently Ken heard shouts, then the bang
of a lightly loaded gun, then yells from Pepe.

"What on earth!" cried Ken, looking up in
affright.

Pepe appeared with his arms full of red
bananas.  He jumped and staggered down
the path and almost fell into the boat.  But
he hung on to the bananas.

"Santa Maria!" gasped Pepe, pointing to
little bloody spots on the calf of his leg.

"Pepe, you've been shot!" ejaculated Ken.
"You stole the fruit--somebody shot you!"

Pepe howled his affirmative.  Ken was
angry at himself, angrier at Pepe, and angriest
at the native who had done the shooting.
With a strong shove Ken put the boat out
and then rowed hard down-stream.  As he
rounded a bend a hundred yards below he saw
three natives come tumbling down the path.
They had a gun.  They leaped into the canoe.
They meant pursuit.

"Say, but this is a pretty kettle of fish!"
muttered Ken, and he bent to the oars.

Of course Pepe had been in the wrong.
He should have paid for the bananas or asked
for them.  All the same, Ken was not in any
humor to be fooled with by excitable natives.
He had a sick brother in the boat and meant
to get that lad out of the jungle as quickly
as will and strength could do it.  He
certainly did not intend to be stopped by a few
miserable Indians angry over the loss of a few
bananas.  If it had not been for the gun,
Ken would have stopped long enough to pay
for the fruit.  But he could not risk it now.
So he pulled a strong stroke down-stream.

The worst of the matter developed when
Pepe peeled one of the bananas.  It was too
green to eat.

Presently the native canoe hove in sight
round the bend.  All three men were paddling.
They made the long craft fly through
the water.  Ken saw instantly that they would
overhaul him in a long race, and this added
to his resentment.  Pepe looked back and
jabbered and shook his brawny fists at the
natives.  Ken was glad to see that the long
stretch of river below did not show a canoe
or hut along the banks.  He preferred to be
overhauled, if he had to be, in a rather lonely spot.

It was wonderful how those natives propelled
that log canoe.  And when one of the
three dropped his paddle to pick up the gun,
the speed of the canoe seemed not to diminish.
They knew the channels, and so gained on
Ken.  He had to pick the best he could
choose at short notice, and sometimes he
chose poorly.

Two miles or more below the bend the
natives with the gun deliberately fired,
presumably at Pepe.  The shot scattered and
skipped along the water and did not come
near the boat.  Nevertheless, as the canoe
was gaining and the crazy native was reloading,
Ken saw he would soon be within range.
Something had to be done.

Ken wondered if he could not frighten
those natives.  They had probably never
heard the quick reports of a repeating rifle,
let alone the stinging cracks of an automatic.
Ken decided it would be worth trying.  But
he must have a chance to get the gun out of
its case and load it.

That chance came presently.  The natives,
in paddling diagonally across a narrow
channel, ran aground in the sand.  They were
fast for only a few moments, but in that time
Ken had got out the little rifle and loaded it.

Pepe's dark face turned a dirty white, and
his eyes dilated.  He imagined Ken was
going to kill some of his countrymen.  But
Pepe never murmured.  He rubbed the place
in his leg where he had been shot, and looked
back.

Ken rowed on, now leisurely.  There was
a hot anger within him, but he had it in
control.  He knew what he was about.  Again
the native fired, and again his range was short.
The distance was perhaps two hundred yards.

Ken waited until the canoe, in crossing
one of the many narrow places, was broadside
toward him.  Then he raised the automatic.
There were at least ten feet in the
middle of the canoe where it was safe for him
to hit without harm to the natives.  And
there he aimed.  The motion of his boat made
it rather hard to keep the sights right.  He was
cool, careful; he aimed low, between gunwale
and the water, and steadily he pulled the
trigger--once, twice, three times, four, five.

The steel-jacketed bullets "spoued" on
the water and "cracked" into the canoe.
They evidently split both gunwales low down
at the water-line.  The yelling, terror-stricken
natives plunged about, and what with
their actions and the great split in the middle
the canoe filled and sank.  The natives were
not over their depth; that was plainly evident.
Moreover, it was equally evident that they
dared not wade in the quicksand.  So they
swam to the shallower water, and there, like
huge turtles, floundered toward the shore.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`OUT OF THE JUNGLE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   XXIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   OUT OF THE JUNGLE

.. vspace:: 2

Before the natives had reached the
shore they were hidden from Ken's
sight by leaning cypress-trees.  Ken,
however, had no fear for their safety.  He was
sorry to cause the Indians' loss of a gun and
a canoe; nevertheless, he was not far from
echoing Pepe's repeated: "Bueno!  Bueno!
Bueno!"

Upon examination Ken found two little
bloody holes in the muscles of Pepe's leg.
A single shot had passed through.  Ken
bathed the wounds with an antiseptic lotion
and bound them with clean bandages.

Pepe appeared to be pretty weak, so Ken
did not ask him to take the oars.  Then,
pulling with long, steady stroke, Ken set out
to put a long stretch between him and the
angry natives.  The current was swift, and
Ken made five miles or more an hour.  He
kept that pace for three hours without a rest.
And then he gave out.  It seemed that all at
once he weakened.  His back bore an
immense burden.  His arms were lead, and his
hands were useless.  There was an occasional
mist or veil before his sight.  He was wet,
hot, breathless, numb.  But he knew he was
safe from pursuit.  So he rested and let the
boat drift.

George sat up, green in the face, a most
miserable-looking boy.  But that he could
sit up at all was hopeful.

"Oh, my head!" he moaned.  "Is there
anything I can drink?  My mouth is
dry--pasted shut."

Ken had two lemons he had been saving.
He cut one in halves and divided it between
Pepe and George.  The relief the sour lemon
afforded both showed Ken how wise he had
been to save the lemons.  Then he roused
Hal, and, lifting the lad's head, made him
drink a little of the juice.  Hal was a sick
boy, too weak to sit up without help.

"Don't--you worry--Ken," he said.  "I'm
going--to be--all right."

Hal was still fighting.

Ken readjusted the palm-leaf shelter over
the boys so as to shade them effectually from
the hot sun, and then he went back to the
oars.

As he tried once more to row, Ken was
reminded of the terrible lassitude that had
overtaken him the day he had made the six-hour
climb out of the Grand Cañon.  The
sensation now was worse, but Ken had others
depending upon his exertions, and that spurred
him to the effort which otherwise would have
been impossible.

It was really not rowing that Ken accomplished.
It was a weary puttering with oars
he could not lift, handles he could not hold.
At best he managed to guide the boat into
the swiftest channels.  Whenever he felt that
he was just about to collapse, then he would
look at Hal's pale face.  That would revive
him.  So the hot hours dragged by.

They came, after several miles, upon more
huts and natives.  And farther down they
met canoes on the river.  Pepe interrogated
the natives.  According to George, who
listened, Panuco was far, far away, many
kilometers.  This was most disheartening.  Another
native said the village was just round the
next bend.  This was most nappy information.
But it turned out to be a lie.  There
was no village around any particular
bend--nothing save bare banks for miles.  The
stretches of the river were long, and bends
far apart.

Ken fell asleep.  When he awoke he found
Pepe at the oars.  Watching him, Ken fancied
he was recovering, and was overjoyed.

About four o'clock in the afternoon Pepe
rowed ashore and beached the boat at the
foot of a trail leading up to a large bamboo
and thatch hut.  This time Ken thought it
well to accompany Pepe.  And as he climbed
the path he found his legs stiffer and shakier
than ever before.

Ken saw a cleared space in which were
several commodious huts, gardens, and flowers.
There was a grassy yard in which little naked
children were playing with tame deer and
tiger-cats.  Parrots were screeching, and other
tame birds fluttered about.  It appeared a real
paradise to Ken.

Two very kindly disposed and wondering
native women made them welcome.  Then
Ken and Pepe went down to the boat and
carried Hal up, and went back for George.

It developed that the native women knew
just what to do for the fever-stricken boys.
They made some kind of a native drink for
them, and after that gave them hot milk and
chicken and rice soup.  George improved
rapidly, and Hal brightened a little and showed
signs of gathering strength.

Ken could not eat until he had something
to quench his thirst.  Upon inquiring, Pepe
found that the natives used the river-water.
Ken could not drink that.  Then Pepe pointed
out an orange-tree, and Ken made a dive
for it.  The ground was littered with oranges.
Collecting an armful, Ken sat under the tree
and with wild haste began to squeeze the juice
into his mouth.  Never had anything before
tasted so cool, so sweet, so life-giving!  He
felt a cool, wet sensation steal all through his
body.  He never knew till that moment how
really wonderful and precious an orange could
be.  He thought that as he would hate
mourning turtle-doves all the rest of his life,
so he would love the sight and smell and taste
of oranges.  And he demolished twenty-two
before he satisfied his almost insatiable thirst.
After that the chicken and rice made him feel
like a new boy.

Then Ken made beds under a kind of porch,
and he lay down in one, stretched out
languidly and gratefully, as if he never intended
to move again, and his eyes seemed to be
glued shut.

When he awoke the sun was shining in his
face.  When he had gone to bed it had been
shining at his back.  He consulted his watch.
He had slept seventeen hours.

When he got up and found Pepe as well as
before he had been taken with the fever and
George on his feet and Hal awake and
actually smiling, Ken experienced a sensation
of unutterable thankfulness.  A terrible
burden slipped from his shoulders.  For a
moment he felt a dimming of his eyes and a lump
in his throat.

"How about you, Ken, old man?" inquired
Hal, with a hint of his usual spirit.

"Wal, youngster, I reckon fer a man who's
been through some right pert happenin's,
I'm in tol'able shape," drawled Ken.

"I'll bet two dollars you've been up
against it," declared Hal, solemnly.

Then, as they sat to an appetizing breakfast,
Ken gave them a brief account of the
incidents of the two days and two nights
when they were too ill to know anything.

It was a question whether George's voluble
eulogy of Ken's feat or Hal's silent,
bright-eyed pride in his brother was the greater
compliment.

Finally Hal said: "Won't that tickle Jim
Williams when we tell him how you split
up the Indians' canoe and spilled them into
the river?"

Then Ken conceived the idea of climbing
into the giant ceiba that stood high on the
edge of the bluff.  It was hard work, but he
accomplished it, and from a fork in the
top-most branches he looked out.  That was a
warm, rich, wonderful scene.  Ken felt that
he would never forget it.  His interest now,
however, was not so much in its beauty and
wildness.  His keen eye followed the river
as it wound away into the jungle, and when
he could no longer see the bright ribbon of
water he followed its course by the line of
magnificent trees.  It was possible to trace
the meandering course of the river clear to
the rise of the mountains, dim and blue in
the distance.  And from here Ken made more
observations and notes.

As he went over in his mind the map and
notes and report he had prepared he felt that
he had made good.  He had explored and
mapped more than a hundred miles of wild
jungle river.  He felt confident that he had
earned the trip to England and the German
forests.  He might win a hunting trip on the
vast uplands of British East Africa.  But he
felt also that the reward of his uncle's and
his father's pride would be more to him.  That
was a great moment for Ken Ward.  And
there was yet much more that he could do to
make this exploring trip a success.

.. _`Ken Ward's Map`:

.. figure:: images/img-301.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Ken Ward's Map

   Ken Ward's Map

When he joined the others he found that
Pepe had learned that the village of Panuco
was distant a day or a night by canoe.  How
many miles or kilometers Pepe could not learn.
Ken decided it would be best to go on at once.
It was not easy to leave that pleasant place,
with its music of parrots and other birds, and
the tiger-cats that played like kittens, and the
deer that ate from the hand.  The women
would accept no pay, so Ken made them
presents.

Once more embarked, Ken found his mood
reverting to that of the last forty-eight hours.
He could not keep cheerful.  The river was
dirty and the smell sickening.  The sun was
like the open door of a furnace.  And Ken
soon discovered he was tired, utterly tired.

That day was a repetition of the one before,
hotter, wearier, and the stretches of river were
longer, and the natives met in canoes were
stolidly ignorant of distance.  The mourning
of turtle-doves almost drove Ken wild.  There
were miles and miles of willows, and every tree
was full of melancholy doves.  At dusk the
boys halted on a sand-bar, too tired to cook a
dinner, and sprawled in the warm sand to sleep
like logs.

In the morning they brightened up a little,
for surely just around the bend they would
come to Panuco.  Pepe rowed faithfully on,
and bend after bend lured Ken with deceit.
He was filled with weariness and disgust, so
tired he could hardly lift his hand, so sleepy
he could scarcely keep his eyes open.  He
hated the wide, glassy stretches of river and
the muddy banks and dusty cattle.

At noon they came unexpectedly upon a
cluster of thatched huts, to find that they made
up the village of Panuco.  Ken was sick, for he
had expected a little town where they could
get some drinking-water and hire a launch
to speed them down to Tampico.  This
appeared little more than the other places he
had passed, and he climbed up the bank
wearily, thinking of the long fifty miles still
to go.

But Panuco was bigger and better than it
looked from the river.  The boys found a
clean, comfortable inn, where they dined well,
and learned to their joy that a coach left in
an hour for Tamos to meet the five-o'clock
train to Tampico.

They hired a *mozo* to row the boat to
Tampico and, carrying the lighter things,
boarded the coach, and, behind six mules,
were soon bowling over a good level road.

It was here that the spirit of Ken's mood
again changed, and somehow seemed subtly
conveyed to the others.  The gloom faded
away as Ken had seen the mist-clouds
dissolve in the morning sunlight.  It was the
end of another wild trip.  Hal was ill, but
a rest and proper care would soon bring him
around.  Ken had some trophies and pictures,
but he also had memories.  And he believed
he had acquired an accurate knowledge of
the jungle and its wild nature, and he had
mapped the river from Micas Falls to Panuco.

"Well, it certainly *did come* to us, didn't
it?" asked George, naïvely, for the hundredth
time.  "Didn't I tell you?  By gosh, I can't
remember what did come off.  But we had
a dandy time."

"Great!" replied Ken.  "I had more than
I wanted.  I'll never spring another stunt like
this one!"

Hal gazed smilingly at his brother.

"Bah!  Ken Ward, bring on your next old trip!"

Which proved decidedly that Hal was getting
better and that he alone understood his
brother.

Pepe listened and rubbed his big hands,
and there was a light in his dark eyes.

Ken laughed.  It was good to feel happy
just then; it was enough to feel safe and glad
in the present, with responsibility removed,
without a thought of the future.

Yet, when some miles across country he saw
the little town of Tamos shining red-roofed
against the sky, he came into his own again.
The old calling, haunting love of wild places
and wild nature returned, and with dreamy
eyes he looked out.  He saw the same beauty
and life and wildness.  Beyond the glimmering
lagoons stretched the dim, dark jungle.
A flock of flamingoes showed pink across the
water.  Ducks dotted the weedy marshes.
And low down on the rosy horizon a long
curved line of wild geese sailed into the sunset.

When the boys arrived at Tampico and
George had secured comfortable lodgings for
them, the first thing Ken did was to put Hal
to bed.  It required main strength to do this.
Ken was not taking any chances with tropical
fever, and he sent for a doctor.

It was not clear whether the faces Hal
made were at the little dried-up doctor or at
the medicine he administered.  However, it
was very clear that Hal made fun of him
and grew bolder the more he believed the man
could not understand English.

Ken liked the silent, kindly physician, and
remonstrated with Hal, and often, just to
keep Hal's mind occupied, he would talk of
the university and baseball, topics that were
absorbing to the boy.

And one day, as the doctor was leaving,
he turned to Ken with a twinkle in his eyes
and said in perfect English: "I won't need to
come any more."

Hal's jaw began to drop.

"Your brother is all right," went on the
doctor.  "But he's a fresh kid, and he'll
never make the Wayne Varsity--or a good
explorer, either--till he gets over that
freshness.  I'm a Wayne man myself.  Class of '82.
Good day, boys."

Ken Ward was astounded.  "By George!
What do you think of that?  He's a Wayne
med.  I'll have to look him up.  And, Hal, he
was just right about you."

Hal looked extremely crestfallen and remorseful.

"I'm always getting jars."

It took a whole day for him to recover his
usual spirits.

Ken had promptly sent the specimens and
his notes to his uncle, and as the days passed
the boys began to look anxiously for some
news.  In ten days Hal was as well as ever,
and then the boys had such sport with the
tarpon and big sharks and alligator-gars that
they almost forgot about the rewards they had
striven so hard for and hoped to win.  But
finally, when the mail arrived from home,
they were at once happy and fearful.  George
was with them that evening, and shared their
excitement and suspense.  Hal's letters were
from his mother and his sister, and they were
read first.  Judge Ward's letter to Ken was
fatherly and solicitous, but brief.  He gave
the boys six more weeks, cautioned them to be
sensible and to profit by their opportunity,
and he inclosed a bank-draft.  Not a word
about rewards!

Ken's fingers trembled a little as he tore
open the uncle's letter.  He read it aloud:

.. vspace:: 2

DEAR KEN,--Congratulations!  You've done well.
You win the trip to Africa.  Hal's work also was
good--several specimens accepted by the Smithsonian.
I'll back you for the Yucatan trip.  Will send letters
to the American consul at Progreso, and arrange for
you to meet the Austrian archæologist Maler, who I
hope will take you in hand.

I want you to make a study of some of the ruins
of Yucatan, which I believe are as wonderful as any
in Egypt.  I advise you to make this trip short and to
the point, for there are indications of coming
revolution throughout Mexico.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   With best wishes,
      UNCLE G.

.. vspace:: 2

The old varsity cheer rang out from Ken,
and Hal began a war-dance.  Then both boys
pounced upon George, and for a few moments
made life miserable for him.

"And I can't go with you!" he exclaimed,
sorrowfully.

Both Ken and Hal shared his disappointment.
But presently.  George brightened up.
The smile came back which he always wore
when prophesying the uncertain adventures of
the future.

"Well, anyway, I'll be safe home.  And you
fellows!  You'll be getting yours when you're
lost in the wilderness of Yucatan!"

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center

   THE END

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large bold

   *There's More to Follow!*

.. vspace:: 2

More stories of the sort you like;
more, probably, by the author of this
one; more than 500 titles all told by
writers of world-wide reputation, in
the Authors' Alphabetical List which
you will find on the *reverse side* of the
wrapper of this book.  Look it over
before you lay it aside.  There are
books here you are sure to want--some,
possibly, that you have *always* wanted.

It is a *selected* list; every book in it
has achieved a certain measure of
success.

The Grosset & Dunlap list is not only
the greatest Index of Good Fiction
available, it represents in addition a
generally accepted Standard of Value.
It will pay you to

*Look on the Other Side of the Wrapper!*

In case the wrapper is lost write to
the publishers for a complete catalog.


.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

ZANE GREY'S NOVELS

.. class:: center small

May be had wherever books are sold.  Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

THE CALL OF THE CANYON
WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND
TO THE LAST MAN
THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER
THE MAN OF THE FOREST
THE DESERT OF WHEAT
THE U. P. TRAIL
WILDFIRE
THE BORDER LEGION
THE RAINBOW TRAIL
THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
THE LONE STAR RANGER
DESERT GOLD
BETTY ZANE
THE DAY OF THE BEAST

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS

The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody
Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center medium bold

ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE
THE YOUNG LION HUNTER
THE YOUNG FORESTER
THE YOUNG PITCHER
THE SHORT STOP
THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES



.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center medium bold

NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE

.. class:: center large bold

WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE

.. class:: center small

May be had wherever books are sold.  Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

BIG-TOWN ROUND-UP, THE
BRAND BLOTTERS
BUCKY O'CONNOR
CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT
DAUGHTER OF THE DONS, A
DESERT'S PRICE, THE
FIGHTING EDGE, THE
GUNSIGHT PASS
HIGHGRADER, THE
IRONHEART
MAN FOUR-SQUARE, A
MAN-SIZE
MAVERICKS
OH, YOU TEX!
PIRATE OF PANAMA, THE
RIDGWAY OF MONTANA
SHERIFF'S SON, THE
STEVE YEAGER
TANGLED TRAILS
TEXAS RANGER, A
VISION SPLENDID, THE
WYOMING
YUKON TRAIL, THE

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S

.. class:: center medium bold

STORIES OF ADVENTURE

.. class:: center small

May be had wherever books are sold.  Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

THE COUNTRY BEYOND
THE FLAMING FOREST
THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN
THE RIVER'S END
THE GOLDEN SNARE
NOMADS OF THE NORTH
KAZAN
BAREE, SON OF KAZAN
THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM
THE DANGER TRAIL
THE HUNTED WOMAN
THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH
THE GRIZZLY KING
ISOBEL
THE WOLF HUNTERS
THE GOLD HUNTERS
THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE
BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent small

*Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction*

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS

.. class:: center small

May be had wherever books are sold.  Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

BANDIT OF HELL'S BEND, THE
CAVE GIRL, THE
LAND THAT TIME FORGOT, THE
TARZAN AND THE ANT MEN
TARZAN AND THE GOLDEN LION
TARZAN THE TERRIBLE
TARZAN THE UNTAMED
JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN
AT THE EARTH'S CORE
THE MUCKER
A PRINCESS OF MARS
THE GODS OF MARS
THE WARLORD OF MARS
THUVIA, MAID OF MARS
THE CHESSMEN OF MARS

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center medium bold

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

.. vspace:: 6

.. pgfooter::