“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.

  CHAPTER XII

  CATCHING STRANGE FISH

  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 raccoon, 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 redheaded 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 tree-tops 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 canvas-back 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.