Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 188
“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.”
CHAPTER III
AN INDIAN BOATMAN
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 well 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 carried 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 canyon, 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.
CHAPTER 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 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.
