Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 194
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 raccoon.
“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 canyon 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!”
CHAPTER XI
AN ARMY OF SNAKES
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.
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.
