Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 202
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.”
CHAPTER XXI
THE LEAPING TARPON
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 camp-fire. 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 become 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.”
