“Whew! Cold!” he exclaimed as he plunged his feet into the water. But on they went. Tumbling down a steep slope the stream formed many pools, some fairly large. As he waded through one of these up to his knees, Jack exclaimed: “There are fish in this pool! I feel them tickling my toes!” “Great!” Stew was an ardent, though usually an unlucky, fisherman. “Got a line?” “I sure have!” Jack pulled a hook and line from his pocket. “I took it from the rubber raft. They all carry them now, just in case.” “And you brought one along, just in case,” Stew laughed. “Wait till we’re out in the clear and we’ll hook our dinner.” Just then Jack paused to listen. From up stream there came the sound of splashing water, then of rocks rolling down, and after that a hoarse grunt. “Wild pigs!” Stew whispered. “Probably doing a little fishing on their own,” Jack suggested. “Boy! Wouldn’t a young porker taste good roasted over the coals! And here they don’t take ration points!” Stew laughed. “But they do take shots,” Jack protested. “And shots are out. We’re not going to bring those natives down on us, not before we’ve had a good look at them.” “Boy! Oh boy! Are we in a pickle!” Stew exclaimed. “If some old boar comes down this stream looking for trouble he’ll force us into a fight. If we shoot and miss, he’ll tear us up.” “Tell you what!” Jack decided after a moment’s thought. “We’ll keep going as long as we can. Then we’ll work our way back up the bank into the bush and let that drove of porkers pass.” “As long as we can” was only another ten yards, for suddenly the old guardian of the drove caught their scent and came charging down upon them. By a mighty struggle they forced their way back into the brush just before the ugly beast with chop-chopping jaws and gleaming tusks came charging past. The lesser fry, about a half dozen of them, had just stampeded past, when the old boar turned and came charging back upstream. This time he made no mistake. His beady eyes were upon Stew. As he lowered his ugly head preparing for a charge, Stew drew his automatic, but Jack, swinging a knife that was a cross between a sheath knife and a machete, struck the angry beast a cutting blow across his ugly snout. With a loud squeal and an angry grunt, the mad creature came on. Jack let him have it again, neatly carving out a curled ivory tusk. Before he could swing again the pig reared, gnashed its teeth, then tumbled back into the stream, to go rushing away. “Boy! But that was close!” Stew exclaimed, when after a short wait they resumed their journey upstream. At the top of the brush canopy, to their surprise they came upon a tiny lake. All rimmed round with gray rocks, it was blue as the sky above, and in its clear water many tropical fish were moving. “Boy! Any rich man in America would give a fortune to have this in his back yard!” Jack exclaimed. “Yeah, sure,” Stew agreed. “But a fish is a fish and I’m having some broiled for supper.”