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 come 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.