It dawned upon Ken that here was a new and unique way to travel down a river. It was different from anything he had ever tried before. The water was swift and seldom more than a foot deep, except in diagonal cracks that ribbed the river-bed. This long, shut-in stretch appeared to be endless. But for the quick, gliding movement of the boat, which made a little breeze, the heat would have been intolerable. When one of Hal’s kicks made Ken lurch overboard to sit down ludicrously, the cool water sent thrills over him. Instead of retaliating on Hal, he was glad to be wet. And the others, soon discovering the reason for Ken’s remarkable good-nature, went overboard and lay flat in the cool ripples. Then little clouds of steam began to rise from their soaked clothes. Ken began to have an idea that he had been wise in boiling the water which they drank. They all suffered from a parching thirst. Pepe scooped up water in his hand; George did likewise, and then Hal. “You’ve all got to stop that,” ordered Ken, sharply. “No drinking this water unless it’s boiled.” The boys obeyed, for the hour, but they soon forgot, or deliberately allayed their thirst despite Ken’s command. Ken himself found his thirst unbearable. He squeezed the juice of a wild lime into a cup of water and drank that. Then he insisted on giving the boys doses of quinine and anti-malaria pills, which treatment he meant to continue daily. Toward the lower part of that rapid, where the water grew deeper, fish began to be so numerous that the boys kicked at many as they darted under the boat. There were thousands of small fish and some large ones. Occasionally, as a big fellow lunged for a crack in the rock, he would make the water roar. There was a fish that resembled a mullet, and another that Hal said was some kind of bass with a blue tail. Pepe chopped at them with his _machete_; George whacked with an oar; Hal stood up in the boat and shot at them with his .22 rifle. “Say, I’ve got to see what that blue-tailed bass looks like,” said Ken. “You fellows will never get one.” Whereupon Ken jointed up a small rod and, putting on a spinner, began to cast it about. He felt two light fish hit it. Then came a heavy shock that momentarily checked the boat. The water foamed as the line cut through, and Ken was just about to jump off the boat to wade and follow the fish, when it broke the leader. “That was a fine exhibition,” remarked the critical Hal. “What’s the matter with you?” retorted Ken, who was sensitive as to his fishing abilities. “It was a big fish. He broke things.” “Haven’t you got a reel on that rod and fifty yards of line?” queried Hal. Ken did not have another spinner, and he tried an artificial minnow, but could not get a strike on it. He took Hal’s gun and shot at several of the blue-tailed fish, but though he made them jump out of the water like a real northern black-bass, it was all of no avail.