“Ken, that ’d be great--that’s what we came for!” “I should say so,” replied Ken. “Well?” asked Hal, simply. That question annoyed Ken. Had he not come south to go into the jungle? Had he come with any intention of shirking the danger of a wild trip? There was a subtle flattery in Hal’s question. “That Santa Rosa River runs through the jungle,” went on Hal. “It flows into the Panuco somewhere. You know we figured out on the map that the Panuco’s the only big river in this jungle. That’s all we want to know. And, Ken, you know you’re a born boatman. Why, look at the rapids we’ve shot on the Susquehanna. Remember that trip we came down the Juniata? The water was high, too. Ken, you can take a boat down that Santa Rosa!” “By George! I believe I can,” exclaimed Ken, and he thrilled at the thought. “Ken, let’s go. You’ll win the prize, and I’ll get specimens. Think what we’d have to tell Jim Williams and Dick Leslie when we go West next summer!” “Oh, Hal, I know--but this idea of a trip seems too wild.” “Maybe it wouldn’t be so wild.” In all fairness Ken could not deny this, so he kept silent. “Ken, listen,” went on Hal, and now he was quite cool. “If we’d promised the Governor not to take a wild trip I wouldn’t say another word. But we’re absolutely free.” “That’s why we ought to be more careful. Dad trusts me.” “He trusts you because he knows you can take care of yourself, and me, too. You’re a wonder, Ken. Why, if you once made up your mind, you’d make that Santa Rosa River look like a canal.” Ken began to fear that he would not be proof against the haunting call of that jungle river and the flattering persuasion of his brother and the ever-present ambition to show his uncle what he could do. “Hal, if I didn’t have you with me I’d already have made up my mind to tackle this river.” That appeared to insult Hal. “All I’ve got to say is I’d be a help to you--not a drag,” he said, with some warmth. “You’re always a help, Hal. I can’t say anything against your willingness. But you know your weakness. By George! you made trouble enough for me in Arizona. On a trip such as this you’d drive me crazy.” “Ken, I won’t make any rash promises. I don’t want to queer myself with you. But I’m all right.” “Look here, Hal; let’s wait. We’ve only got to Tampico. Maybe such a trip is impracticable--impossible. Let’s find out more about the country.” Hal appeared to take this in good spirit. The boys returned to the hotel and went to bed. Hal promptly fell asleep. But Ken Ward lay awake a long time thinking of the green Santa Rosa, with its magnificent moss-festooned cypresses. And when he did go to sleep it was to dream of the beautiful waterfowl with the white-crested wings, and he was following it on its wild flight down the dark, mysterious river-trail into the jungle. *II* *THE HOME OF THE TARPON*