“All right, boys,” he shouted. “Here’s the river.” The boys were so immensely relieved that packing the outfit round the waterfalls was work they set about with alacrity. Ken, who had on his boots, broke a trail through the ferns and deep moss. Pepe, being barefoot, wasted time looking for snakes. George teased him. But Pepe was deadly serious. And the way he stepped and looked made Ken thoughtful. He had made his last trip with supplies, and was about to start back to solve the problem of getting the boat down, when a hoarse yell resounded through the sleeping jungle. Parrots screeched, and other birds set up a cackling. Ken bounded up the slope. “Santa Maria!” cried Pepe. Ken followed the direction indicated by Pepe’s staring eyes and trembling finger. Hanging from a limb of a tree was a huge black-snake. It was as thick as Ken’s leg. The branch upon which it poised its neck so gracefully was ten feet high, and the tail curled into the ferns on the ground. “Boys, it’s one of the big fellows,” cried Ken. “Didn’t I tell you!” yelled George, running down for his gun. Hal seemed rooted to the spot. Pepe began to jabber. Ken watched the snake, and felt instinctively from its sinister looks that it was dangerous. George came running back with his .32 and waved it in the air as he shot. He was so frightened that he forgot to aim. Ken took the rifle from him. “You can’t hit him with this. Run after your shotgun. Quick!” But the sixteen-gage was clogged with a shell that would not eject. Ken’s guns were in their cases. “Holy smoke!” cried George. “He’s coming down.” The black-snake moved his body and began to slide toward the tree-trunk. Ken shot twice at the head of the snake. It was a slow-swaying mark hard to hit. The reptile stopped and poised wonderfully on the limb. He was not coiled about it, but lay over it with about four feet of neck waving, swaying to and fro. He watched the boys, and his tongue, like a thin, black streak, darted out viciously. Ken could not hit the head, so he sent a bullet through the thick part of the body. Swift as a gleam the snake darted from the limb. “Santa Maria!” yelled Pepe, and he ran off. “Look out, boys,” shouted Ken. He picked up Pepe’s _machete_ and took to his heels. George and Hal scrambled before him. They ran a hundred yards or more, and Ken halted in an open rocky spot. He was angry, and a little ashamed that he had run. The snake did not pursue, and probably was as badly frightened as the boys had been. Pepe stopped some distance away, and Hal and George came cautiously back. “I don’t see anything of him,” said Ken. “I’m going back.” He walked slowly, keeping a sharp outlook, and, returning to the glade, found blood-stains under the tree. The snake had disappeared without leaving a trail. “If I’d had my shotgun ready!” exclaimed Ken, in disgust. And he made a note that in the future he would be prepared to shoot.