“Take me along,” said George. There was a note of American spirit in his voice, a laugh on his lips, and a flash in his eyes that made Ken look at him attentively. He was a slim youth, not much Hal’s senior, and Ken thought if ever a boy had been fashioned to be a boon comrade of Hal Ward this George Alling was the boy. “What do you think of the trip?” inquired Ken, curiously. “Fine. We’ll have some fun. We’ll get a boat and a mozo--” “What’s a mozo?” “A native boatman.” “That’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of a boatman to help row. But the boat is the particular thing. I wouldn’t risk a trip in one of those canoes.” “Come on, I’ll find a boat,” said George. And before he knew it George and Hal were leading him back from the river. George led him down narrow lanes, between painted stone houses and iron-barred windows, till they reached the canal. They entered a yard where buzzards, goats, and razor-back pigs were contesting over the scavenger rights. George went into a boat-house and pointed out a long, light, wide skiff with a flat bottom. Ken did not need George’s praise, or the shining light in Hal’s eyes, or the boat-keeper’s importunities to make him eager to try this particular boat. Ken Ward knew a boat when he saw one. He jumped in, shoved it out, rowed up the canal, pulled and turned, backed water, and tried every stroke he knew. Then he rested on the oars and whistled. Hal’s shout of delight made him stop whistling. Those two boys would have him started on the trip if he did not look sharp. “It’s a dandy boat,” said Ken. “Only a peso a day, Ken,” went on Hal. “One dollar Mex--fifty cents in our money. Quick, Ken, hire it before somebody else gets it.” “Sure I’ll hire the boat,” replied Ken; “but Hal, it’s not for that Santa Rosa trip. We’ll have to forget that.” “Forget your grandmother!” cried Hal. And then it was plain that he tried valiantly to control himself, to hide his joy, to pretend to agree with Ken’s ultimatum. Ken had a feeling that his brother knew him perfectly, and he was divided between anger and amusement. They returned to the hotel and lounged in the lobby. The proprietor was talking with some Americans, and as he now appeared to be at leisure he introduced the brothers and made himself agreeable. Moreover, he knew George Alling well. They began to chat, and Ken was considerably annoyed to hear George calmly state that he and his new-found friends intended to send a boat up to Valles and come down an unknown jungle river. The proprietor laughed, and, though the laugh was not unpleasant, somehow it nettled Ken Ward. “Why not go?” he asked, quietly, and he looked at the hotel man. “My boy, you can’t undertake any trip like that.” “Why not?” persisted Ken. “Is there any law here to prevent our going into the jungle?”