Next morning the mists had not lifted from the river when they shoved off, determined to beat the record of yesterday. Difficulties beset them from the start--the highest waterfall of the trip, a leak in the boat, deep, short rapids, narrows with choppy waves, and a whirlpool where they turned round and round, unable to row out. Nor did they get free till Pepe lassoed a snag and pulled them out. About noon they came to another narrow chute brawling down into a deep, foamy pool. Again Ken sent the boys around, and he backed the boat into the chute; and just as the current caught it he leaped aboard. He was either tired or careless, for he drifted too close to a half-submerged rock, and, try as he might, at the last moment he could not avoid a collision. As the stern went hard on the rock Ken expected to break something, but was surprised at the soft thud with which he struck. It flashed into his mind that the rock was moss-covered. Quick as the thought there came a rumble under the boat, the stern heaved up, there was a great sheet-like splash, and then a blow that splintered the gunwale. Then the boat shunted off, affording the astounded Ken a good view of a very angry crocodile. He had been sleeping on the rock. The boys were yelling and crowding down to the shore where Ken was drifting in. Pepe waded in to catch the boat. “What was it hit you, Ken?” asked Hal. “Mucho malo,” cried Pepe. “The boat’s half full of water--the gunwale’s all split!” ejaculated George. “Only an accident of river travel,” replied Ken, with mock nonchalance. “Say, Garrapato, _when_, about _when_ is it coming to me?” “Well, if he didn’t get slammed by a crocodile!” continued George. They unloaded, turned out the water, broke up a box to use for repairs, and mended the damaged gunwale--work that lost more than a good hour. Once again under way, Ken made some interesting observations. The river ceased to stand on end in places; crocodiles slipped off every muddy promontory, and wide trails ridged the steep clay-banks. “Cattle-trails, Pepe says,” said George. “Wild cattle roam all through the jungle along the Panuco.” It was a well-known fact that the rancheros of Tamaulipas State had no idea how many cattle they owned. Ken was so eager to see if Pepe had been correct that he went ashore, to find the trails were, indeed, those of cattle. “Then, Pepe, we must be somewhere near the Panuco River,” he said. “Quien sabe?” rejoined he, quietly. When they rounded the curve they came upon a herd of cattle that clattered up the bank, raising a cloud of dust. “Wilder than deer!” Ken exclaimed.