*XII*
*CATCHING STRANGE FISH*
Beyond a bend in the river the boys came upon an island with a narrow,shaded channel on one side, a wide shoal on the other, and a group ofhuge cypresses at the up-stream end.
"Looks good to me," said Hal.
The instant Ken saw the island he knew it was the place he had long beenseeking to make a permanent camp for a few days. They landed, to find anideal camping site. The ground under the cypresses was flat, dry, andcovered with short grass. Not a ray of sunlight penetrated the foliage.A pile of driftwood had lodged against one of the trees, and this madeeasy the question of fire-wood.
"Great!" exclaimed Ken. "Come on, let's look over the ground."
The island was about two hundred yards long, and the lower end washidden by a growth of willows. Bursting through this, the boys saw aweedy flat leading into a wide, shallow back-eddy. Great numbers ofducks were sporting and feeding. The stones of the rocky shore werelined with sleeping ducks. Herons of all colors and sizes waded about,or slept on one leg. Snipe ran everywhere. There was a great squawkingand flapping of wings. But at least half the number of waterfowl weretoo tame or too lazy to fly.
Ken returned to camp with his comrades, all highly elated over theprospects. The best feature about this beautiful island was the absenceof ticks and snakes.
"Boys, this is the place," said Ken. "We'll hang up here for a while.Maybe we won't strike another such nice place to stay."
So they unloaded the boat, taking everything out, and proceeded to pitcha camp that was a delight. They were all loud in expressions ofsatisfaction. Then Pepe set about leisurely peeling potatoes; Georgetook his gun and slipped off toward the lower end of the island; Halmade a pen for his racoon, and then more pens, as if he meant to capturea menagerie; and Ken made a comfortable lounging-bed under a cypress.He wanted to forget that nagging worry as to farther descent of theriver, and to enjoy this place.
"Bang!" went George's sixteen-gage. A loud whirring of wings followed,and the air was full of ducks.
"Never touched one!" yelled Hal, in taunting voice.
A flock of teal skimmed the water and disappeared up-stream. The shotawakened parrots in the trees, where for a while there was clamor. Kensaw George wade out into the shoal and pick up three ducks.
"Pot-shot!" exclaimed Hal, disgustedly. "Why couldn't he be a sport andshoot them on the fly?"
George crossed to the opposite shore and, climbing a bare place, stoodlooking before him.
"Hey, George, don't go far," called Ken.
"Fine place over here," replied George, and, waving his hand, he passedinto the bushes out of sight.
Ken lay back upon his blanket with a blissful sense of rest andcontentment. Many a time he had lain so, looking up through the broadleaves of a sycamore or the lacy foliage of a birch or the delicatecrisscross of millions of pine needles. This overhead canopy, however,was different. Only here and there could he catch little slivers ofblue sky. The graceful streamers of exquisite moss hung like tassels ofsilver. In the dead stillness of noonday they seemed to float curved inthe shape in which the last soft breeze had left them. High upon abranch he saw a red-headed parrot hanging back downward, after thefashion of a monkey. Then there were two parrots asleep in the fork ofa branch. It was the middle of the day, and all things seemed tired andsleepy. The deep channel murmured drowsily, and the wide expanse ofriver on the other side lapped lazily at the shore. The only othersound was the mourning of turtle-doves, one near and another far away.Again the full richness, the mellow sweetness of this song struck Kenforcibly. He remembered that all the way down the river he had heardthat mournful note. It was beautiful but melancholy. Somehow it madehim think that it had broken the dreamy stillness of the jungle noondaylong, long ago. It was sweet but sad and old. He did not like to hearit.
Ken yielded to the soothing influence of the hour and fell asleep. Whenhe awoke there was George, standing partially undressed and very soberlypopping ticks. He had enlisted the services of Pepe, and, to judge fromthe remarks of both, they needed still more assistance.
"Say, Garrapato George, many ticks over there?"
"Ticks!" shouted George, wildly, waving his cigarette. "Millions of'em! And there's--ouch! Kill that one, Pepe. Wow! he's as big as apenny. There's game over there. It's a flat with some kind of berrybush. There's lots of trails. I saw cat-tracks, and I scared up wildturkeys--"
"Turkeys!" Ken exclaimed, eagerly.
"You bet. I saw a dozen. How they can run! I didn't flush them. ThenI saw a flock of those black and white ducks, like the big fellow Ishot. They were feeding. I believe they're Muscovy ducks."
"I'm sure I don't know, but we can call them that."
"Well, I'd got a shot, too, but I saw some gray things sneaking in thebushes. I thought they were pigs, so I got out of there quick."
"You mean javelin?"
"Yep, I mean wild pigs. Oh! We've struck the place for game. I'll betit's coming to us."
When George anticipated pleasurable events he was the most happy ofcompanions. It was good to look forward. He was continually expectingthings to happen; he was always looking ahead with great eagerness. Butunfortunately he had a twist of mind toward the unfavorable side ofevents, and so always had the boys fearful.
"Well, pigs or no pigs, ticks or no ticks, we'll hunt and fish, and seeall there is to see," declared Ken, and he went back to his lounging.
When he came out of that lazy spell, George and Hal were fishing.George had Ken's rod, and it happened to be the one Ken thought most of.
"Do you know how to fish?" he asked.
"I've caught tarpon bigger'n you," retorted George.
That fact was indeed too much for Ken, and he had nothing to do but riskhis beloved rod in George's hands. And the way George swung it about,slashed branches with it, dropped the tip in the water, was exceedinglyalarming to Ken. The boy would break the tip in a minute. Yet Kencould not take his rod away from a boy who had caught tarpon.
There were fish breaking water. Where a little while before the riverhad been smooth, now it was ruffled by _ravalo_, gar, and other fishPepe could not name. But George and Hal did not get a bite. They triedall their artificial flies and spoons and minnows, then the preservedmullet, and finally several kinds of meat.
"Bah! they want pie," said Hal.
For Ken Ward to see little and big fish capering around under his verynose and not be able to hook one was exasperating. He shot a smallfish, not unlike a pickerel, and had the boys bait with that. Still nostrike was forthcoming.
This put Ken on his mettle. He rigged up a minnow tackle, and, going tothe lower end of the island, he tried to catch some minnows. There wereplenty of them in the shallow water, but they would not bite. FinallyKen waded in the shoal and turned over stones. He found some snailsalmost as large as mussels, and with these he hurried back to the boys.
"Here, if you don't get a bite on one of these I'm no fisherman," saidKen. "Try one."
George got his hands on the new bait in advance of Hal and so threw hishook into the water first. No sooner had the bait sunk than he got astrong pull.
"There! Careful now," said Ken.
George jerked up, hooking a fish that made the rod look like abuggy-whip.
"Give me the rod," yelled Ken, trying to take it.
"It's my fish," yelled back George.
He held on and hauled with all his might. A long, finely built fish,green as emerald, split the water and churned it into foam. Then,sweeping out in strong dash, it broke Ken's rod square in the middle.Ken eyed the wreck with sorrow, and George with no little disapproval.
"You said you knew how to fish," protested Ken.
"Those split-bamboo rods are no good," replied George. "They won't holda fish."
"George, you're a grand fisherman!" observed Hal, with a chuckle. "Why,you only dreamed you've caught tarpon."
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Just then Hal had a tremendous strike. He was nearly hauled off thebank. But he recovered his balance and clung to his nodding rod. Hal'srod was heavy cane, and his line was thick enough to suit. So nothingbroke. The little brass reel buzzed and rattled.
"I've got a whale!" yelled Hal.
"It's a big gar--alligator-gar," said George. "You haven't got him.He's got you."
The fish broke water, showing long, open jaws with teeth like saw-teeth.It threshed about and broke away. Hal reeled in to find the hookstraightened out. Then George kindly commented upon the very skilfulmanner in which Hal had handled the gar. For a wonder Hal did not reply.
By four o'clock, when Ken sat down to supper, he was so thirsty that hismouth puckered as dry as if he had been eating green persimmons. Thismatter of thirst had become serious. Twice each day Ken had boiled apot of water, into which he mixed cocoa, sugar, and condensed milk, andbegged the boys to drink that and nothing else. Nevertheless Pepe andGeorge, and occasionally Hal, would drink unboiled water. For this mealthe boys had venison and duck, and canned vegetables and fruit, so theyfared sumptuously.
Pepe pointed to a string of Muscovy ducks sailing up the river. Georgehad a good shot at the tail end of the flock, and did not even loosen afeather. Then a line of cranes and herons passed over the island. Whena small bunch of teal flew by, to be followed by several canvasbacks,Ken ran for his shotgun. It was a fine hammerless, a hard-shooting gun,and one Ken used for grouse-hunting. In his hurry he grasped a handfulof the first shells he came to and, when he ran to the river-bank, foundthey were loads of small shot. He decided to try them anyhow.
While Pepe leisurely finished the supper Ken and George and Hal sat onthe bank watching for ducks. Just before the sun went down a hard windblew, making difficult shooting. Every few moments ducks would whir by.George's gun missed fire often, and when it did work all right, hemissed the ducks. To Ken's surprise he found the load of small shotvery deadly. He could sometimes reach a duck at eighty yards. Thelittle brown ducks and teal he stopped as if they had hit a stone wall.He dropped a canvasback with the sheer dead plunge that he liked. Kenthought a crippled duck enough to make a hunter quit shooting. With sixducks killed, he decided to lay aside his gun for that time, when Pepepointed down the river.
"Pato real," he said.
Ken looked eagerly and saw three of the big black ducks flying as highas the treetops and coming fast. Snapping a couple of shells in thegun, Ken stood ready. At the end of the island two of the ducks wheeledto the left, but the big leader came on like a thunderbolt. To Ken hemade a canvasback seem slow. Ken caught him over the sights of the gun,followed him up till he was abreast and beyond; then, sweeping a littleahead of him, Ken pulled both triggers. The Muscovy swooped up andalmost stopped in his flight while a cloud of black feathers puffed awayon the wind. He sagged a little, recovered, and flew on as strong asever. The small shot were not heavy enough to stop him.
"We'll need big loads for the Muscovies and the turkeys," said George.
"We've all sizes up to BB's," replied Ken. "George, let's take a walkover there where you saw the turkeys. It's early yet."
Then Pepe told George if they wanted to see game at that hour the thingto do was to sit still in camp and watch the game come down to the riverto drink. And he pointed down-stream to a herd of small deer quietlywalking out on the bar.
"After all the noise we made!" exclaimed Ken. "Well, this beats me.George, we'll stay right here and not shoot again to-night. I've anidea we'll see something worth while."
It was Pepe's idea, but Ken instantly saw its possibilities. There wereno tributaries to the river or springs in that dry jungle, and, asmanifestly the whole country abounded in game, it must troop down to theriver in the cool of the evening to allay the hot day's thirst. Theboys were perfectly situated for watching the dark bank on the channelside of the island as well as the open bars on the other. The hugecypresses cast shadows that even in daylight effectually concealed them.They put out the camp-fire and, taking comfortable seats in the folds ofthe great gnarled roots, began to watch and listen.
The vanguard of thirsty deer had prepared Ken for something remarkable,and he was in no wise disappointed. The trooping of deer down to thewater's edge and the flight of wild fowl up-stream increased inproportion to the gathering shadows of twilight. The deer must have gota scent, for they raised their long ears and stood still as statues,gazing across toward the upper end of the island. But they showed nofear. It was only when they had drunk their fill and wheeled about togo up the narrow trails over the bank that they showed uneasiness andhaste. This made Ken wonder if they were fearful of being ambushed byjaguars. Soon the dark line of deer along the shore shaded into thedarkness of night. Then Ken heard soft splashes and an occasionalpatter of hard hoofs. The whir of wings had ceased.
A low exclamation from Pepe brought attention to interestingdevelopments closer at hand.
"Javelin!" he whispered.
On the channel side of the island was impenetrable pitchy blackness.Ken tried to pierce it with straining eyes, but he could not even makeout the shore-line that he knew was only ten yards distant. Still hecould hear, and that was thrilling enough. Everywhere on this side,along the edge of the water and up the steep bank, were faint tickingsof twigs and soft rustlings of leaves. Then there was a continuoussound, so low as to be almost inaudible, that resembled nothing Kencould think of so much as a long line of softly dripping water. Itswelled in volume to a tiny roll, and ended in a sharp clicking on rocksand a gentle splashing in the water. A drove of _javelin_ had come downto drink. Occasionally the glint of green eyes made the darkness all themore weird. Suddenly a long, piercing wail, a keen cry almost human,quivered into the silence.
"Panther!" Ken whispered, instantly, to the boys. It was a differentcry from that of the lion of the canon, but there was a strange wildnote that betrayed the species. A stillness fell, dead as that of asubterranean cavern. Strain his ears as he might, Ken could not detectthe slightest sound. It was as if no _javelin_ or any other animals hadcome down to drink. That listening, palpitating moment seemed endless.What mystery of wild life it meant, that silence following the cry ofthe panther! Then the jungle sounds recommenced--the swishing of water,the brushing in the thicket, stealthy padded footsteps, the faintsnapping of twigs. Some kind of a cat uttered an unearthly squall. Closeupon this the clattering of deer up the bank on the other side rang outsharply. The deer were running, and the striking of the little hoofsceased in short order. Ken listened intently. From far over the bankcame a sound not unlike a cough--deep, hoarse, inexpressibly wild andmenacing.
"Tigre!" cried Pepe, gripping Ken hard with both hands. He could feelhim trembling. It showed how the native of the jungle-belt feared thejaguar.
Again the cough rasped out, nearer and louder this time. It was not acourage-provoking sound, and seemed on second thought more of a growlthan a cough. Ken felt safe on the island; nevertheless, he took up hisrifle.
"That's a tiger," whispered George. "I heard one once from the porch ofthe Alamitas hacienda."
A third time the jaguar told of his arrival upon the night scene. Kenwas excited, and had a thrill of fear. He made up his mind to listenwith clearer ears, but the cough or growl was not repeated.
Then a silence set in, so unbroken that it seemed haunted by the echoesof those wild jungle cries. Perhaps Ken had the haunting echoes inmind. He knew what had sent the deer away and stilled the splashingsand creepings. It was the hoarse voice of the lord of the jungle.
Pepe and the boys, too, fell under the spell of the hour. They did notbreak the charm by talking. Giant fireflies accentuated the ebonyblackness and a low hum of insects riveted the attention on thestillness. Ken could not understand why he was more thoughtful on thistrip than he had ever been before. Somehow he felt immeasurably older.Probably that was because it had seemed necessary for him to act like aman, even if he was only a boy.
The black mantle of night lifted from under the cypresses, leaving agloom that slowly paled. Through the dark foliage, low down over thebank, appeared the white tropical moon. Shimmering gleams chased theshadows across the ripples, and slowly the river brightened to a silversheen.
A great peace fell upon the jungle world. How white, how wild, howwonderful! It only made the island more beautiful and lonely. Thethought of leaving it gave Ken Ward a pang. Almost he wished he were asavage.
And he lay there thinking of the wild places that he could never see,where the sun shone, the wind blew, the twilight shadowed, the rainfell; where the colors and beauties changed with the passing hours;where a myriad of wild creatures preyed upon each other and night neverdarkened but upon strife and death.