The Arekunas had already slipped away downstream, and, by the time breakfast was ready, camp had been broken, everything was neatly packed in the boat, and the Indian paddlers were waiting in their places.
For hour after hour they paddled upstream. Rocky islands appeared in the river--some bare and carved and worn by the water into odd grotesque forms,--others covered with trees. The current flowed more swiftly and just before noon a dull roaring sound reached the boys’ ears, and, peering ahead, they saw a line of flashing white stretching across the river from shore to shore.
“First rapids,” Mr. Thorne informed them. “We’ll have lunch before hauling through, Colcord.”
“Gosh, I call those falls and not rapids!” declared Tom as the boat was run ashore on the sandy beach of a tiny island. “I don’t see how you expect to get this big boat through that.”
“Wait and see,” chuckled the explorer.
As Colcord leaped ashore he stopped, bent down, and examined the sand.
“Water Haas!” he exclaimed, pointing to a number of small indentations in the beach.
“What are ‘water haas’?” asked Tom. “Some kind of animals?”
“Capybara--sort of giant Guinea pigs,” replied Mr. Thorne. “They’re likely to be in the brush here. Get your guns and you may be able to shoot one. They’re good meat.”
Eager for the chance to secure game, the boys and Rawlins got out the rifles they had brought and started up the beach, following the little trail left by the water haas. Presently they noticed that, instead of one, there were half a dozen tracks and at Rawlins’ suggestion they separated and cautiously approached a tangle of palms and small trees near the upper end of the island.