The Radio Detectives in the Jungle

by A. Hyatt Verrill

For a moment the Boviander glanced about, studying the lashing white foam and the jagged, black rocks, casting his eyes over the waiting Indians to see that all were ready. Then, with a sharp “Hi-yi!”, he dug his great paddle into the water. Instantly the bowman shoved the craft from shore into the current; the men on the bow rope hauled and tugged with all their strength; the captain shouted orders and threw his weight on his six foot paddle; the bowman paddled furiously; the men at the stern line bent to their task; and slowly the boat forged ahead. With consummate skill the Boviander and the bowman swung the craft to right and left, clearing the rocks by inches; the stern line kept it headed into the torrent; and foot by foot the boat crept up the falls. How the captain and bowman ever kept their balance as the boat rocked and pitched and seemed about to stand on end was a mystery to the boys, but with bodies swaying to the jerking, tossing craft they strained at their paddles--sweating, grunting, shouting, while about the bow the angry waters foamed and seethed and the hungry waves leaped above the gunwhales. For a moment the craft stood motionless, shaking and trembling to the terrific strain, and then human muscles and human brains won. The craft shot forward, the Indians yelled and rapidly gathered in slack, and the next instant the boat was safe from the torrent in a calm backwater above the falls.

“Gosh, that was great!” cried Tom, as, leaping from rock to rock, the boys made their way towards the boat.

“I’ll say ’twas!” exclaimed Rawlins. “But, by golly, if a rope had parted we’d have been in a nice fix.”

By the time the passengers were seated the lines had been coiled away, the Indians were once more in their places, and a moment later the boat was speeding upstream over a stretch of tranquil water.

But now the character of the river had changed. Sand bars and wooded islands broke its surface; the trees along the banks towered upward for over one hundred feet; the stream twisted and turned and flowed swiftly in dark, wine-colored currents between the islands; and even the birds and foliage seemed different. Little fresh water flying fish skittered away from the boat, great flocks of twittering swallows flitted about, clouds of brilliant yellow butterflies floated back and forth across the stream, and once or twice the boys caught glimpses of otters swimming in the river ahead.

In places, too, gaudy flowers that had fallen from the great trees covered the surface of the river with a solid mass of color, and the boat seemed to be passing over some gorgeous carpet, while the reflections of foliage and trees were so perfect that the boys had the strange sensation of being suspended in mid-air between two forests.

Very soon, however, the tranquil water came to an end and another series of rapids barred the way. Once more the men labored and tugged and dragged the boat up the falls, and time after time, as the falls were reached, the process was repeated. Then Mr. Thorne announced that they were approaching a really dangerous spot and as the boat rounded a bend the occupants saw a plunging, rock-strewn cataract, half hidden in the mist rising from the roaring water at its base. Here all the baggage was taken out and carried over the rocks and with only the empty boat the Indians and the Bovianders prepared for a tug of war with the falls. Over and over again they strove to gain a foothold on the slippery rocks, and a dozen times they were swept struggling downstream. But they laughed and yelled and shouted and seemed to enjoy the excitement and at last won a stand, waist deep in the flood, and by almost superhuman efforts dragged their craft to the water above the cataract. But the most dangerous part was yet to come. A short distance above the falls was a huge whirlpool--a dark, sinister mass of water in a basin of steep walled rock; deep, threatening, with its current rotating silently, swiftly around and around while, at its center, at the very vortex, masses of foam, bubbles and driftwood had been drawn and were constantly being sucked suddenly out of sight or thrust bobbing above the surface.

“Ugh! Isn’t that a nasty looking spot!” cried Tom. “Say, have we got to cross that?”

Mr. Thorne nodded. “Yes, just sit tight and don’t jump and you’ll be all right,” he declared. “If a paddle doesn’t break we’ll get through safely. It’s the only way and the worst spot on the river.”

As he spoke the captain was testing each paddle, examining the blades and handles for possible cracks and at last, with the baggage stowed snugly, the Indians and Sam in their places, Colcord told them that all was ready.