"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.
From that point conditions along the river changed. The banks were no longer green; the beautiful cypresses gave place to other trees, as huge, as moss-wound, but more rugged and of gaunt outline; the flowers and vines and shady nooks disappeared. Everywhere wide-horned steers and cows plunged up the banks. Everywhere buzzards rose from gruesome feasts. The shore was lined with dead cattle, and the stench of putrefying flesh was almost unbearable. They passed cattle mired in the mud, being slowly tortured to death by flies and hunger; they passed cattle that had slipped off steep banks and could not get back and were bellowing dismally; and also strangely acting cattle that Pepe said had gone crazy from ticks in their ears. Ken would have put these miserable beasts out of their misery had not George restrained him with a few words about Mexican law.