As on the day before, they glided under the shadows of the great moss-twined cypresses, along the muddy banks where crocodiles basked in the sun and gaunt cattle came down to drink. Once the boat turned a bushy point to startle a large flock of wild turkeys, perhaps thirty-five in number. They had been resting in the cool sand along the river. Some ran up the bank, some half-dozen flew right over the boat, and most of them squatted down as if to evade detection. Thereafter turkeys and ducks and geese became so common as to be monotonous.
About one o'clock Ken sighted a thatched bamboo and palm-leaf hut on the bank.
"Oh, boys, look! look!" cried Ken, joyfully.
Hal was as pleased as Ken, and George roused out of his slumber. Pepe grinned and nodded his head.
Some naked little children ran like quail. A disheveled black head peeped out of a door, then swiftly vanished.
"Indians," said George.
"I don't care," replied Ken, "they're human beings--people. We're getting somewhere."
From there on the little bamboo huts were frequently sighted. And soon Ken saw a large one situated upon a high bluff. Ken was wondering if these natives would be hospitable.
Upon rounding the next bend the boys came unexpectedly upon a connecting river. It was twice as wide as the Santa Rosa, and quite swift.
"Tamaulipas," said Pepe.