DOWN THE RIVER.
As Van Vincent fell from his horse his companions immediately dismounted
and rushed to his side.
But before they reached him he was upon his feet, though he appeared to
be somewhat dazed.
It was Doc Clancy who fired the shot, but, instead of killing our hero,
the bullet merely grazed the side of his head, momentarily stunning him.
As soon as he saw that Van was not killed, Lank Edwards leveled his
rifle at the raft and pulled the trigger.
But the bullet flew wide of the mark, owing to the fact of his being a
poor marksman, and the distance being rather great.
The current must have been running pretty strong, for the raft was fast
leaving them, and as the two villains had sought seclusion behind a huge
log, it was impossible to get another shot at them.
"We must follow them," exclaimed our hero, who had now recovered the
full use of his senses.
"How are we a-goin' ter, I'd like ter know?" returned the mate.
"There are similar rafts of logs here, are there not?"
"That's so," spoke up Jack Howard. "We'll board this big one right here,
and then push her off and go shooting down the river after those
fellows."
The raft he indicated was about eighty feet long by thirty in width, and
it was lashed together so firmly that they saw their horses could be
taken upon it with the greatest of safety.
With our friends it was no sooner said than done.
The next moment they were leading their horses upon the logs, and Van
and Jack got ready to sever the vines that held the raft to the shore.
There were several long poles, as well as some short pieces of timber,
lying upon it, and seizing a couple of the poles, they pushed off toward
the center of the stream.
Ten minutes later they were drifting rapidly along with the current in
the wake of Doc Clancy, who was now over half a mile ahead of them.
Van and Jack proceeded to steer the huge craft, while their companions
undertook the task of rolling the loose logs into a pile on either side,
to serve as a cover against the possible attack from any persons on
either shore.
They knew there must be human beings in the vicinity, or they would
never have found the rafts as they were.
"I wonder what river this is?" remarked Jack Howard. "With the exception
of ourselves and the two ahead of us, I believe we are the only
civilized people who have ever floated upon its waters."
"I am perfectly satisfied on that point," returned Prof. Drearland.
"Suppose we name it after you, Jack?"
"That's it," echoed Van. "Call it Howard River."
The rest of the party agreed to this, so the stream was named, as far as
our friends were concerned.
Rifles in hand, the floating party kept a good watch on either shore.
As they reached a bend, round which the other raft had disappeared, they
were suddenly startled by hearing a loud trumpeting noise.
At first they thought it was a company of soldiers they were
approaching, but a moment's study told them that such a thing was
utterly out of the question.
"I know what caused that noise," said Joe, who had been listening
attentively. "It was made by a herd of elephants; I have heard them
before."
"Gracious! you don't say so!" exclaimed the professor, with a look of
alarm on his face. "You don't think there is any danger of their
swimming out and attacking us, do you?"
"You can't tell what might happen, old man," spoke up Jack Howard, in a
serious tone. "You'd better have your rifle ready."
As if to verify his words, a violent crashing was heard in the
underbrush that lined the shore at that point, and the next moment a
herd of eight elephants suddenly appeared and entered the water.
"If we don't want them to bother us, the best thing for us to do is to
remain perfectly quiet," said Van.
"That is it," returned Joe.
The huge animals had evidently come to the river for the purpose of
taking a bath, for they merely waded off a few feet and then proceeded
to enjoy themselves after their own fashion.
They did not appear to notice the raft at all, and soon they were lost
to sight as our friends drifted around a bend.
Prof. Drearland drew a long breath of relief. He evidently was very much
afraid of the elephants.
When the raft had drifted perhaps five miles down the river the sight of
cultivated fields met the eyes of our friends.
While they were speculating as to what would be the next thing to turn
up they were startled to hear the reports of firearms down the river.
"That is Doc Clancy, I'll wager!" exclaimed Van. "Some of the natives
have attacked the raft."
"You are right," returned Jack. "Now we must look out for squalls."
The further they drifted the narrower the stream became, while the
current kept on increasing in force.
The mass of timber was now floating along at the rate of at least ten
miles an hour.
Presently the explorers came in sight of a large village of log houses,
situated near the river bank.
Hundreds of white people could be seen about the vicinity, and our
friends at once concluded that this was the nation to whom the Amazons
belonged.
Van caused their horses to lie down on the logs, and then all hands
dropped from sight behind the timbers that had been piled up for that
purpose.
A crowd of the natives were already at the edge of the water, and by
their actions they seemed to be in a great state of excitement.
As our friends rapidly neared them, a shout went up from the crowd, and
they proceeded to push off a number of canoes.
The next minute fully a dozen were making for the raft.
The natives were armed with spears and ugly-looking knives, so our
friends thought it best not to allow them to land upon the raft.
As the foremost canoe neared them, Jack Howard fired a shot from his
rifle, taking a lock of hair from the head of one of the men.
In an instant a wild howl went up from the occupants of the canoes and
those on the shore.
The rifle shot was evidently too much for them to understand, since they
were unable to see our friends.
The canoes put back for shore with all possible speed.
"I guess they won't trouble us much," remarked our hero. "But I believe
we are drifting into danger, for all that."
"Why so?" asked Dr. Pestle.
"Because the way this current runs leads me to believe that there must
be a falls close by."
"Then we'd better get ashore," remarked Lank Edwards.
"If we do that we will get into trouble. See! both sides of the river
are lined with the white savages."
"Well," said Van, after a pause, "I think we had better stick to the
raft as long as it holds together under us."
Our hero's words seemed to satisfy all hands, so they settled down and
watched the shore, which was flitting by them so rapidly.
In half an hour the country no longer looked as though it was inhabited.
The scene was now one of wild grandeur--sublime and picturesque.
The stream had narrowed down to twice the width of the raft, and our
friends knew that it was only a question of a short time before it would
strike the shore and be split asunder.
Yet they dared not leave it. To trust themselves in the boiling, surging
waters which were now running with the speed of a race horse, meant
nothing but death itself.
With pale faces the little party waited.
Fifteen minutes later they saw that their journey upon the raft of logs
was about ended.
About two hundred yards ahead of them the stream was so narrow that the
raft would not be able to get through in its present shape.
"Mount your horses and make for the stern!" exclaimed Van. "We must take
to the water now, and we will stand more show with the animals than
without them."