  Mr. Livingston and the Explorers presented themselves at the dock promptly at seven o’clock the following morning. They were to proceed by way of a natural channel connecting the Magdalena River with the sea. The propeller boat in which they were to ride already was waiting. “Queer looking contraption,” Ken remarked upon inspecting it. The sea-sled was approximately thirty feet in length, motor-powered, and with curious runners. A canopy was provided as protection from the sun, and there were comfortable wicker chairs. “Are we ready to start?” Mr. Livingston inquired cheerfully after the luggage had been placed aboard. “Not yet,” the operator answered. He was a young Colombian, dark-haired and with an extremely nervous manner. The Scouts took their places in the sled-boat and waited. Fifteen minutes passed, and finally a half hour. “Why the delay?” Jack finally asked, walking over to the boat operator. “Waiting for another passenger,” the man answered curtly. “Don’t bother me.” “What sort of service is this, anyhow?” Willie grumbled. “This late passenger must be a mighty important guy!” Another twenty minutes elapsed while the Scouts grew increasingly impatient. Finally, the one for whom they waited, arrived at the dock. A handsome woman of forty, dressed in a white linen suit, came hurriedly to the sled-boat. Porters carried her luggage, and a number of boxes. “Gosh, she must be the wife of an official or something!” Warwick whispered to Jack. “She had her nerve holding us up nearly an hour!” “Quiet!” the other warned him. “You want her to hear?” The woman spoke briefly with the operator of the sled-boat, whose name the Scouts now knew to be Haredia. They conversed so rapidly in Spanish that Jack could not understand, despite some knowledge of the language. However, he saw the pair glance twice in the direction of the boat, and had an uneasy feeling that the Scout party was under discussion. Presently, the woman came aboard, accepting the chair which Mr. Livingston offered her. She scrutinized each of the Scouts and sat down without mentioning her name. “I’m George Livingston,” the Scout leader introduced himself, intending to be friendly. A roar of the powerful boat motor drowned out his words. The woman merely inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement of the introduction and made no answer. The Scouts settled back into their chairs expectantly. A great fountain of spray was thrown up as the boat glided smoothly over the water on her long runners. “This is great!” War cried, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Just like a toboggan!” From the bay, the boat shot out into the open Caribbean sea and presently slowed down to enter a passageway leading to a marshy lake. The sled continued to skim along between banks dense with tropical growth. Jack stole a glance at the woman passenger. She showed no interest in the scenery, and in fact, appeared bored. From her indifference, he concluded that she had made the trip on prior occasions and that the experience no longer interested her. Without slackening speed, the sled raced on past villages of thatched huts. Only when they reached a great marsh, did the operator throttle the motor. Anxiously, he studied the many bays and inlets which were heavily clogged with water-hyacinths. “What’s wrong now?” Ken murmured, as Haredia tried first one and then another of the openings. “He’s searching for a passageway through,” Mr. Livingston explained. “I hope we don’t clog the propeller.” As the sled proceeded, the way became more difficult. Hyacinths were floating everywhere in dense masses. “I’ll bet we’ve taken the wrong channel,” Willie muttered. “Haredia should turn back before we’re hemmed in.” “He never will,” Ken replied. “Not that bird!” For no reason that the Scouts could explain, they had taken a dislike to the operator of the sled boat. Haredia had not been hostile, but he had coldly ignored them. Though he had handled the boat skillfully enough in open water, it seemed to them that now that the going had become harder, he was abandoning all caution. “We’re getting into those hyacinths deeper and deeper,” Jack remarked uneasily. “Why don’t we turn back?” Glancing over his shoulder, he was rather dismayed to see an almost solid meadow of water plants behind the boat. “It would be easy to get lost in this mess,” he remarked. “But I suppose Haredia knows what he’s doing.” The sled kept stubbornly on, its laboring engines cutting a passage. Then suddenly the motor set up a frightful clatter and the boat began to move in jerks. “We’ve done it now!” Jack exclaimed. “The motor’s shot!” Mr. Livingston left his chair and went over to see what he could do to help. Haredia, nervous and perspiring, brushed aside his offer. “Don’t bother me now!” he rasped. “We’ll get out of this!” “We will, if you use your head,” the Scout leader replied. “But you can’t keep on without ruining the motor. It sounds to me as if the clutch has slipped.” “What do you expect me to do?” Haredia demanded savagely. “Fix it here?” “Isn’t there a place where we can put in for repairs?” “We’ll do better to go on, if we can find the channel.” “We’re lost then?” “Not lost,” Haredia insisted irritably. “With the motor running right, I could find the channel in time.” “Can’t we pole out of this?” “It will be hard work,” the operator tried to discourage him. Nevertheless, he brought out the long poles and the Scouts took turns shoving the heavy boat backwards through the thick, choking mass. A hot sun beat upon them, causing perspiration to run down their foreheads and legs. As they toiled, the woman passenger showed little interest. Remaining under the shade of the canopy, she fanned herself and calmly read a magazine. The Scouts began to feel annoyed as the sun rose higher and the poling became harder. They expected no help from their fellow passenger, but her utter indifference to their toil rather nettled them. As for Haredia, he divided his time between steering the craft and smoking cigarettes. Not once did he grasp a pole to exert any physical effort. Getting out of the worst of the hyacinth net, the Scouts tried several inlets which offered promise. None led to open water. Haredia was able to move the boat slowly now by means of the crippled motor. But stretches of clear going were few and far between. For the greater part of the time, the Scouts were forced to pole. Their hands became blistered and their backs sore. By dint of exhausting work, they finally brought the boat to an area of sparse hyacinth growth. Three passages opened before them. Haredia steered toward one of them. “Let’s take the other opening,” Jack proposed. “It looks less clogged with plants.” Haredia acted as if he had not heard. Jack repeated the suggestion. Still there was no response. The other Scouts had stopped poling, allowing the boat to drift. Haredia started to turn on the disabled motor. “Wait!” Jack said tersely. “Let’s talk this over. You admit you’re lost.” “We will find the passage in time.” “But one looks the same as another.” Jack went on. “It’s just a process of elimination—trying them one at a time?” “That is right, Senor.” “Then let’s try the other passage first.” Haredia glowered at Jack. “This one is better,” he insisted. The woman passenger had laid aside her magazine. She spoke firmly. “Haredia is right. We must follow his advice.” Jack knew he was beaten. Actually, in appearance, there was little choice between the passageways. He was ready to give in to Haredia’s wishes when Ken nudged him and pointed. A native in a dugout canoe had just emerged from another inlet. “He should be able to guide us to a village if we can make him understand!” Ken asserted. “Let’s give him a yodel!” To the obvious displeasure of both the woman and Haredia, Jack shouted to the native. He came readily, gazing in awe at the crippled boat. Haredia spoke rapidly to him. Jack caught a few of the words and the native’s answer. “He says we’re to take this passage,” Haredia translated, pointing to the one he had favored. Jack’s eyes smoldered. “Sorry,” he said coldly, “but I happen to understand a little Spanish. You didn’t ask him how to reach the nearest village. You said something about the weather.” “I’ve had enough of this!” Haredia said furiously. “Maybe the Senor would like to take charge?” Jack glanced questioningly at Mr. Livingston. “Thanks, we will,” the Scout leader replied. Quietly, he instructed Jack: “Try to make the native understand that we want him to guide us to the nearest village or plantation. Tell him we’ll pay well for the service.” |
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