Appleton, Victor – Tom Swift in the Land of Wonders

A canopy had been arranged over their boat to keep off the scorching rays of the sun. The boat containing the exploring party and Val Jacinto took the lead, the baggage craft following. At the place where it flowed into the bay on which Puerto Cortes was built, the stream was wide and deep.

The guide called something to the Indians, who increased their stroke.

“I tell them to pull hard and that at the end of the day’s journey they will have much rest and refreshment,” he translated to Professor Bumper and the others.

“Bless my ham sandwich, but they’ll need plenty of some sort of refreshment,” said Mr. Damon, with a sigh. “I never knew it to be so hot.”

“Don’t complain yet,” advised Tom, with a laugh. “The worst is yet to come.”

It really was not unpleasant traveling, aside from the heat. And they had expected that,

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coming as they had to a tropical land. But, as Tom said, what lay before them might be worse.

In a little while they had left behind them all signs of civilization. The river narrowed and flowed sluggishly between the banks which were luxuriant with tropical growth. Now and then some lonely Indian hut could be seen, and occasionally a craft propelled by a man who was trying to gain a meager living from the rubber forest which hemmed in the stream on either side.

As the canoe containing the men was paddled along, there floated down beside it what seemed to be a big, rough log.

“I wonder if that is mahogany,” remarked Mr. Damon, reaching over to touch it. “Mahogany is one of the most valuable woods of Honduras, and if this is a log of that nature — —