g of Beecher and his friends," remarked
the young inventor as they were about to start.

"No, he doesn't seem to have arrived," agreed Professor Bumper. "We'll
get ahead of him, and so much the better.

"Well, are we all ready to start?" he continued, as he looked over the
little flotilla which carried his party and his goods.

"The sooner the better!" cried Tom, and Ned fancied his chum was
unusually eager.

"I guess he wants to make good before Beecher gets the chance to show
Mary Nestor what he can do," thought Ned. "Tom sure is after that idol
of gold."

"You may start, Senor Jacinto," said the professor, and the guide
called something in Indian dialect to the rowers. Lines were cast off
and the boats moved out into the stream under the influence of the
sturdy paddlers.

"Well, this isn't so bad," observed Ned, as he made himself comfortable
in his canoe. "How about it, Tom?"

"Oh, no. But this is only the beginning."

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, 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
tou