“That is regular fever territory,” explained Randolph Rover.  “Boys, do not sleep on the ground if you can possibly avoid it.  I sincerely trust that none of us take the tropical fever.”

“If I feel it coming on I’ll take a good dose of quinine,” declared Tom.

Fortunately they had brought along a good supply of that valuable drug.

Two days traveling passed without special incident.  On one side of the highway was the broad river, which glinted like molten lead in the sunshine.  They could not travel very close to its bank, for here the ground was uncertain.  Once Sam left the highway to get a better view of the stream, and, before Cujo noticed it, found himself up to his knees in a muck which stuck to him like so much glue.

“Hi! help me out!” roared the youngest Rover, and all of the party turned, to behold him waving his hand frantically toward them.

“He dun got stuck in de mud!” exclaimed Aleck, and started to go to Sam’s assistance, when Cujo called him back.

“Must be werry careful,” said the native.  “Ground bad over dare — - lose life if urn don’t have a care.  Wait fo’ me.”  And he approached Sam by a circuitous route over the tufts of grass which grew like so many dots amid the swamp.  Soon he was close enough to throw the youth the end of a rope he carried.  The pull that, followed nearly took Sam’s arms out by the sockets; but the boy was saved, to return to the others of the party with an experience which was destined to be very useful to him in, the future.

“It will teach me to be careful of where I am going after this,” he declared.  “Why, that bog looked almost as safe as the ground over here!”

“Tropical places are all full of just such treacherous swamps,” returned Randolph Rover.  “It will be wise for all of us to remember that we are now in a strange territory and that we must have our eyes and ears wide open.”

At half-past eleven they came to a halt for dinner.  The sun was now almost overhead, and they were glad enough to seek the shelter of a number of palms standing in front of a —­ native hostelry.

“We will rest here until two o’clock,” said Mr. Rover.  “It is all out of the question to travel in the heat of the day, as we did yesterday, in such a climate as this.  Even the natives cannot stand that.”

They found the hostelry presided over by a short, fat native who scarcely spoke a word of English.  But he could speak French, and Mr. Rover spoke to him in that language, while Cujo carried on a talk in the native tongue.  The midday repast was cooked over a fire built between several stones.  The boys watched the cooking process with interest and were surprised to find, when it came to eating, that the food prepared tasted so good.  They had antelope steak and a generous supply of native bread, and pure cocoa, which Tom declared as good as chocolate.

After the meal they took it easy in a number of grass hammocks stretched beneath the wide spreading palms surrounding the wayside inn, if such it might be called.  Aleck and Cujo fell to smoking and telling each other stories, while the Rovers dozed away, lulled to sleep by the warm, gentle breeze which was blowing.