The Boy Aviators on Secret Service; Or, Working with Wireless

CHAPTER XXI
A BOLD DASH

Frank’s first action was to bend over the wireless apparatus and send flashing and crackling across the air a message to Camp Walrus to be relayed in haste to the Tarantula. The members of the young adventurers’ party left at the camp were to remain there, ordered Frank, till the Golden Eagle II returned. Lathrop was instructed to inform the Tarantula of the whereabouts of the submarine so that Lieutenant Selby might head her off in case the boys were unsuccessful in the quest for the missing naval officer which Frank felt bound to prosecute, even at the risk of letting the formula of the explosive get out of the country.

“Will do as instructed. Gee! but you are all right,” was Lathrop’s admiring response, which made both boys smile in spite of themselves and their heavy hearts.

“What do you propose to do now?” asked Harry, as Frank cut out the circuit from the wireless and turned away from the instrument.

“Go back there as soon as we have had breakfast and make another try,” was the young leader’s instant response.

“Go back?” echoed Harry in amazement.

“We must,” said Frank earnestly, “a man’s life may depend on how quickly we act.”

“But do you think there is any likelihood of our succeeding in getting near enough to their camp to aid Lieutenant Chapin materially,” persisted the younger brother.

“I don’t know yet, but I have an idea that by landing on the other side of the island we might come up overland behind the settlement we saw last night and gain some idea of what has become of Lieutenant Chapin.”

“By George, Frank, you are a wonder,” said Harry, admiringly. “You are right,” he went on, “there is a chance and we’ll take it.”

“I knew you’d say so, old fellow,” responded Frank, warmly grasping his brother’s hand, “and now for breakfast. It may be the last we’ll get for some time.”

Both boys fell to with hearty appetites on wild guava, avocado pears, broiled doves and two cups a piece of Quatty’s coffee, which he made with the skill of a French chef.

“I feel ready to tackle a regiment,” declared Harry as the last morsels disappeared.

So far Quatty had had no idea of the plan on foot and when he did hear it he set up a series of loud lamentations that could be heard a mile. It was all in vain, however. Remorselessly Frank ordered him down to the boat with his pole. Had either of the boys been expert in the handling of a boat with this oar of the ’glades they would not have compelled the badly-scared black to accompany them, but it is an art which is only acquired by long practice and it was absolutely necessary that they have the benefit of his expertness. In the event, that even were the worst to happen, and they were to be themselves captured, it was not likely that any harm would come to Quatty; so neither of their consciences hurt them much as Quatty shoved off and they once more glided down the narrow water-course they had threaded the night before.

By daylight their progress was more rapid than it had been in the darkness of the previous night, and it was not long before they gained the point at which the narrow stream they were threading branched into the broad main water-course. Of course it was not a feasible idea to follow this and after some searching they managed to find a tiny, shallow runnel that proceeded through the saw-grass in the direction they wished to go but was small enough not to render it probable that it was a main traveled stream. To their great disappointment, however, this canoe path came to an end altogether after they had reached a point about opposite the trees that abutted on the plotters’ settlement at the easterly end of their collection of huts. It continued on through the saw-grass, however, in the form of a muddy Indian trail and the boys, after a short consultation, decided to leave the boat behind in Quatty’s charge and take to the trail.

Rifles in hand and revolvers on their hips, they struggled bravely along through the mud, that sometimes came up to their knees and sometimes only to their ankles. It was killing work, for as the sun worked higher the heat grew almost intolerable. Innumerable varieties of small stinging insects too, settled about them in swarms and added to their discomfort.

From time to time, in addition, a fat cotton-mouth would wiggle across the trail or occasionally open its mouth in a loud hiss, showing the white fangs that give it its name. Frank killed one of these reptiles with the butt of his rifle. The others they had to avoid as best they could. Of course they did not dare to discharge one of their weapons. To have done so would have brought the whole settlement about their ears.

Frank consulted his pocket compass from time to time, having taken the general bearing of the island from the boat before they started. The compass was the only means they had of knowing if they were following a correct course, as the saw-grass was so high on either side of the narrow trail that to see over it was an impossible feat.

“Phew!” whispered Harry, as they floundered along through the wet, steamy earth, “I’ve been in warm places but this is certainly the hottest of them all.”

“We cannot have much further to go,” replied Frank, encouragingly, “as far as I could judge when we left the boat the island was about two miles away.”

“I feel as if we’d traveled ten at least,” gasped poor Harry. “Hark!”

His exclamation was called forth by a rustling in the tall grass directly ahead of them.

“Get ready for trouble,” whispered Frank.

Both boys got out their revolvers, as being handier weapons at close quarters than the rifles. The trail took an abrupt turn just beyond the point at which they stood, so that it was impossible to see who or what it was that was approaching.

The rustling grew steadily nearer and both boys, while their hearts beat thickly, determined that if the persons coming down the path were foemen, to sell their lives dearly.

The next minute they had a great surprise.

Round the curve in the trail swung two of the beautiful small Everglade deer. It was a question which was the most astonished, the boys or the deer, at the encounter. For a fraction of a second the deer stood gazing with their big, liquid eyes, at the boys and the boys stared back at the deer. Then, as the boys broke into a smothered laugh at their needless anxiety, the two animals swung round and galloped back the way they had come.

“Well, we are getting as nervous as a pair of kittens,” laughed Frank.

“They made as much noise as a regiment,” replied Harry, echoing the other’s merriment, “I always understood that the deer was a quiet retiring animal. Now I know different.”

“At all events our encounter with them proves one valuable piece of information,” said Frank.

“What?” demanded his brother.

“That what we had supposed was an island must in reality be joined to this trail by solid land.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Well, those deer wouldn’t go into the saw-grass, the stuff cuts like a knife. Therefore they didn’t get to the trail that way.”

“Well?”

“And their coats were not wet. I notice, therefore, they had not swum any creek to get here. All of which goes to show to my mind that if we follow this trail we will get dry-shod to the island.”

“Dry-shod?” echoed Harry, pointing to his muddied legs.

“I mean that we shall not, as I began to fear, have to swim any creeks or wade runnels to gain it.”

It was as Frank had assumed. A few minutes more tramping through the sticky black ooze brought them to a point where the trail widened, and they could see beyond the tops of the cabbage palms that fringed the edge of the island.

“We are here at last,” whispered Frank, “now we shall have to go very carefully till we find out the lay of the land. There’s no use walking into a trap for the lack of a little caution.”

Slowly the boys crept on down the short section of trail now remaining. Frank carefully noted the comparatively dry ground – where the marks of the deers’ hoofs still showed – that there were no human tracks visible and this was in itself a good sign as it showed that the trail was a little used one.

They emerged at length into a thickly-grown cabbage palm patch, through which, to their great delight, flowed a tiny stream, from one of the clear springs that abound on the islands of the Everglades. Lying flat on their faces the boys fairly sucked up the cool, clear water and let it trickle gratefully down their parched throats.

Greatly refreshed by their draught, they looked about them. The little grove in which they stood was surrounded by dense undergrowth. At first there seemed to be no path through the tangle, but after a lengthy search the boys discovered a narrow trail, evidently a continuation of the one they had just left. It led, as Frank’s compass showed, in the general direction of the settlement.

“We’ve come so far we’ve got to go ahead now,” were Frank’s words, as the two young adventurers plunged into the dense brush down the narrow trail.

CHAPTER XXII
BEN STUBBS DISAPPEARS

Left behind at Camp Walrus, Billy Barnes, Lathrop, and Ben Stubbs watched the Golden Eagle II until she became a bird-like speck against the intense blue of the Florida sky.

“Good luck to them,” cried Billy, a wish that was echoed by all the “stay-at-homes,” as Lathrop had dubbed them.

“Come on, Lathrop,” said Billy, the second morning after the aeroplane faded from view, “let’s get the guns and go for a hunt. I’m sure I heard a wild turkey in the brush yonder a while ago, and Ben can mount guard over the wireless while we are gone.”

“Do you think that will be all right?” questioned Lathrop dubiously, “you know I’m the only one in the camp that can operate the instrument and I think I ought to keep within reach of it.”

“You’re right,” rejoined Billy. “It will be better for Ben and I to go.”

Ben agreed with alacrity, the old prospector was never better pleased than when there was an opportunity to hunt, and he hastened to oil up his gun and fill his cartridge belt.

“Hold on a minute,” said Ben, as he and Billy Barnes started out, “I’m too old a woodsman to go into the woods without agreeing on a signal if anything happens. We’ll use the old hunter’s warning. If we need you, Lathrop, or you need us, we are to fire first one shot then a pause and then two shots in rapid succession and keep it up till we get an answer. We’ll be back to dinner.”

“All right,” replied Lathrop, “though I don’t see just what trouble you can get into here, and as for me, I am all right I guess – so long.”

Left alone Lathrop took his fountain-pen and – though he had no idea when he could post it – began the composition of a long letter home. He was so engrossed with this employment that he did not notice the hour, and it was not till Pork Chops summoned him to lunch that he recalled with a start that the two hunters were still away. However, he assured himself it was probable that they had found good hunting in some distant part of the island and that they had not, like himself, realized how late it was getting.

This done he walked uneasily up and down, waiting impatiently for the return of the hunters. He was really anxious and could no longer disguise from himself the fact that something of a serious nature must have happened to keep them out away so long. His mind ran the gamut of every accident, from snake-bite to accidental shooting, but he was as far from guessing the real truth as he was from being at ease in his mind.

“Bang!” A long pause – then again, “Bang – Bang.”

It was the alarm signal agreed upon by Ben Stubbs before the hunters left camp.

The reports came from some distance in the forest, and Lathrop, hastily getting his gun and half crazy with anxiety, answered it as soon as he could slip in the cartridges.

What could have happened?

Firing frequently and being answered at closer intervals all the time, Lathrop advanced into the jungle and had not proceeded very far when he encountered a strange figure.

It was Billy Barnes, but a white-faced Billy, his clothes torn by creepers and his face scratched and cut by his wanderings in the jungle. A very different figure from the usual trig one cut by the young reporter.

“Oh, Billy, what has happened?” gasped Lathrop, shocked at his companion’s woe-begone appearance.

The reporter’s reply was sufficiently alarming.

“Ben Stubbs has disappeared!”

“Disappeared?” echoed the amazed Lathrop.

“Yes, as utterly as if the earth had opened and swallowed him,” was the reply, in a strained, tired voice. “I’ve hunted for him all the afternoon and I have not been able to find a trace of him. I got almost cut to ribbons in the sharp-leaved briars or whatever you call them.”

He ruefully regarded his torn hands and ragged clothing.

“You are sure he is not merely hunting in another part of the island.”

“Certain,” was the dispiriting reply, “you see it happened like this – we had shot a couple of turkeys when Ben suggested our separating and getting a bigger bag in that way than we would by hunting together. We were to rejoin each other at the end of half an hour, the signal being two shots. At the end of half an hour I fired two shots but there was no answer. I tried again, and there was still no reply but the echo of my shots. I was scared then, I tell you, and fired the danger signal. Still there was no answer.

“Well, then, I was rattled. I plunged about in the woods till I got all ripped up as you see and shouted for Ben till I thought my throat would crack, but I didn’t get a trace or a sign of him. Then I recovered my wits a bit and got out my compass. I headed for camp, and when I judged I was near enough for you to hear me, I fired the danger signal – you answered it, and here I am.”

“Oh, Billy, what are we going to do?” exclaimed the younger boy.

“Make the best of it till we are certain Ben is lost, and then communicate with the Tarantula and Frank and Harry,” said the practical Billy. “Cheer up, we don’t know yet that any actual harm has befallen him, it’s the mystery of the thing that worries me.”

“I must send a wireless to Frank and Harry at once,” cried Lathrop.

“You will do no such thing, young fellow,” rejoined Billy. “In the first place they have got troubles enough of their own right now; and, in the second, a man is never lost till you’ve sent out a general alarm for him, and he is still missing.”

“A general alarm?” repeated Lathrop, puzzled.

“Yes, that’s reporter’s slang for advertising for a missing man. Well, we can’t advertise here unless the herons and mocassins get out a gazette, but we can take the canoes to-morrow and make a thorough circuit of the island.”

Greatly comforted by Billy’s assumed light-heartedness, Lathrop tramped back to camp by his side in a more cheerful frame of mind. As a matter of fact, Billy was feeling what he himself would have described as “pretty blue,” but he was sensible enough to know that the best way to face the emergencies of life is to look at them from the best possible aspect and not give up hope till every way out of difficulty has been tried.

In the meantime what had happened was this, and it was sufficiently alarming. Ben, after he parted from Billy, had followed a fascinating “Ke-ouk ke-ouk” through the brush till he found himself near the margin of the creek that flowed round the island. He had reached the brink and was looking inquiringly about him to ascertain what might have become of the big gobbler when he felt a rope thrown over his head from behind, and the next minute the big ex-sailor, great as was his strength, was struggling in the arms of a dozen men. Who his captors were he was unable to see, for as the rope had tightened, his great arms were pinioned close to his side, forcing at the same time his gun from his grip, and a thick blanket had been thrown over his head. Blinded and half suffocated, Ben felt himself picked up and hustled through the wood. He tried to shout but the blanket effectually muffled his voice.

After a few minutes of this rapid traveling Ben felt himself thrown into what he instinctively realized was a canoe and then being paddled rapidly over the water. In what direction they were proceeding he had of course no means of knowing, but from the few words his captors had exchanged he knew he was in the hands of the Seminoles. Of the object of his abduction he could not even hazard a guess.

After about an hour of traveling Ben, through his smothering blanket, heard the loud barking of dogs and crying of children, and knew that they must be near a settlement of some kind. He was not left in doubt. The canoe’s keel grated on the beach the next minute and he was dragged out and propelled toward the center of the sound. He felt dogs come sniffing about his legs and kicked out viciously. He grinned under his blanket as he heard one limp away with ear-piercing howls.

“There’s one trouble disposed of,” thought Ben to himself, “what’s coming now. I wonder?”

He was not kept long in suspense. He was suddenly halted and the cloth jerked off his head. His wrists, however, were not unbound. It was now dark, and in the sudden glare of firelight that confronted him, Ben’s eyes refused their duty for a minute or so. As he grew accustomed to the light, however, and looked about him he saw that he stood in the center of a ring of palmetto-thatched huts which were crowded with women and children, all heavily laden with beads – in fact these were about all the clothing the children wore – while all about him were grouped grave-faced men with bright-colored turbans on their heads, one of whom he at once recognized as the chief who had visited them with Quatty the previous afternoon and promised them freedom from annoyance while they were in the limits of the ’glades.

“This is a dern fine way you keep your promises,” roared the captive Ben indignantly, while the women snickered and the men regarded him with stolid curiosity, “you cigar-store Injuns you, if I had my hands free I’d hammer you into lobscouse. I’d show you the kind of a buck sailorman I am. I thought you promised us you wouldn’t disturb us and here you clap my head in a mainsail and furl me in it till I can’t use my deadlights to see day from night. Keelhaul you, if I had you aboard a ship I’d masthead the lot of you till you fell overboard.”

There was not a word in reply and the chief stood with folded arms, as immobile as if Ben had not spoken a word.

“Oh, you’re all going to play deaf, are you,” bellowed the enraged ex-sailorman, “well, it won’t go down with me, my hearties. I know you can hear, – oh, if only I had my hands free I’d put some life into you – you – you row of tenpins.”

Here Ben stopped, because he was completely out of breath with his volcanic outburst. While he was getting ready for a fresh eruption, to his surprise one of the younger men stepped forward from the solemn circle and in excellent English, considering the place and by whom it was spoken, said:

“You all through big talk, white man?”

“All through,” sputtered the amazed Ben, “yes, I’m through, that is for the present. And now, as you seem to be the only one of this collection of dummies that has any glimmering of sense, will you please tell me why I am fetched here like a ship’s cat going aboard a strange craft, all tied up in a bag?”

“No savee – ship’s cat,” replied the Seminole quietly; “plentee – savee, white man tell heap lie – all time.”

“Calling me a liar, now are you, you mahogany-colored lobster,” yelled Ben, “I’d like to get one good punch at you, my matey.”

“All white men liars,” blandly went on the Indian, “steal our land – all time break word to us – um no good.”

“Well?” demanded Ben.

“Well,” went on the spokesman of the tribe, “you stay here lilly while – we no hurt you. When you fren’s go then you go, too. They no hurt us we no hurt you.”

“Oh, is that so?” replied Ben, “werry good of you, I’m sure.”

“You eat plenty sofkee – plenty fowl – plenty tobac. Good time plenty, how?”

Now Ben had been in tight places in his adventurous career and he was by no means disposed to offend the Seminoles by seeming over anxious to get away, at least for the present, for he knew that if he did so any chance that his wrist gyves would be removed would be lost, so he acquiesced gracefully to all the Indian had said.

“All right, old odds-and-ends,” he said, “I’ll act as hostage as long as you feed me well and give me plenty to smoke. Now, take off these.”

As soon as his reply had been translated to the chief, and that dignitary had agreed, the ropes that bound Ben’s wrists were cut and he was at comparative liberty.

“Sofkee?” questioned the young Indian who had conducted the negotiations, indicating a huge pot simmering on the fire. And then for the first time Ben tasted that delectable standby dish of the Seminoles, which is composed of birds, rabbits, turtles, fish, corn, potatoes, sweet and white, peppers, beans and anything else that comes to hand. There is a big kettle of it kept handy in every Seminole village and anyone who happens along is at liberty to help himself. There is only one drawback to the dish from fastidious folks’ point of view, and that is that every one helps him or herself from the same big wooden spoon. But Ben was not fastidious and he made a hearty meal of the savory compound, and then after a pipe or two of tobacco, appeared to compose himself to sleep on a pile of skins laid on the floor of the palmetto-thatched hut assigned to him.

He simulated slumber till midnight when, as no one appeared to be watching, he rose and tiptoed out of the camp and down to the water’s edge where the canoes were moored. He was about to launch one when a tall figure stepped out of the gloom of the trees and pointed a rifle straight at him.

“Huh – white man go back – or Injun shoot,” said the figure.

Ben, as has been said, was a wise man – he went back.