The Motor Boat Club in Florida: or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp

CHAPTER XXIII
DIXON’S COWARDLY ACT

IN the next half hour the hull streak of the “Buzzard” became large enough for all aboard the “Restless” to see it with the naked eye.

“We’re surely gaining,” cried Tremaine, joyously.

“Not enough, sir,” replied Tom, shaking his head.

“What do you mean, lad?”

“Why, sir, if we don’t begin to gain faster, soon, then night will come down on us in a few hours, and we won’t be able to make out enough to keep that other boat in sight. She could change her course and slip away.”

“But her lights? It promises to be clear weather to-night.”

Anxious as he was, Captain Tom Halstead did not entirely succeed in suppressing a grin.

“An outlaw boat – a pirate craft, such as the ‘Buzzard’ is when engaged in a trick of this kind, isn’t likely to carry any visible lights at night.”

“Then we – ”

“We’ll have to, sir. This is an honest boat, sailing under the law. Only United States naval or revenue people, on board, could legally authorize this craft to sail at night without lights, and then only under stress of great need.”

“We have police officers on board.”

“They don’t count in an excuse for sailing at night without masthead and side lights showing,” Captain Tom replied, gravely. “The whole story is told, sir, when I say that our only chance lies in getting so close to the ‘Buzzard’ before dark that, lights or no lights, she can’t give us the slip in the dark.”

“Then the chances are all against our success, aren’t they?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine.

“Yes, madam,” replied the young sailing master.

Henry Tremaine, who had put away the marine glass, began to tramp the deck at starboard, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Halstead,” he cried, desperately, at last, “what can we do – no matter what the cost – to get up closer to that pirate craft!”

“Nothing more than we’re doing now, sir.”

“Can’t we burn more gasoline?”

“Not without heating the motors so that we’d be stopped altogether within a few minutes.”

“How far are we away from the ‘Buzzard’?”

“Probably five miles, at least.”

“Then, even if we gained half a mile an hour for ten hours, we’d just barely get alongside?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Whereas, in a good deal less than ten hours, it will be dark?”

“Right again, Mr. Tremaine.”

“Then,” uttered Henry Tremaine, with a look of disgust, “we might as well put back and loaf along our way into the harbor at Tampa.”

“But we won’t do it,” declared Tom Halstead, with spirit.

“No? Why not?”

“Because I’m in command here, Mr. Tremaine. We’re after a scoundrel, and the officers are ready to do their duty. No matter how long the chase is, I simply won’t give it up until I find that the ‘Buzzard’ is wholly out of sight and past our powers of overtaking.”

“Jove! You’ve got the right grit!” replied the charter-man, admiringly. “But, as it’s going to take hours, anyway, I’m going to drop some of my excitement and get more comfort out of life. Can you spare young Randolph?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Then, Jeff, get some luncheon for those who want it, myself included,” ordered the charter-man.

Tom Halstead laughed enjoyingly.

“That’s the most practical order you could give, Mr. Tremaine. We may have our whole hearts in this present business, but a good meal all around won’t hinder the success of our work a bit.”

The galley of the “Restless” being provided with food of kinds that could be speedily prepared, it was not long before Jeff had an appetizing meal laid in the cabin aft. Then Joe came up to the wheel while his chum partook of a quick meal in the motor room. That done, Tom took his place at the helm once more, while Joe Dawson and Jeff Randolph ate.

Joe’s jaw was squarely set when he came on deck the next time, though this fact did not hide his look of concern.

“You’d sooner cripple the motors than give up the race before you have to?” the young engineer inquired, in a low voice.

“There’s only one thing we’ll slow up for,” responded Halstead, looking at his companion. “That will be if you think there’s danger of a gasoline explosion.”

“No! there’s no danger of that,” sighed Joe. “But the motors won’t hold out much longer at this speed. We’re going at least three miles an hour faster than the engines were ever built to go.”

“What’s our speed?” asked Henry Tremaine.

“Just about thirty miles an hour, sir,” Joe Dawson answered. “I’ve followed orders and am crowding every possible revolution without regard for anything but danger to life.”

“You’re not running the ladies’ lives into danger, then?”

“No, sir.”

“Good! That’s all I care about,” ordered the charter-man. “When this day is over I’ll install newer and better engines for you, if these are hurt in any way, and I’ll pay you for whatever time the boat may be laid up for repairs.”

“Say, but we’re gaining on them,” reported Captain Tom, a few minutes later. “Do you notice how much larger the ‘Buzzard’s’ hull looms?”

“It does,” agreed Tremaine. “That’s a certain fact.”

Everybody, the Tampa officers included, crowded forward for a look.

Watchful of the slightest variation of the helm, Captain Halstead steered the straightest line that his sea experience had taught him to do.

“Great!” cried the charter-man. “If this keeps up, we’ll overhaul those fellows before dark. But how do you account for our sudden success?”

“I’ve a strong notion,” responded Dawson, “that those fellows on the ‘Buzzard’ have had to slow down their engines to prevent a crash in the machinery.”

“If you can only keep yours going, then!”

“I’m trying hard enough,” muttered Joe, holding up his oil can. “I am keeping this thing in my hand all the time, now.”

Within another quarter of an hour it was plain that further gains had been made on the craft ahead.

Joe now felt warranted in easing up ever so little on his own motors, yet he was careful not to shut off too much speed.

“It’s odd that our two vessels should be the only ones in sight,” remarked Mrs. Tremaine, as the race continued down the Florida coast.

“There isn’t a heap of commerce on this side of Florida,” Halstead answered. “As like as not we’ll not sight another craft all afternoon.”

In another hour the distance between the two motor boats was less than two and a half miles. Joe eased up just a trifle more, then came on deck, his eyes glowing.

“The ‘Buzzard’s’ engineer didn’t take all the care of his motors that he ought to have done at the start,” guessed Dawson. “Now he’s sorry, I reckon.”

“Have you a little time to spare, Joe?” queried Halstead, who did not quit the wheel.

“I guess so. What can I do?”

“Get the code book and the signal bunting. Have Jeff help you rig up a signal, and hoist it to the head of the signal mast.”

“What signal?” queried the young engineer.

“Signal: ‘Lie to. We are after criminal on your vessel.’”

For some moments Joe ran through the pages of the code book. Then he selected the signal flags, while Jeff Randolph fastened them to a halyard in the proper order.

“All complete,” announced Joe. “Hoist away.”

Up went the line of bunting, breaking out gracefully. There was just enough breeze to spread the signals clearly.

“Let the cap’n of the ‘Buzzard’ pass that by if he thinks best,” muttered one of the Tampa officers, dryly.

“He could declare, afterwards, that he didn’t observe our signal,” Tom Halstead remarked, thoughtfully.

“He could, suh, sutt’nly, but we wouldn’t believe him.”

Though the other motor boat was still well in the lead, it was not gaining in relative distance, but rather slowly losing. No one showed aft on the “Buzzard,” and no heed was paid to the signal fluttering from the signal mast of the “Restless.”

“We’ve simply got to keep this up until we run within hail,” muttered Tremaine.

“Too bad we’re not a revenue cutter,” sighed Skipper Tom.

“What, then?”

“We’d have a bow-gun, and could fire a shot past the ‘Buzzard.’”

“Yo’ get us a good bit nearer, Cap’n, an’ maybe we can fire a shot past her, anyway,” spoke up one of the Tampa policemen.

“Eh?” asked Tom.

“We’ve noticed, suh, that yo’ have rifles on bo’d. Nothin’ to stop us from sending a bullet by the other craft, only we’ve got to be mighty careful, suh, not to hit anyone on the ‘Buzzard.’”

“We’ll have you, in thirty minutes, I guess, where you can use a rifle,” chuckled the young motor boat captain.

After twenty minutes the officer who had proposed the use of the rifle went below for one of the weapons. Armed with this, he first inspected the magazine, then stood well forward on the bridge deck at the port side. Presently, after judging his distance, the officer raised the rifle, sighted carefully, and fired.

Over the deck-house of the “Buzzard” a man’s head and shoulders were visible, as he stood, facing the bow, at the steering wheel.

An instant after the red flash leaped from the muzzle of the rifle this steersman on the other craft “ducked” suddenly, crouching for a few seconds before he ventured to rise.

“He shuah heard the bullet whistle by him,” chuckled the other policeman.

“I must have shot proper close,” remarked the marksman. “I don’t mean to hit anybody, either.”

After two or three minutes the man with the rifle fired again.

This time the man at the “Buzzard’s” wheel did not dodge. Instead, he half turned, looking swiftly astern.

“Too – oo – oot!” sounded his whistle. Next, the “Buzzard’s” speed slowed down, after which the craft swung around.

“He gives it up!” shouted Tom Halstead, gleefully.

Yet the next instant Tom and the others on the deck of the “Restless” cried out in horror.

Oliver Dixon had suddenly sprung up the after companionway of the “Buzzard.” In his right hand the young man clutched a revolver. He waved his left hand to the oncoming pursuers, after which he raised the weapon to his temple.

CHAPTER XXIV
CONCLUSION

“THE coward!” burst from Henry Tremaine’s lips. Then, springing toward his wife and Ida Silsbee, he cried, hoarsely:

“Look away! Turn your backs!”

“It’s all right, I guess,” came from Tom Halstead, a few moments later.

For the man who had been at the “Buzzard’s” helm had darted swiftly aft, leaped upon Oliver Dixon from behind, and borne him to the deck.

Just an instant later a glistening object was seen to whirl through the air and drop into the sea.

“It’s all right, now,” called Captain Tom Halstead. “They’re fighting all over the deck, but Dixon is no match for the other fellow.”

The “Restless” continued to cover the intervening distance at good speed. After a while the “Buzzard’s” helmsman was seen to yank Oliver Dixon to his feet and thrust him down, the companionway into the cabin.

“You take the wheel, now, Jeff,” directed Halstead, reaching out for the megaphone.

In a few minutes they were running alongside the other craft.

“‘Buzzard,’ ahoy!” hailed Tom Halstead.

“‘Restless,’ ahoy!” came the answer after some hesitation on the part of the “Buzzard.” “Have you been pursuing us?”

“Think of something else to ask,” retorted Skipper Tom, sarcastically.

“Have you any legal right to take our passenger from us?”

“You’re in Florida waters, and we have Florida peace officers on board, who seek a thief,” Halstead responded. “The water’s smooth enough; shall we run alongside of you, instead of lowering a boat?”

“Yes, if you can do it without scratching our paint,” came the assent from the “Buzzard.”

“Do you take us for lubbers, after winning such a stiff race from you?” retorted Captain Halstead, ironically. “Look out, then. We’re going to range up alongside and board you.”

Jeff sped along the port rail, throwing over the fenders. Then the two motor craft bumped gently together. A deck-hand appeared on the other craft.

“Throw us your bow line, and take our stern line,” requested the young motor boat captain.

These lines, fore and aft, were soon secured. Then the two Tampa policemen crossed to the other boat, followed by Henry Tremaine. Tom and Joe brought up the rear, leaving Jeff Randolph on the bridge deck of the “Restless.”

“Your man is locked in the cabin,” announced the skipper of the “Buzzard,” a man of fifty. “I’ll unlock the door for you.”

“When this had been done the two Tampa policeman descended first.

“You’re our prisoner, Dixon,” declared one of the officers.

“I guess I am, all right,” came the dogged answer.

“We’ll have to put these on yo’, suh.”

“Handcuffs?” rose the voice of Oliver Dixon, in protest. “Ugh! Such things belong to felons!”

“Well, suh, what do yo’ consider yo’se’f!” demanded the policeman.

A groan that was almost a sob escaped the prisoner. Those waiting above heard the steel circlets click. Then they descended.

Oliver Dixon sat on one of the transom seats in the little cabin, his face a ghastly gray.

“I guess you’re glad to see this, Halstead?” demanded the prisoner, holding up his manacled hands.

“As sorry as I can be!” retorted Tom Halstead, heartily. “It’s a tough sight, Dixon.”

“It certainly is,” groaned Henry Tremaine, turning to hide his face.

“If your ward, Tremaine, had been kind enough to accept me, I never would have come to this pass,” declared the young man, coolly.

“Silence!” commanded Tremaine, sternly. “Don’t dare couple Miss Silsbee’s name with your own dishonored one!”

“Are you going to take me back to Tampa on this boat?” inquired Oliver Dixon after a moment’s silence.

“On the ‘Restless’,” replied one of the policemen.

“You are going to bring me face to face – after this – with Mr. Tremaine’s ladies?” demanded Dixon, paling still more. “That’s tough treatment.”

“You’ll have to go on the ‘Restless,’” insisted the policeman. “We have nothing to do with this craft.”

President Haight, who had at first remained on the “Restless,” now came over the side, appearing at the after companionway.

“Is the money safe?” inquired the bank man, huskily.

“You’ll find it all in the satchel in that stateroom,” stated Dixon, nodding at the door of the apartment in question.

The satchel was quickly brought out. Haight, as the most expert money-counter, was assigned to the task of counting then and there, which he did at the cabin table.

“Sixty thousand dollars, less seven hundred,” he announced, finally. “Dixon, where’s the missing seven hundred?”

“Ask Captain Beeman,” rejoined the prisoner, nodding at the commander of the “Buzzard.”

Captain Beeman looked at once alarmed.

“Why, gentlemen, that seven hundred dollars is what your friend – ”

“Our prisoner,” interrupted Haight.

“It’s what your prisoner paid me to take him to the coast of Mexico.”

“As it is stolen money, Captain Beeman,” rejoined Mr. Haight, frigidly, “I reckon you’ll have to give it up.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” argued Beeman, hoarsely. “I accepted the money, and I didn’t know it to be stolen.”

“No, of course; you didn’t even suspect, when your passenger agreed to an exorbitant price for his fare to the Mexican coast,” jeered the bank man. “You had so little suspicion, in fact, that you caused us to all but ruin our engines in the effort to reach you. You ignored our bunting signals after we hoisted them.”

“I didn’t see your signals,” protested Beeman, with an injured air. “I stopped as soon as you fired, and I realized – ”

“When you realized that we meant business,” sneered the policeman who had handled the rifle.

“We could not prove to the satisfaction of a court that Beeman deliberately tried to aid a fugitive to escape,” broke in Tremaine, rather impatiently. “Haight, we’ll let this captain keep his passage money. I’ll make the amount good, for, at least, Beeman promptly and properly foiled Dixon’s effort to destroy himself. So keep your passage money, Captain Beeman.”

“I thank you, sir,” cried the commander of the “Buzzard,” his eyes lighting up with pleasure.

“None the less, Captain,” went on Tremaine, dryly, “my private opinion is that you would have gone on laughing at us had the fates favored you.”

“You wouldn’t have got the money again, if I could have prevented it,” sneered young Mr. Dixon. “I’d have burned it, only I saw I hadn’t time. I’d have thrown the satchel overboard, but I knew it would float. The only weight I could find was my revolver, and I knew that wouldn’t be heavy enough to make the satchel sink with all that paper in it.”

“You’re going back to Port Tampa, aren’t you, Captain?” demanded one of the policemen of Beeman. “We are not going to arrest you, but we may want you as a witness.”

“I’ll go back to the port,” nodded the commander of the “Buzzard.”

As Oliver Dixon stepped over the rail and onto the deck of the “Restless,” he hung his head, his gaze wandering along the seams of the deck. Mrs. Tremaine and Ida averted their eyes. Dixon was led below. With one of the policemen he was locked in the very port stateroom in which he had committed the theft of the ten thousand dollars.

For he afterwards admitted drugging and robbing Henry Tremaine. He also acknowledged that it was he who had sprung and fastened the door that had almost smothered Captain Halstead in the air chamber compartment.

When the two white men and the two negroes whom Captain Tom had brought in triumph out of the Everglades were arraigned for trial for their various offenses against the law, they confessed that they had constituted the once famous “Ghost of Alligator Swamp.” This ghostly business of theirs had been carried on for the purpose of frightening hunters and cottagers away from Lake Okeechobee that their camps or bungalows might be robbed of any supplies. Occasionally, too, Uncle Tobey had succeeded in charging a goodly fee for “exorcising” the ghost away from one bungalow or another, and these fees Uncle Tobey had always divided with the members of the gang. These members of the gang were all sent to the penitentiary for offenses committed in the past. Uncle Tobey, too, was “put away” on a charge of swindling.

Sim confessed that Oliver Dixon had met him in the woods, that night, and had urged him to abduct Captain Tom Halstead, representing that Henry Tremaine would readily pay three thousand dollars for the young man’s safety. In Tom’s absence Dixon had hoped to put his own plans through.

Within a few days it turned out that Oliver Dixon was wanted in the north for an act of dishonesty that he had believed would never be traced to him. As Tremaine was disinclined to drag his own household through the courts as witnesses, he arranged with the Florida authorities to drop the charge against Dixon, allowing him to be extradited to the Northern state where the young man was also wanted. Dixon is now serving a term in prison for embezzlement.

Six months afterwards Ida Silsbee became engaged to a cavalry officer in the Army, to whom she is now married.

The motors of the “Restless” proved to be uninjured. The boat and her crew remained for some weeks longer under charter to Henry Tremaine, most of the time being spent in cruising in Florida waters.

The Ghost of Alligator Swamp was so effectually laid that it has never been heard from since by the residents of lower Florida.

Jeff Randolph remained for some weeks aboard the “Restless,” learning more and more about the work and the life. He is now a member of the Motor Boat Club, and mate aboard one of the largest motor yachts in Southern waters.

Ham Mockus is now assistant steward on one of the Havana boats.

Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson? They remained afloat, of course. They had their most stirring adventures and their most thrilling experiences with sea perils yet ahead of them, as will be related in the next volume of this series, which will be published at once under the title: “The Motor Boat Club at the Golden Gate; Or, A Thrilling Capture in the Great Fog.”

[The End.]