Czytaj książkę: «The Motor Boat Club in Florida: or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp», strona 8
CHAPTER XVII
IN THE CIRCLE OF ’GATORS!
AGAIN the December day was warm and bright, as the little launch glided over Lake Okeechobee.
The boat that had lately been used by Sim and his crew was now being towed astern. In it were four of the Florida men, the other two being in the launch itself. All of these Florida men were armed with their own rifles. Thus, with the Tremaine party itself, the host considered the expedition too strong to be in danger from any lurking criminals who led a fugitive existence in the Everglades.
By the time the launch and its tow reached the lower end of Lake Okeechobee it was a little past noon. Tremaine planned that they would rove through the Everglades until about four o’clock, then having enough daylight to return to the lake. The last of the run homeward could be safely made with the light furnished by the launch’s bright running lights.
As they entered the black waters of this great swamp country Joe Dawson shut off most of the speed. At the same time the rowboat was cast off, for the men in that craft could now row as fast as the expedition would move.
“All talking must be done in low tones,” warned Henry Tremaine. “Noise often chases the ’gators under water. We want to see if we can’t bag two or three fine ones in the time we have left to us.”
For an hour launch and rowboat cruised about without even a sight of one of the much-sought alligators.
“I’m afraid it’s going to be a poor day’s sport,” muttered Tremaine, shaking his head.
“It’s never a po’ day’s sport, suh, until we get back stumped,” rejoined Jeff. “And we’re right in the very paht of the Everglades where the best shooting has been found this yeah, suh.”
Mrs. Tremaine settled back against cushions, turning the pages of a novel. She wasn’t going to betray any excitement until big game got right in front of the rifles.
Oliver Dixon forgot to keep a very sharp lookout. Ida Silsbee was seated at his right hand. The young man was devoting all his energies to making himself as pleasant as possible.
“I must do all I can, in every way, to hasten the day when I can propose to her,” the young man was thinking. “I shan’t be easy until this girl is Mrs. Dixon. Her fortune is too large a one for me to miss. Such chances don’t fall in my way every week.”
He was glad, too, that Ida was not paying very much heed to Halstead. But Tom had no time for that. Between guiding the launch and keeping a sportsman’s lookout, the young skipper was fully occupied. Jeff sat beside him, while Mr. Tremaine, rifle in hand, stood behind them much of the time, keeping a sharp eye on the water.
“There you are, sir,” whispered sharp-eyed Halstead, jogging Mr. Tremaine’s knee with his thrust-back left hand. “Just as far ahead as you can see, sir. Just beyond that point of land.”
“Jove! you’ve got sharp vision,” muttered Tremaine. “Oh, now I see it. Just the snout above water.”
Joe, at a signal from his chum, shut off the speed, the launch slowly drifting while the rowboat closed in behind.
Now the alligator’s head showed. From the course the brute was taking, it was heading for the nearest island. Presently its head and front legs appeared on the shore, the dim light glistening on the wet scales.
“Only a medium-sized fellow,” whispered Tremaine, sighting. “But a good deal better than no ’gator.”
Oliver Dixon caught enough of the spirit of the thing to crouch behind his host.
Bang! rang out Tremaine’s rifle. It was a hit, but the shot struck under the shoulder, not disabling the alligator. With an angry flopping of its tail the beast turned to take to deeper water.
Bang! came from Dixon’s rifle. This bullet struck against the ’gator’s jaw. Bang! sounded Tremaine’s second shot. This landed through the softer skin under the animal’s nearer eye.
“Close in,” commanded the host, eagerly. “We’ll get that chap all right, now.”
In its death agonies, yet possessing prodigious strength still, the ’gator flopped off into deeper water, diving.
“He’ll soon come to the surface,” predicted Jeff Randolph, coolly. “Better get in closer, Cap’n.”
The launch was still going ahead, slowly, when the alligator came up, its head almost under the gunwale. The reptile’s broad mouth opened, then the teeth snapped together, viciously.
Henry Tremaine leaned over the gunwale, and fired a shot that went in through an eye, penetrating the reptile’s brain.
“Back off a bit, Cap’n,” advised Jeff. “We-all will soon have him.”
Hardly a minute passed before the alligator, its last struggle finished under water, rose and lay on its back motionless.
“A higher type of animal, with a more vital brain, would have been killed quicker,” observed Henry Tremaine, running a cleaning rod down his rifle barrel.
The four men following in the rowboat now lashed one end of a line around the dead ’gator, the other end being secured at the stern of the launch.
“How many of these things can we tow?” asked Mrs. Tremaine.
“I don’t know, my dear, until I see how many we can get,” smiled her husband. “I’d attempt to tow a long string of ’gators before I’d consent to leave any of our game behind.”
“Fortunately we’ve food enough aboard so that we don’t need to mind, much, if we have to spend most of the night towing dead alligators home,” replied Mrs. Tremaine.
“Now, Cap’n,” advised Jeff Randolph, “yo’ may as well put on as much speed as yo’ can handle. It’ll be some time befo’ we’re likely to find any more ’gators above water within sound of the shots that have just been fired.”
For twenty minutes more the launch cruised along with no sign of the game of the Everglades. In places the water courses proved barely wide enough to permit the passage of the boat. Presently they caught sight of a stretch of open water at least a third of a mile in diameter.
“Oh, say! Look ovah there!” whispered Jeff, excitedly, pointing to land at the eastward.
“Over there,” well up on a slope, lay an alligator as huge as the one that Halstead had shot on a former occasion. The great reptile seemed asleep. It had evidently climbed high up from the water in order to catch the warmth of whatever sunlight might filter through the tall, moss-encumbered trees.
In great excitement Tremaine turned, holding up his hand as a sign to the occupants of the rowboat to halt. Then he bent over the young skipper, whispering hoarsely:
“Not too fast or too near. Slow, and no noise.”
Halstead, turning his hand, repeated the order to Joe Dawson by signal. The launch almost immediately fell off to a speed that was barely more than drifting.
“We mustn’t miss that fine fellow,” exclaimed Tremaine, throbbing with all the ardor of the sportsman. “Halstead, I think that fellow must be bigger than the one you bagged. He’s an old-timer!”
The ladies entered into the general excitement. They rose, remaining standing, though Ida Silsbee, who did not enjoy the report of a gun close to her ear, slowly tiptoed toward the stern.
“My shot first!” spoke up Tremaine, eagerly. Then he added:
“Unless you want the chance, Dixon?”
“No, thank you,” smiled the young man, carelessly. “I’ll shoot if you miss, but I hope you won’t.”
“But, really, if you want – ” urged Tremaine, considerately.
“I assure you again that I don’t want it,” replied the younger man, still smiling. “To me a good day’s sport is in seeing a big bag. I don’t care who does the shooting.”
“Halstead – ”
“I’m going to do my shooting with the steering wheel,” laughed Tom, quietly. “After my fine luck the other day I’m not going to risk my reputation again.”
So Tremaine had his heart’s real wish – the first shot at the dozing alligator.
Closer in crept the boat, while the unsuspecting reptile slumbered on. Thrice Henry Tremaine sighted, then lowered his rifle, preferring to wait for a nearer shot.
The two Florida men looked on with polite enough interest, though they did not offer to reach for their rifles. Alligator-killing was an old story to them.
“Now, I reckon you’re close enough, sir,” whispered Jeff Randolph. “Sometimes these ole ’gators wake and get into the water powahful quick.”
Again Tremaine sighted. He was too old a hunter to risk spoiling all by too long a sighting. He aimed for a spot just back of the fore shoulder.
Bang! Hardly had the flash left the muzzle when the huge ’gator thrashed, a red spot showing back of the fore shoulder. Then the slumbering animal turned with incredible rapidity, making for the water.
Bang! bang! Tremaine fired twice, as rapidly as he could, each shot going home. The wounded ’gator now floundered weakly close to the water’s edge.
“One more shot and I’ve got him!” breathed Tremaine, tensely. That fourth shot woke the echoes, and the alligator crouched low, too spent to take to the water.
“Give him a minute or two. Then we’ll go and get him,” declared Tremaine, turning to sign to the men in the rowboat that they could approach now.
“There goes Mr. ’Gator,” reported Jeff, as a final shudder ran through the bulky frame of the big reptile.
“Steam ahead, boys! Put in and get him,” directed Tremaine.
No one was looking at Ida Silsbee, just at that moment. She, for some reason, had risen on her tip-toes on the little decked over space aft.
As Joe turned on the speed with a throb, the girl tottered. There was nothing at which to catch. Uttering a frightened shriek, Ida Silsbee fell over backward into the water.
Joe Dawson heard that cry. Like a flash he shut off the speed. Then, his face white, he sprang and dived where the waters had closed over the girl.
There was another shriek, this time from Mrs. Tremaine, as she caught sight of an alligator snout rising above the water not fifty yards away.
Tom Halstead saw that snout on the water. In another twinkling he was over the side.
Oliver Dixon sprang to plunge in, also, but Mr. Tremaine caught him by the arm, crying huskily:
“No, no, Dixon! Two over are enough. And there’s a second ’gator, a third!”
Three of the brutes were close at hand, all nosing along towards these people at their mercy in the water.
Up shot Joe’s head above the black waters. He gripped Ida Silsbee, too, for Joe’s dive had carried him straight to her side.
“Look out for the ’gators!” shrieked Mrs. Tremaine, ghastly with terror.
The two Florida men had snatched up their rifles, prepared to fire. Mr. Tremaine already had his.
Tom Halstead came to the surface to find himself between Joe and the nearest of the water enemies.
“Get her to the boat, Joe. I’ll do the best I can to take up a ’gator’s attention,” shouted Tom desperately. He had no plan of attack. He was prepared to sacrifice himself to injury or mangling, if that would do any good.
“Good heaven, suh! We kain’t shoot without running the risk o’ hitting them that’s in the water,” cried one of the Florida men, desperately.
For now the swimmers were at the center of a circle bounded by the three alligators, while both boats were outside the dangerous area. To fire at any of the alligators, and miss, would be to take a chance of hitting one of the three human beings in the water.
CHAPTER XVIII
A FEARFUL TWO MINUTES
RUSHING aft, Jeff dropped into a seat beside the motor. In another instant he had swung the speed on with his left hand, while his right grasped one of the rudder ropes.
Chug-chug! With the speed beginning, Jeff turned the launch in the shortest possible circle, then headed toward the people in the water.
“Yell!” he shouted. “Voices often scare ’gators!”
The Florida men in the rowboat won with the first yell by a margin of a second or so. Then everyone joined in.
The two who bent at the oars of the rowboat were putting in all their strength at a rapid, strong pull. One of the others crouched in the bow of the little craft, waiting until he should dare to fire.
Two of the alligators had slowed up, as if waiting to see what menace to them was conveyed by the chorus of wild yells. Then one of them sank below the surface.
The ’gator nearest Tom Halstead kept straight on, coming slowly, jaws moving and eyes blinking, as though the great reptile were figuring out the chances of successful attack.
“You just look out for Miss Silsbee, Joe,” warned Tom. “I’ll keep off this big fellow if I have to shove an arm down his throat!”
Ida Silsbee was wholly conscious. A brave girl, she had the good sense to realize how much depended upon her keeping cool and quiet, allowing her rescuers free hand to do what they thought best.
Tom Halstead had brought out his sailor’s clasp knife, opening the blade. He now held this weapon in his right hand, ready to strike, no matter how uselessly, as a means of attracting the attention of the nearest alligator.
In the launch Henry Tremaine watched, with a horrible fascination, for the alligator that had dropped below the surface. If hunters’ tales were true that vanished alligator was likely to try to drag down one of the helpless three from underneath.
Tom would not swim away from a straight line between Ida and the oncoming alligator. He watched, unflinchingly, the approach of the dangerous foe, wondering whether he could strike hard enough with his knife to make the ’gator retreat.
All this had occupied only seconds.
Now, Jeff Randolph had a chance to show what he meant to do. He drove the launch straight for the big alligator. The changed position of the boat gave Tremaine a possible chance to shoot without hitting any of those in the water.
“Don’t fire!” warned Jeff, quickly. “Wait, suh.”
Knowing that the Florida boy understood the points of the game vastly better, Tremaine removed his finger from the trigger.
As the launch sped up, the alligator from which most was to be feared veered slightly.
Jeff Randolph, however, was watchful and ready. He slightly veered the launch from its first course, then, as he had intended, drove the bow of the craft straight against the ’gator’s broadside.
The force of the impact almost capsized the launch. His hand on the reversing gear, Jeff shot the launch back a few yards, swinging around.
This changed position gave Tremaine a chance to fire – not at the alligator the launch had just struck, but at the other visible one. His rifle spoke out instantly, just before a shot came from the rowboat.
By this time the alligators had all they could do to attend to their own safety. The creature that Jeff had struck with the bow of the launch had rolled partly over, recovered its balance, and then lashed its way to greater safety. At this one, too, Tremaine now fired, hitting, while Oliver Dixon followed it up with another bullet that registered.
Half standing, and seeing how the day was going, Jeff Randolph now steered toward Joe and Ida. In a twinkling Dixon reached out for the girl. Tremaine helped him to haul her into the boat. Joe Dawson pulled himself in, with slight help from Tremaine. Joe’s first move was to lean over the opposite gunwale, and aid Captain Tom Halstead into the boat.
“Yo’ can get one of the ’gators, suh,” reported Jeff, pointing. “He’s hurt, but floating.”
Henry Tremaine again raised his rifle, sighted and fired. A second shot from him finished the ’gator.
“Two! That’s good enough sport for one day,” declared the host. “Ida, child, we’ve got to get you into something drier if possible, or you’ll have pneumonia. Didn’t you ladies bring some sort of extra clothing?”
“Yes; we’ve some makeshifts in the way of clothes that will make the child drier and warmer,” replied Mrs. Tremaine.
“Then we’ll run in to shore, disappear under the trees, and let you get Ida into those clothes,” replied the host, noting that his ward was already beginning to shake.
The launch was ran to the nearest land, the rowboat following. As soon as both craft had been made fast the men-folks stepped out. Tom lifted a service-worn telescope bag from under a forward seat, remarking:
“Joe and I carry a few extra things with us, too.”
The Florida men led the way over the bogs, watchfully alert for rattlers or other dangerous snakes. Jeff encountered one young rattler, and killed it with a few well-directed blows of a stick. Out of sight of the boat, Tom and Joe quickly shed their dripping garments, rubbing down and putting on dry clothing.
After waiting a sufficient length of time, Henry Tremaine shouted to his wife, receiving answer that the men might return.
They found Ida Silsbee reclining comfortably at the stern of the boat, wrapped in an overcoat and tucked in with steamer rugs.
“I’m as warm as toast,” she declared. Then, gratefully:
“I hope you boys are as well off.”
“Oh, we are,” Joe nodded. “We’re used to going overboard, or standing in pouring rains. We never go far without a clothes kit.”
The Florida men now devoted their attention to securing the second alligator and adding it to the tow behind the launch.
“Mo’ hunting, Mr. Tremaine?” inquired Jeff, coolly.
“Not to-day,” responded the host, with emphasis. “We’ve had very fair sport, not to speak of a miraculous escape for my ward. We’ve had quite enough excitement. I think the old bungalow at the head of Lake Okeechobee will look very cheery to us when we get there.”
Ida had already made some attempt to thank the young motor boat boys for their gallant conduct. Now, she tried to say much more. Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine and Oliver Dixon now started to overwhelm the boys with their gratitude, but Joe Dawson interposed quietly:
“The least said is soonest mended, you’ve heard, and I guess the same idea applies to thanks. We’re glad we could be useful, but there is no use in making a fuss about us.”
“That’s about right,” smiled Halstead. He turned to take his seat by the steering wheel, then observed the wistful looks of Jeff Randolph.
“I didn’t know, before, Jeff,” remarked the young captain, pleasantly, “that you knew anything about handling motor boats.”
“I won’t claim I do know a heap,” rejoined Jeff, modestly, “but I will say that there’s nothing I enjoy mo’ than taking the wheel of a launch or cabin cruiser.”
“Help yourself, then,” invited Halstead, moving back. “You surely do know more about these black waters than I’ll ever know.”
Jeff’s eyes gleamed with real pleasure as he seated himself at the wheel. He gave the engineer’s signals, and backed the launch out neatly, then headed northward.
“Say, you’ve been on boats a good deal,” remarked Skipper Tom, after watching him.
“Some,” admitted the Florida boy, quietly. “I reckon I’d rather be on a boat than anywhere else in the whole world.”
Jeff remained at the wheel until he had piloted them out of the Everglades and back into Lake Okeechobee. The two dead ’gators were rigged to the stern of the rowboat, in tow, and the small boat’s bow line made fast astern on the launch. In this order the start was made for the forty-mile trip up the lake.
“I’m going to spell you at the wheel a bit, now, Jeff,” said Tom Halstead. “But you can have the wheel again, whenever you want it.”
“That’ll be most all o’ the forty miles ahead of us, then, I reckon,” declared young Randolph.
It was slow work, indeed, getting back, not much more than seven miles per hour being possible. Supper, picnic-style, was served not long after dark. It was nearing the hour of ten when the boat at last rounded slowly in at the pier.
“Let me take her in,” begged Jeff Randolph, who was again at the wheel.
“Go ahead,” nodded Tom Halstead, good-humoredly. “I know you can do it.”
“Jeff,” laughed Henry Tremaine, “you ought to apply for membership in the famous Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec.”
“Wouldn’t I like to belong, though?” sighed the Florida boy.
“Would you?” queried Captain Tom.
“Don’t poke fun at me,” protested young Randolph.
“I’m not poking fun,” rejoined Halstead, soberly. “Did you ever have any experience out on deep water?”
“I’ve been on sailing craft a good deal, and out fo’ two trips on a motor cruiser,” answered the Florida boy, in a low voice.
“How’d you like to come out on the ‘Restless’ for a while?”
“Do yo’ mean it?” asked Jeff, anxiously.
“I certainly do. Still, at the same time, I must warn you that your duties on the ‘Restless’ would be mixed. You’d have to cook, be steward and take an occasional trick at the motors or the wheel.”
“I don’t care what it is,” retorted Jeff, stubbornly, “so long as it’s something on deep salt water, and on a motor boat at that.”
“Make a good landing then,” proposed Tom Halstead, smiling, yet serious, “and we’ll talk it all over on shore.”
Jeff Randolph laid the boat in at the pier without a scratch or a jar, with just enough headway and none to spare. Tom leaped ashore at the bow, Joe at the stern, and the little craft was made fast at her berth.
Ham Mockus was glad enough to see them back. He was hanging about at the land end of the pier. Though the black man’s faith in ghosts had received a severe knock, still, to be all alone about the place after dark – well, it was a bit fearsome, anyway!
“Have any ghosts called, Ham?” laughingly demanded Henry Tremaine, as he caught sight of his black servitor.
“No, sah; no, sah,” admitted the darkey, grinning sheepishly.
“Then the officers must have succeeded in keeping all the members of the ghost safely locked up in jail.”
“Ah reckon so, sah – unless – ”
“Well, unless what?”
“Wy, sah, it jest might be, ob co’se, dat some restless fo’ks done take dem Eberglades trash out an’ hitch ’em to a tree, wid deir feet off en de groun’.”
“Oh, I guess it could not be as bad as that,” smiled Mr. Tremaine.
“What have you been doing all these hours, Ham?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine.
“Wy, Ah done ’low, ob co’se, dat maybe yo’ don’ feel much satisfied wid dat cold food yo’ done had erlong in de bo’t, so Ah’s done got some hot food up at de house – ef yo’ want it.”
“Ham,” cried his employer, enthusiastically, “you’re kind-hearted and proper. Lead us to that hot banquet.”
It was over the table, an hour later, that Mrs. Tremaine asked her husband:
“How many more days do you intend to remain here hunting?”
“Have you ladies had all you want of it?” queried the host, looking at his wife and his ward.
“More than enough for my part,” answered Mrs. Tremaine. Ida Silsbee added that she, personally, did not care to go alligator hunting again.
“You’ll both of you be more contented,” decided Mr. Tremaine, “if we run down to Oyster Bay and hoist anchor for Tampa. Up at Tampa you girls will have a chance to wear your pretty dresses. Jeff, can you start, before ten in the morning, and get the wagons back here to convey us to the coast?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we’ll leave here to-morrow afternoon,” announced Mr. Tremaine. “We have alligator skins enough, anyway, to answer all purposes, including the making of an alligator leather bag for Halstead’s mother. I’ll have the bag made, Tom – a good, generous and handsome looking one.”
“Captain Halstead,” called out Jeff, following the young skipper away from table and speaking almost ceremoniously.
“You want to talk to me about going on the ‘Restless’?” asked the young sailing master.
“Yes. Yo’ wa’n’t fooling, were yo’?”
“Of course not,” rejoined Tom, heartily.
“And – and – would there evah be any chance fo’ me to get into the Motor Boat Club?”
“We’d be only too glad to have you for a Florida member,” replied young Halstead, “just as soon as you’ve shown that you can handle a boat of our kind.”
Then Halstead and Joe discussed with Jeff his pay in his new position, and the exact nature of his duties.
“I reckon it all seems too good to be true,” sighed Jeff Randolph, but he knew, just the same, that it was no dream, and he was happy.
“Now, I’ve got to keep mighty cool and lull any suspicions Dixon may have,” muttered Halstead to himself. “Of course he knows I received that letter from Clayton Randolph. Perhaps, until we get back to Oyster Bay, I can make Dixon feel that I don’t believe any such thing possible of him. Once we get there, and Clayton Randolph backs up what he wrote me, I’ll take the whole thing to Mr. Tremaine. Then, Dixon, if you are as big a scoundrel as I think you, your time will have come to pay back and take your medicine!”
