"Well, it is not so very wonderful, after all, when one stops to consider the matter," said Walter reflectively. "The Seminoles are an old, old race, so old that nobody knows how old they are. For ages and ages they have lived in these great swamps, and it would be strange, indeed, if the more intelligent of them had not by this time found some remedy for the fevers of the country."
"It's interesting, anyway," Charley declared. "I'd give something to know what that powder was made of. It would be a blessing to the fever-stricken world."
Not long after leaving Indiantown the boys passed into a higher country, where the road wound in and out among great towering live oaks, under which the ground was thickly strewed with acorns. Multitudes of gray squirrels frisked among the branches and made the air noisy with their chattering.
"I'll bet this is a great game country," Charley remarked, as they stopped to water their ponies at the edge of a clear-running brook. "There ought to be bear and turkeys around where there are so many acorns. Listen! if I am not mistaken, those are turkeys drumming now." From a point a little to the left of the road came a hollow thumping sound, repeated at frequent intervals. "It's turkeys," said Charley, with conviction. "Come on, let's see if we can get a shot at them."
The two lads dismounted, and, tying their ponies to convenient trees, took their guns and picked their way softly toward the sound. A hundred feet brought them to where they could look out from the shelter of the oaks into a little glade or clearing a couple of acres in extent. What they saw caused them to pause and stare in admiration and amusement. In the center of the glade was a bunch of some twenty turkeys. The sun, shining down, lit up their plumage with a thousand colors, and made of them a picture well worth remembering, but it was the antics that they were going through that drew a smile from the two lads.
The leader of the flock, a huge gobbler with ruffled feathers and drumming wings, was going through a sort of strutting, mincing dance, every motion of his being closely followed by each of the flock, moving with slow, stately dignity.
"Gee!" grinned Walter. "They are doing the 'turkey trot.' It costs five dollars to see that dance in New York."
"The ministers say it's immoral," said Charley laughingly, "so let's put a stop to it. Be sure to pick out one of the younger birds. We never could cook that gobbler tender. I'll bet he is ten years old."
The lads fired almost together, and two of the smaller turkeys sank to the ground, while the rest of the flock rose in flight, but only to settle again within easy gun-shot.
"No use killing any more," Walter said, as the two lads emerged from behind the oaks and picked up the dead birds.
"No," Charley agreed. "These will be all we can use. They would spoil before we got back to camp. But say, I am tickled to see game so plentiful. When we get the machine and camp out here, it will make a big difference in our grub bills."
"Hold on a minute," said Walter, as his chum turned to retrace his steps to the road. "Doesn't it strike you as queer—this bare space in the heart of a great oak forest?"
"It is odd," admitted Charley. "I never thought of that until you mentioned it. Let's look around a bit."
The boys, up to now, had barely noticed the clearing, all their interest being centered on the turkeys. As they advanced into it they were surprised to note that it was not a freak of nature, but had been carefully cleared by hand. The indestructible live oak stumps still bore evidence of the axe. Wonderingly, the lads made their way forward.
"Those are not live oak trees at the other end of the clearing," declared Charley, who was looking around with eager eyes. "Let's see what they are."
A few minutes' walk brought them to the fringe of trees that had drawn the lads' attention. Here they paused, with an exclamation of astonishment.
"Gee!" Charley cried, "they are orange trees, and, from their size, they must be hundreds of years old."
"And there's another clearing beyond this one," cried Walter, who had entered the fringe of trees to pluck some of the golden fruit. "Come on, let's have a look at it. The oranges can wait until we come back."
With all of boys' healthy love of mystery and discovery, the two lads pushed eagerly through the fringe of orange trees and found themselves in another but smaller clearing, in the center of which rose up high posts, forming four sides of a square enclosure.
"A stockade!" exclaimed Charley excitedly. "Let's see what's inside. It ought to be easy to break down one of those posts."
But their united efforts failed to crack any of the posts. They were all of live oak, which successfully resists the wear of centuries.
"It's no use tiring ourselves out for nothing," Charley said, after they had tried several of the posts without any success. "There must be an opening somewhere, and we have only to follow up the posts to find it." This they did, and, rounding the first corner of the stockade, came upon an opening in the wall, where had evidently once hung a strong gate. Pushing through the opening, they stood inside of the stockade, and, pausing, gazed around with a feeling of awe. The little enclosure was perhaps a half acre in extent. In the middle of it stood a small fort, cunningly constructed of big blocks of coquina rock. Around the little fort were grouped what had once been dwellings, but of which nothing now remained but their upright live-oak posts. A hole, in one side of the fort, which likely in some past age had been closed by a massive door, showed the enclosure to the fortress. Passing through the hole, the boys found themselves in a dim room, some forty feet square. The only light was the few rays that filtered through the loopholes, and the two lads had to pause to accustom their eyes to the dim twilight.
"My, but look here!" cried Charley, as his vision cleared.
Walter backed nervously toward the door, as he, too, began to perceive the grewsome objects grouped around them. Directly in front of them stood a gigantic, man-like form. Gaping holes, where the eyes should have been, stared upon them, and one long arm pointed directly at them.
"Whew, that gave me a shock at first!" exclaimed Charley, with a nervous laugh of relief. "One does not expect to stumble upon dead men in armor in the wilds of Florida. Look! there's another and another and another," he continued, pointing to the other motionless figures sprawled in all sorts of attitudes about the room. At the foot of a cunningly constructed stone stairway, the suits of armor lay so close together that the boys could hardly pick their way between them.
"The defenders evidently made a brave stand here at the foot of the stairway," Charley observed. "Let's go up and see what's in the upper chamber."
With but little relish for further investigation, Walter followed his chum as he climbed up the stone stairs.
The scene in the upper chamber was but a repetition of that below, only the floor was more thickly strewn with the suits of mail. Charley lifted the rust-encrusted visor of one, but let it drop hastily as his eyes encountered the grinning skeleton within.
"They were Spaniards who made this clearing and built this fort," he explained to his chum. "It may have been part of one of DeSoto's expeditions, or they may have been one of the treasure-hunting parties that were so numerous in the fifteenth century. Likely they became disgusted with tramping through swamps, and, when they came to this pleasant spot, they decided to stay for a time at least. So they, probably, made captives of many of the Indians, and put them to work, clearing, planting and building. But the Indians had their revenge in the end."
"You can stay here as long as you want to, but I am going to get out in the fresh air," said Walter, shuddering as he watched a hairy rat creep out from one of the suits of armor. "I will wait for you just outside the fort."
"All right," Charley agreed. "I'll be out in a few minutes."
Left to himself, the lad searched around in the corners for a few minutes, trying to find something to carry away with him as a souvenir of their strange discovery, but, finding nothing, he soon gave up the hunt, and, gathering up his game bag and gun, he made his way back down the stairs and out of the fort, glad to be in the sunshine and fresh air once more.
Walter was not in sight, and, after calling him a couple of times, Charley decided that he had probably grown tired of waiting, and had returned to the orange trees to eat his fill, and for them the lad hastened. But his chum was not there, and, with a vague feeling of alarm, the lad hurried on to where they had left their ponies, but Walter was not there. Now thoroughly alarmed, the lad fired off his gun four times in rapid succession, then waited and listened, but there came no answering report.
After a moment's consideration, Charley turned around and hastened back to the ancient clearing. He made the round outside of the stockade, and then, entering the gate, searched the inside thoroughly, but no sign could he find of the missing one. Again he fired the distress signal of four shots, but there was no reply.
The thoroughly frightened lad sat down on a block of stone, and strove to master his nervous fears and gather together his scattered wits. The whole thing was incomprehensible. Not fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had parted with Walter in the upper chamber of the fort, and now his chum was gone. He could not have gotten lost in the woods, for the way back to the ponies could be followed by a child, with its plain landmarks of orange trees and the other clearings. Besides, in that short length of time, Walter could not have got beyond the sound of the gun signal, to which he would certainly have replied.
For a few minutes Charley was almost a prey to vague, suspicious fears, which lie hidden deep in most of mankind. The suddenness of his chum's disappearance, the ages-old stockade, the ancient fort, with its grewsome occupants, all gave force to weird imaginings; but, with an effort, the practical lad shook off his gloomy thoughts with the simple logic that age is no more mysterious than youth, and that dead men are less to be feared than live ones. But, in spite of his sound reasoning, the worried lad could not imagine what had become of his chum. He was not in the stockade; he was not in either clearing; he was not among the orange trees; he was not back with the ponies, yet he had passed out of the fort not five minutes ahead of himself, but at this point in his reasoning Charley gave a start. He had found the flaw in his own logic. He had no proof that Walter had passed out of the fort. Affected as the lad had been by the grewsome sights, he might have fainted before reaching the open air and he might well have passed him by in the dim light without noticing him.
Hastily gathering some dry sticks, Charley held them in one hand and fired the ends. As soon as his torch was blazing good, he entered the fort, and, holding it aloft, inspected the lower chamber. Near the middle of the chamber he found Walter's rifle lying on the stone floor, but a close search showed no other trace of the missing lad. Puzzled, he ascended to the upper chamber, but here he found everything as he had left it, and he descended again to the lower chamber, convinced that in it must lie the key to the mystery, for he was certain Walter would not have left the fort without taking his gun with him.
Walking around the stone chamber, Charley held his torch aloft and inspected the solid floor and walls, in the vain hope of discovering some clew to his chum's mysterious disappearance.
Suddenly he gave a frightened cry, and flung out his arms to save himself, for something had given way beneath his feet, and he felt himself sinking downward. Fortunately, his instinctive action had been so quick that his extended arms caught on the stone floor and saved him from sinking into the gaping black hole beneath him. Summoning up all his strength, the lad drew himself up out of the trap into which he had partly fallen, and, seizing the torch he had dropped, surveyed the spot. A large stone slab was slowly lifting back into place. In a flash, the lad grasped the situation. The slab had been so cunningly contrived as to appear part of the solid floor, but, when a person stepped on one end the slab would tilt down, sending the victim down to the depths below, and, when his weight was removed, the slab would tilt back into place again.
Charley was quick to act. Sitting down on the floor, he placed his feet against the end of the slab and pressed downward. The end of the stone immediately tipped downward, exposing the dark hole beneath, and the lad shoved his rifle across the opening to prevent the slab from lifting back into place. From below him came a call that sent his heart bounding with joy: "Is that you, Charley?" it said.
"Yes. Are you hurt, Walt?" replied the delighted lad.
"Not much; some bruises, and a bump on my head, that's all. But, for goodness sake, hurry and get me out of here. The air is so foul it is making me feel faint. Get the ropes off the ponies, and fasten them together. I do not believe this hole is more than fifteen feet deep. But hurry, hurry!"
Charley was off like a shot and back in a few minutes with the halters from the two ponies. Hastily knotting them together, he fastened one end to a projecting stone in the wall, and let the other end down to his chum, who, white-faced and shaken, crawled up it, hand over hand.
Pausing only to secure their rifles and the ropes, the two lads hurried out into the open air.
"Gee!" said Walter, drawing long breaths of the sweet, pure air, "I thought I was a goner that time. I kept calling and calling after I fell, but when you did not answer I knew that you could not hear me. When I was sure that my voice did not penetrate outside of the hole I gave up hope, for I was positive that you would not find out the secret of that slab unless you stepped upon it, and, if you did that, there would be two of us buried alive, instead of one. Ugh!" he concluded, with a shudder, "I know now what fear is—genuine, blind, unreasoning fear."
The boys stopped at the orange trees only long enough to fill their game bags with the golden fruit, and hastened on to their ponies, fearful that, with no halters on, they might have turned back for Indiantown, but, much to their relief, they found the two animals browsing contentedly by the roadside. Each slung a turkey from one side of his saddle and a loaded game bag from the other, and, mounting, they rode on for their goal, the great lake. About four o'clock they rode out from a heavy growth of timber into full view of the broad, shining blue waters, and a few minutes later reined in their mounts on a high, grass-covered bank, shaded by big live oaks. Here they staked out their ponies to browse upon the sweet, tender grass, and, after a plunge in the cool waters of the lake, began their preparations for the night. Walter gathered great bunches of moss, and made soft beds at the base of a huge live-oak tree. Charley lit a big fire of live oak and pine, and, while it was burning down into a bed of glowing coals, he dressed and cut up the two turkeys, and soon had them frying and stewing in the pan and kettle they had brought with them. While Charley tended to the cooking, Walter gathered armfuls of dry wood and placed them in a circle around the oak, where he had made the beds. Before night fell everything was ready, and the boys sat down to a delicious meal of fried and stewed turkey and the eatables they had brought with them. They had eaten nothing since morning, and, when the meal was over, they were full enough and tired enough to be content to lie upon the grassy bank and simply gaze out at the glories of the sunset on the waters of the lake. When at last the light began to fail they watered their ponies and staked them in a fresh place, close to where they were going to sleep. This done, they started up the circle of fires around the tree and stretched out on their soft moss bed with a pleasant feeling of security, knowing that the slow-burning live-oak wood would keep the fires burning all night and protect them from all snakes and wild animals.
"I have been wondering why that hole was made in that old fort," said Walter, as they lay on their backs gazing up at the stars. "It isn't deep enough for a well or a dungeon."
"Maybe it was a hiding place for their treasures," suggested Charley, idly.
"By Jove, I believe you've hit it," Walter exclaimed. "And that reminds me that I picked up something for a souvenir of my adventure before I climbed out. I couldn't see what it was, for the hole was dark and I had no matches. It was something hard, round and heavy. I have got it in my game bag now."
"Get it out and let's see what it is," said Charley, interested.
Walter rummaged in his game bag and brought out a round object, about a foot long and ten inches in circumference.
"Looks like a piece of petrified wood," he said, as he handed it over for his chum's inspection.
Charley took it, and, drawing near the fire, examined it closely. "Too heavy for petrified wood," he commented, as he took out his knife and scraped away at the green encrusted object. "By Jove! Look here," he exclaimed a moment later.
Walter bent over and looked at the place where his chum had been scraping. A reddish-brown color appeared where the green crust had been removed.
"Is it gold?" he asked, excitedly.
"No," Charley replied. "It's copper. Let's scrape the balance of this verdigris off, and see if we can get an idea what it was intended for."
Laying the cylinder on the ground between them, both boys set to scraping away the green crust, and in a short time they had it all removed, leaving exposed the bright metal beneath it.
"Looks like there was a crack running around it near that end," Walter observed, as Charley held the cylinder down by the fire for closer examination.
"There is," agreed his chum, excitedly. "I believe the thing is hollow. That this end is nothing but a close fitting cap. Shall I see if I can knock it off?"
"Sure," agreed Walter, and Charley hammered against the end with his hunting knife. Suddenly the end gave way and out on the ground before the boys fell a shower of gold coins and jewelry.
Charley picked up one of the coins and held it to the light. "It's a Spanish doubloon," he announced breathlessly. "Let's count them and put them back in the cylinder. This is almost too good to be true."
The gold coins were gathered up from the ground and counted. There proved to be a thousand dollars' worth altogether. Besides the coins, there were some twenty gold rings set with gems, but these the boys were too inexperienced to tell the full value of. They, as well as the gold coins, were put back into the cylinder, and it was replaced in the game bag.
"I expect there are more where those came from," Walter remarked.
"I doubt it," said his chum, thoughtfully. "Even what we have found would have been considered a big amount in the days of those Spaniards. We can look when we go back to-morrow. Meanwhile, I am going to get me a good night's sleep. To-morrow is going to be another hard day."
The tired-out boys slept soundly until awakened by the rays of the morning sun. Rising, they enjoyed a good swim in the cool waters of the lake, and then, stirring up the dying embers of the campfire, they warmed up and ate what remained of their feast of the night before. As soon as it was finished, they saddled up their ponies, and, with a parting look at the beautiful lake, headed back for camp.
They had not gone far before the sky became overcast, and soon there began to fall a fine, drizzling rain, that soaked their thin clothing and chilled their bodies. There was no shelter to get under, so they could only ride on and take it as it came. When they came to the place where they had stopped the day before Walter wanted to halt and look for more treasure, but Charley objected.
"Our matches are all wet, so that we cannot make a torch," he explained, "and we could not do much searching without a light. If there is any more treasure in that hole there is no danger of anyone finding it. We, ourselves, would never have found it but for an accident. We had better wait until we can come back with a proper outfit of ropes, candles, etc. To tell the truth, I want someone else along with us next time. If one of us should get hurt in any way it would be a bad fix for both so far away from camp. See how near I came to joining you in that hole yesterday? Two is not enough where there is danger of that kind. We will bring the Captain and Chris next time."
Walter, still mindful of his experience in the black hole, was not overly anxious to repeat it, and they rode on in the drizzling rain. Before they reached the Indian camp the rain ceased and the sun came out again with a warmth grateful to their chilled bodies. On reining in at the camp, they were astonished to see the chief sitting out in the sun in front of his wigwam. He was thin as a skeleton, but appeared bright and cheerful. The Indian, Willie John, who had furnished them with the ponies, stopped them when they started to unsaddle.
"No, no," he said, "ride ponies on to big camp. Turn 'em loose. They come back all right."
The boys tried to pay him for the use of the animals, but he refused to take any money.
"Young pale-faces friends. No take money from friends," he said generously.
"Very well," Charley said, "but friends may give gifts to friends. Soon I go to town and get plenty of red and blue and yellow cloth and much beads. Two sleeps (nights) from now you come to big camp and get them. They will be a gift from the palefaces to their Seminole brother."
"It is well," said the Seminole, gravely. "Two sleeps I come to big camp."
"There is something noble about the Seminoles," said Charley, as they rode on. "Now that fellow knows the value of money, and he knows he can get with it many things that he desires, but his code forbids him to take it from a friend."
"I like them," agreed Walter emphatically. "They are so different from our slovenly tribes of Western Indians. They are so clean, honest, generous, and truthful. I doubt if a white race put in this awful country would retain so many virtues."
"And they have never waged an unjust war," Charley added. "When they fought it was to save themselves from being crushed out of existence. But, when they did have to fight, they fought bravely. During the Seminole war, not so very many miles north of here, a party of Indians encountered a company of soldiers. The soldiers stood their ground until the last one was killed and the Seminoles victorious, but, after the battle was over, not a dead soldier was scalped according to savage custom. Not one was touched. Even their guns and equipment were left lying where they had fallen. It was a silent tribute the Seminoles paid to a brave enemy, and, to my mind, there was something fine in the act."
This conversation had brought the lads to the jungle, and they fell silent as they rode through its gloomy depths.
It was after noon when they came in sight of the machine, which they were pleased to see was still working steadily, showing that nothing serious had occurred during their absence. When close to it, Charley reined in his pony and hailed the engineer.
"Hello!" he called. "How are they coming?"
Kitchner stopped the machine, and clambering down, walked up to him. "Not so bad," he said, in answer to the question. "But we've only got enough carbide to run the light to-night. Have to have some more before to-morrow night, or we will have to quit night work."
Charley frowned slightly. "That carbide light costs like fury," he said. "I brought out a big lot of it the last time I went to town. At the rate it has been used up, that light costs us about $5.00 a night."
"It is expensive," agreed Kitchner, "and that is not the worst feature about it. It's dangerous to use on a job like this, where the men do not understand it. There is always some escaping gas from the tank, which is easily set afire by a spark from the engine or the careless lighting of a match close by. One of the firemen was burnt some last night. The gas caught fire from his lantern. An electric light would be far better, less dangerous, and save its own cost in the long run."
"We'll get a dynamo and fix up an electric light, then," said Charley. "I'll go in to-night and order one. It will likely take several days to get it here, so I'll bring back enough carbide with me to run the light until it comes."
This settled, the boys rode on into camp, where Charley paused long enough to wash and change his clothes, then got out the truck and headed for town, where he arrived in time to catch the train for Palm Beach. He carried with him the gold and rings they had found in the old fort, for the boys had decided that it would be unwise to keep the treasure at camp, and that the sooner it was turned into money and safely deposited in the bank the better it would be. Once at the Beach, the lad sought out the leading jeweler in town, and showed him the rings and coins, and asked if he thought he could dispose of them for him.
The jeweler examined the rings with the greatest interest. "Some of these rings are very valuable," he declared. "Just how valuable, I would not like to say, offhand. If you care to intrust me with the disposal of them, I will get all the money I can out of them for you. The gold coins you will have no trouble about. Your bank will accept them at nearly their real value."
Charley quickly accepted the jeweler's offer, and turned over the rings to him and received a receipt in return. At the bank he had no trouble with the gold coins, the cashier readily accepting them and crediting the value to his account.
His business transacted, the lad bought a paper, and, securing a room in a nearby hotel, stretched out on the bed to read and rest, for he was thoroughly tired out by the long day he had put in. He scanned the headlines with mild interest, but at last he came to a paragraph that he read and reread with growing excitement. The brief item ran as follows:
"Among the bills that will come up before the legislature when it meets next month is one to give to a wealthy New York company a grant of one thousand acres of land, just east of Indiantown, for the nominal sum of $1 per acre. There is but little doubt that the bill will pass, for this land is so remote from transportation that it is considered of little or no value. The New York company, it is said, intends to develop the entire tract. They certainly seem very eager about it, for much money and influence is being used to secure the desired grant."
For a long time the lad lay back and considered this short notice, but could see nothing in it to account for the many attempts to stop the road building, for certainly a good road would be of vast value to the development company. At last he gave up puzzling over the matter, and turning out his light, prepared to go to sleep; but, he had no sooner stretched out, than there came a thumping at his door. "Wait a minute," he called to the knocker, as he turned on the light and slipped on his clothes. He opened the door, and in stepped a little, freckled-faced messenger boy.
"Gee, Mister," he said, "I've had a peach of a job finding you. Been to every hotel and boarding-house in town. Got a telegram for you. Sign right here."
"Wait a minute," said Charley, as the youth turned to go. "There may be an answer to this."
Hastily tearing open the envelope, the lad read:
"Better get back as soon as you can. Bunch of New York toughs or gunmen just got off train. Met by wagons. Gone out direction of your camp. Saw Jones talking to some of them. Bad-looking characters."
There was no name signed to the message, but the lad knew it was from the friendly agent at Jupiter, and, turning it over, he wrote on the back.
"Can't get up until morning train. Many thanks."
He gave the message to the boy, together with a half dollar to pay him for his trouble, and, as soon as the boy had departed, he undressed and went again to bed, where he lay awake half the night, worrying over the agent's message.
He was waiting at the sheriff's office next morning when that officer arrived, and to him he laid bare the whole story of their trials since he and his chums had bought the machine.
The sheriff listened with deepest interest, and when the lad concluded he said to him frankly: "I would like best in the world, lad, to help you, but you have no direct evidence against anyone, and I can make no arrests without proof. I would advise you to see a good lawyer. Maybe he will be able to untangle this mess for you."
Much downcast by his failure to secure the sheriff's aid, Charley made his way to the building where most of the lawyers of the county had their offices. Selecting one of the offices at random, for he knew none of the lawyers, even by reputation, he opened the door and entered. He found himself face to face with a bright, alert, keen-eyed young man, who greeted him pleasantly, and invited him to be seated. Briefly he stated his errand and retold the tale he had told the sheriff.
The young lawyer listened with deepest interest, and at the end of it exclaimed boyishly:
"By Jove, this is an interesting case. I wouldn't miss a chance to handle it for a hundred dollars. I was a detective before I was a lawyer, and the lure of mystery always appeals to me. There is certainly enough mystery in this case of yours to satisfy anyone. I will have to think it over carefully, and look up some features of it, before I can be of any help to you. I will be busy to-day, for I have a case coming up in Circuit Court, but to-morrow I will come out to your camp and look the ground over with you. I have a little auto of my own, and I will enjoy the trip out, even if nothing comes of it. I have always wanted to see that back country, and this will be a good chance to combine business with pleasure."
Charley left the friendly lawyer's office feeling more cheerful in having enlisted his aid. He reached the station just in time to catch the train for Jupiter, where he alighted half an hour later. The agent was watching for him, and immediately drew him to one side.
"I am afraid you are in for a rough time out at camp," he said; "that was the wickedest-looking bunch of men I ever saw in my life. There were twenty of them altogether. They were expected, too, for there were wagons waiting for them a little ways from the station, and they drove off immediately."
"I cannot even stop to thank you properly," Charley said, earnestly. "We cannot thank you enough for what you have done for us, anyway."
"That's all right," said the agent heartily, "I am pleased to have been of any assistance to you. But I will not keep you, for I know you are anxious to see how things are at camp. So-long, and good luck to you."
A minute later Charley was in the truck and driving out on the dirt road at a dangerous rate of speed, for before him he could see the sharp cut of wagon tires in the soft earth.
About three miles from camp the wagon tracks left the road, and, as far as the lad could see from the car, continued at a right angle to it. Somewhat relieved by this discovery, he reduced his speed and drove into camp at an easy gait.
Much to his delight, he found everything going on as usual, dinner cooking in the cook tent, the machine busily digging, and the graders leveling off close behind it. After a little chat with Chris, the lad retired to his tent, where he rested until his chums and the men came trooping in to dinner.
After dinner was eaten, Charley called a council of war of his chums, the two engineers off duty, and Bossie the fireman. He told them of all he had learned during his trip. "Of course I may be making a mountain out of a mole hill," he said, in conclusion. "Those men may be only a party of hunters out for a good time, but, from what we have already met with, it will be well to be on our guard until we are sure of the fact. We cannot tell in what way or when we will be made to suffer. I want every man—Spaniard as well as American—to be constantly on the watch for any signs of trouble. You, Bossie, explain to your countrymen just how things stand, so that none of them will be taken unawares. Now, have any of you any suggestions to offer?"
"I think we ought to move camp as soon as possible," said McCarty promptly. "It's a good two miles from here to the machine now, and the distance is growing greater every day. Of course, it does not make so much difference in the daytime, but, with an enemy around, it makes it risky for the men going back and forth at night."
"You're right," Charley agreed. "We had better get an early start and move camp to-morrow morning to a place about a quarter of a mile ahead of the machine. I noticed a knoll of good, high sloping ground there. When you go out, McCarty, have one of the dynamiters set fire to the grass there, so that the ground will be bare for the pitching of our tents. We don't want to run any chance of being burnt out."
"I don't think we on the machine run so very much danger," observed Bratton; "not if we keep a good watch out. It is all steel, and, in case of attack, we can call the ground men aboard and keep the platform revolving fast. No one can then climb aboard, and the boiler and machinery will give pretty good protection, while we can use our guns from the platform to pretty good advantage."
"Good idea," approved McCarty. "I will adopt that plan and tell Kitchner about it when I go out."
"The dynamiters are a good mile and a half ahead of the machine," Captain Westfield observed. "I reckon it wouldn't be a bad idea to add them to the guard around the camp until the machine catches up with them a little."
"Good suggestion," Charley approved. "We will do that."
"I have got an amendment to offer to the moving plan," Walter said. "I suggest that we move camp this afternoon. You have all apparently forgotten that to-morrow is Sunday, and all hands need a rest."
"You're right," Charley agreed promptly. "Call in all the men except the crew on the machine, and the bridge builders, Bossie. Get the other men in the tents to roll out and help. Tell the bridge builders to throw a bridge across the ditch, so that we can cross and get by the machine with the truck and wagon."
In a few minutes all was astir in the camp, men busy packing up, others pulling down and folding up tents, while still others piled them in the waiting truck and wagon. Within half an hour of giving the orders, Charley started with the first truckload, carrying with him half of the Spaniards to pitch the tents on the new camp-site. He found the knoll burnt clear of grass and the ground still smoking from the recent fire. Hastily unloading and directing the Spaniards where to set up the tents, the lad hurried back for another load.
Twenty men working with system can accomplish wonders, and long before dark the moving was finished and Chris was getting supper in the cook tent.
"I don't like staking out the mules," said the teamster, as he joined the rest at supper, "but I can't build a corral for them until to-morrow. You see, they keep moving around nearly all night, and they get all tangled up in the ropes and wear the hide off their legs trying to get free."
"I don't believe they will hurt themselves much in one night," Charley assured him, "and to-morrow all hands can turn in and build a corral for them. How much wood have you got ahead?"
"Enough for a week," answered the teamster, brightening. "That Juan is a first-class worker, and I have been hauling steady. I've got it strung along the road for a mile ahead of the machine."
As soon as it began to get dark, Charley gave a gun to each of the two dynamiters, and gave them instructions to join their two countrymen as guards.
Everyone was tired, and all retired early to their tents. It was agreed that the machine should stop work at midnight, and that, when her crew came in, two of the camp guard would go out and keep watch on it the balance of the night.
Charley was roused up about midnight by the stop whistle of the machine, and a few minutes later he heard its crew entering the camp, and the chatter of the two guards, as they went out to take the crew's place. The lad rolled over with a sigh of content, and dropped off to sleep again, only to awaken again to the sharp crack of rifles. "Get up, you fellows," he shouted to his chums. "There's more trouble afoot."
"Great Cæsar," exclaimed Walter, in disgust. "Can't we ever get a good night's sleep?"
"Don't look that way," said his chum grimly, as he pulled on his clothes.
Outside the tent the lads found the Captain and engineers just emerging from their shelters.
Along the road for a mile in front of the machine, huge bonfires were burning.
"They have fired the woodpiles!" Charley exclaimed. "Well, let 'em burn. There's more wood where that came from. Let's make for the machine; that's where the shooting came from."
A few minutes' walk brought them to the digger, where they found the Spanish guards excited but unhurt. They had fired the guns to let the camp know of the fire. They were so apparently nervous, however, that McCarty volunteered to stay with them the balance of the night.
"Well, it might be worse," said Charley, as the little party made their way back to camp. "They have just made more work for the teamster and woodchopper, that's all."
But, as they approached close to the camp, they were met by one of the guards. "Señors," cried the man, his voice trembling, "there is frightful groaning coming from the darkness behind our picket line."
"Where?" demanded the teamster, who had joined the little party.
"Toward the North Star, not far from our picket line," answered the shaky sentinel.
"Go back to your post, hombre," Charley ordered. "We'll get the lanterns and come right out and see what it is."
The frightened sentinel obeyed, but he moved so slowly that the boys overtook him before he reached his post.
Even before they reached the guard line, the little party could plainly hear the groans that had so frightened the Spanish sentinel. The sounds came from a point some two hundred feet beyond the line. Between the spells of groaning would come noises like a struggle going on, a heavy fall, then more groans.
Suddenly the teamster with an oath broke into a run and the boys followed close at his heels. It was a pitiful scene that the lanterns revealed when they reached the spot. The teamster, with tears in his eyes, was swearing vigorously as he untangled the hitching ropes from the legs of the two mules whose sufferings were frightful to behold. Their bellies were swollen up to twice their natural size and their eyes were glassy with pain. Occasionally one would stagger to its feet, stand swaying for a few minutes, then fall heavily to the ground, where it would lay groaning in spasms of pain.
"What's the matter with them?" Charley demanded anxiously.
"The Lord only knows," said the teamster, "that swelling of the stomach looks as though they had been foundered, but that can't be. I only gave them their usual feed for the night—just what they always have."
"Can we do anything for them?" inquired the lad.
Canady shook his head. "I am afraid they are too far gone," he said. "But I'll try. I've got all kinds of medicines in my tent. I'll run and get them."
He was back in a minute with a box full of pint bottles. Then followed hours of anxious labor, holding and dosing the sick animals, but it was all in vain. Before daylight one mule stiffened out in death and a half hour later the other one died.
It was a sorrowful little party that stood around the dead animals. To the little party of chums it meant the loss of $500 and the tying up of the machine until a new team could be procured. To the teamster it meant the loss of two animals to which he had really grown attached.
"This was no accident," declared the Captain, as they stood around discussing the affair. "It comes right at the time the wood piles were fired. That ain't no coincident, I reckon."
"You're right," Charley agreed. "Their aim was to tie up the machine by cutting off our wood supply, and it looks as though they have succeeded. No doubt the mules were poisoned, but the thing that puzzles me is how the poison was administered. Mules are the most particular animals in the world about what they take into their mouths."
"Let's have a look at the feed boxes," Walter suggested; "there ought to be some clews in them."
The teamster uttered an oath as he held his lantern over the feed boxes, for each was still partly filled with wheat. "That's what done it," he swore savagely. "All animals love the taste of wheat, but it is sure death to them if they eat any quantity of it. It swells so fast in their stomachs. Lord, I wish I had hold of the fellow who did this thing."
"Bring your lanterns," called Walter, who had stepped away a few paces from the crowd. "There's something lying here on the ground. I believe it's a man."
In a second his companions were by his side with their lanterns. As the lights flashed down on the prostrate object, an exclamation of horror burst out from the little party, for, lying on his back, his head in a pool of blood, lay a man, one side of his skull entirely crushed in.
"He's the one that fixed the mules," declared the teamster excitedly. "One of the mules killed him. Serves him right. I'm glad he got his."
"Shut up," said Charley shortly. "This is too horrible a thing to exult over. Come on, some of you, and give me a hand to carry him to my tent. We cannot leave him lying here."
Silently the little party lifted the dead man and bore him into the lad's tent and laid him down on a cot. Charley got water and a cloth and washed away the blood on the dead man's face and head. The face was that of a young man but was seamed and aged by lines of dissipation. The lad, with repugnance for the task, searched the dead man's pockets, but found nothing but a loaded revolver and a box of small white pellets which he decided was dope of some kind.
His unpleasant task finished, the lad stepped out of the tent, followed by his chums, who had helped him with the dead man. The three stood silent for a minute drinking in deep breaths of the fresh early morning air.
"What are you going to do with him?" the Captain asked, jerking his head toward the tent where the dead man lay.
"Keep him until afternoon," Charley said wearily. "Some of his friends may come and claim the body. If not, we will give him as good a funeral as we can. It's a terrible piece of business. If all our money was not tied up in this job, I would vote to quit right now."
"Same here," agreed Captain Westfield. "I'm getting sick of the mud and water and all the troubles we are having, and this last business is about the last straw."
"You fellows will feel better after a little nap, and a good breakfast," said Walter cheerfully. "I guess none of us is in love with this new venture of ours, but there is no good to be gained by getting in the dumps. We must keep cheerful and do the best we can. It is madness to talk about quitting now. It would likely take us years of hard work to save up the money we've got tied up in this business."
"You're right," Charley acknowledged. "We have got to fight it out. I guess I'll crawl in and catch a catnap before breakfast. A little sleep makes a whole lot of difference in a man's feelings."
Such indeed seemed to be the case, for, when a couple of hours later he joined the rest at the breakfast table, he was once more his old cheerful self. During the meal he outlined his plans to meet the new difficulty that opposed them.
"There's a lawyer coming out to see us to-day," he said, "and when he goes back I want you, Canady, to go back with him. I'll give you a check for $500 and I want you to buy a good pair of mules and get them out here as soon as possible. I will try to get some of the Indians to haul wood while you are gone. I see there's a couple of piles of wood left near the machine that will do to fire up with to-morrow morning. After breakfast, Captain, take part of the men and have them bury the mules, and also dig a grave in that little bunch of spruces. It ought not to take more than an hour for the job, then all hands are to knock off and get a good day's rest. I think we all need it. I do not believe there is any need for a guard on the machine to-day, but we will have to put one on it to-night."
Shortly after breakfast, Willie John, the Seminole, arrived as he had promised. Charley had not forgotten him when he was in town and the Indian's eyes sparkled over the bright colored cloth, beads, and mouth organ the lads presented him with. Before he left, Charley succeeded in hiring him and the two teams and wagons he had in Indiantown to haul wood for the machine until the teamster returned with the mules. The Seminole immediately took his departure, promising to be back with wagons and oxen before dark.
He had hardly gone, when Mr. Bruce, the lawyer, drove up in his auto. He was made welcome in the boys' tent and Charley briefly told what had occurred since he had seen him. The lawyer took a look at the dead man. "He has all the appearance of a tough," he said. "Rather an ignoble end for a gunman, to be kicked to death by a mule. I would advise you to bury him at once. It is not at all likely that his friends will call for him. To do so would be to give themselves away."
The grave was already dug and, following the lawyer's advice, the body was at once laid to rest, the Captain saying a brief prayer over it before it was lowered into the grave.
The ceremony over, they all gathered in the shade of a big pine and discussed their troubles with Mr. Bruce.
"I confess," said the lawyer, "that I thought your young friend was exaggerating in the story he told me at Palm Beach, but I see now that the trouble is far more serious than I thought. I have not been idle since his visit to my office, and I have discovered one or two things that are extremely interesting, although I do not see as yet how they solve the mystery of your troubles. I have come out to-day to look over the ground and see if I cannot discover some connection between the facts I have learned and the trouble you are having. One peculiar thing I notice in all your accounts is that, with the exception of the placing of the dynamite under the machine, which may have been done by Rooney out of sheer personal cussedness, there has been no attempt made to destroy the machine."
"You are right, sir," Charley admitted, "but of course they have not had much chance to get at the machine."
"Another thing," continued the lawyer, "although you have been caused much anxiety, and worry and have suffered considerable loss, yet no one of you has been seriously hurt so far."
"I follow your reasoning, sir," Charley said. "Your idea is that they do not wish to wreck the machine, but merely to stop its working, and that they do not want to kill, but merely to drive us off the job."
"Correct," said the lawyer; "but I am not going to say but what they will kill some of you if they can't stop the job any other way."
"You're comforting at any rate," said Walter, with a grin. "If we stop, we lose every dollar we have in the world. If we don't stop we are likely to be killed. Now which would you advise us to do?"
Mr. Bruce laughed. "I am not going to advise either at present," he said. "It's my duty as a lawyer to try to save you from both. Before I give any advice I want to look over the ground. Can I drive on out to Indiantown in my auto?"
"Sure," said Charley, "and we will go with you if you do not mind."
Charley and Walter climbed into the auto with Mr. Bruce, who immediately started up the machine and drove slowly out on the old road, noting his surroundings with interest.
"I have never been out in this country before," he said. "It seems wonderfully strange and interesting to me. So unlike anything I have ever seen in the North. I suppose that thick growth of trees ahead is the jungle you told me about."
The boys assured him that such was the case, and before entering the jungle he stopped the car and looked back at the machine. "At the rate your men are working, you will have the road completed up to the jungle in another week," he observed.
"Yes," Charley agreed, "that is, if we are not molested too much. I dread the work through the jungle, though."
"I should think you would dread it," agreed Mr. Bruce as the car slipped into the jungle's gloomy depths. "Gosh, I never saw such a sickly looking place and these awful snakes. I'll dream of them for weeks. Why, the place fairly reeks with fever and disease."
"We are going to set fire to it before we put the machine into it," Walter said. "The fire will kill off a good many of the snakes, but it won't stop the danger from fever much."
Mr. Bruce drove on in silence until the car rolled into Indiantown, where he stopped it in front of one of the truck gardens with an exclamation of surprise. "My, I never saw stuff grow like that before," he said. "This land must be wonderfully fertile, although it does not look so very rich on top."
"There's a soft grayish rock a little below the surface," Charley explained. "I believe it produces that wonderful growth. I've got some samples of it in my game bag. You can have them if you want them. This land is wonderfully fertile, as you say," he continued, while Mr. Bruce examined the bits of rock, "but I don't believe, even with that in its favor, that it will be worth much until a railroad runs through here. It's too far from transportation."
"Yes," agreed Mr. Bruce absently. "It is too far away to be worth much for farming purposes."
The little party rode on as far as the trading-post, then Mr. Bruce declared he had seen enough, and turning the car around headed back for camp.
"It's queer how a really brilliant mind sometimes overlooks plain simple little things," he said as they slipped by the row of surveyor's stakes. "Now the man who is directing operations against you is a man of considerable intelligence, the ingenuity of his moves against you prove that. He has kept in concealment, and, in spite of all the annoyance he has caused you, you haven't got the slightest bit of evidence against him. Some of his tricks have been infernally clever, and yet he has overlooked one little thing that would have put you out of business in a short time."
"Don't name it out loud," Charley begged. "I noticed it long ago, but I haven't even dared think of it for fear it might occur to him."
"I don't know but what you fellows are in the same class with him," said Mr. Bruce, with a smile. "This case reminds me of a story by Edgar Allan Poe about a long search for a hidden document. All sorts of out-of-the-way nooks and places were searched, and all the while the document lay in full view upon a mantel shelf."
"You mean that we have overlooked the solution of our troubles because it was in plain sight?" said Walter eagerly.
"Something like that," Mr. Bruce admitted. "I am not positive about it yet, but I expect to be within a few days. In the meantime, I'm going to refuse to answer any questions about it."
It was not yet noon when they got back to camp and Mr. Bruce retired at once to Charley's tent and began filling in the blank places on a lot of legal forms he had brought with him. "I want all you Americans to sign these without asking any questions," he said. "I know it's rather an unusual request, but this case is rather an unusual one, so you will have to do this blindfold if you want me to go on with your case. You will just have to trust to my honor, that's all."
Without any hesitation, our little party affixed their signatures to the papers, the contents of which the lawyer kept carefully hidden. They reasoned that in their present position they had nothing to lose, if the lawyer proved dishonest, which they did not believe he would, for they were all favorably impressed with his appearance and brisk, business-like manner.
After they had signed, the teamster and engineers were called in and also asked to sign, which they willingly did, without question or comment.
"Now," said Mr. Bruce, when the signing was over, "I'll be going, for I've got to do some hustling the next few days if I am going to be of any use to you."
"Better wait for dinner," Charley urged, but Mr. Bruce shook his head. "I'll get a lunch in Jupiter," he said. "Every hour is important now. I wish you had come to me sooner; as it is, I have only a short time to do a whole lot of work in."
Charley followed him out to the auto. "I wish you would tell us what you have discovered and what you are going to do," he said.
"No, I'm not going to do that," said the lawyer decidedly, "not until I am sure that I am right. Do you think you can keep on working and stand those fellows off for a week longer?"
"I think so," Charley said simply.
"Good," approved Mr. Bruce, "I will be back within a week. I must warn you, however, that if my theories are correct the further you dig the more trouble you are likely to have. I expect the enemy will abandon all tricks and resort to attempts to kill before the week is out."
"That's a cheerful outlook," said Charley dryly.
Mr. Bruce hesitated before replying. "As a lawyer," he said, "I am against killing in any form, but as a mere man I would say that I would shoot to kill if the other fellow was doing the same."
"But killing is an awful thing," protested Charley. "It is never justified except in war."
"Then just consider that this is war," smiled the lawyer. "You will not have to stretch your imagination much. Good-by. I will be back in a week." The teamster climbed into the auto with him and in a few minutes the car was out of sight.
Charley slowly returned to the camp, where he told his chums what the lawyer had said.
"I think I know about where those gunmen are camped," Walter said. "I can see the smoke of a campfire near where the convicts camped. If we have any more trouble with them, we could, perhaps, capture them in the daytime when they are sleeping and turn them over to the sheriff."
Charley shook his head. "That won't do," he said. "In the first place, even counting in the engineers, there would only be seven of us to do the job, for we could not count on the Spaniards. They lack the nerve for such work. Seven men could hardly handle twenty. In the second place, we have no evidence against any of them, except the one who killed the mules, and he is dead. If we turned them over to the sheriff he would have to turn them loose again."
"You're right about the Spaniards lacking nerve," Captain Westfield observed. "All these mysterious night attacks are frightening them. I am afraid we are going to have trouble holding them if this sort of thing continues."
"I've been fearing that very thing," Charley said thoughtfully. "They are a superstitious people and what they cannot understand frightens them. I can see only one thing more that we can do and that is for Walt and I to go on the night guard with them, and if there is any shooting we had better do as the lawyer says—shoot back."
"I don't like the idea of bloodshed," said Captain Westfield.
"Nor I," said Charley grimly. "But if blood must be shed I would rather it would be theirs than ours."
"Same here," agreed Walter. "If we are going to keep watch to-night, Charley, we had better eat dinner and turn in for a nap."
It was nearly sundown when the boys emerged from their tents where they had been awakened from their sleep by a clamoring outside.
They found the din the herald of the arrival of Willie John with all his worldly goods, consisting of numerous dogs, pigs, cattle, two wagons, eight oxen, a squaw, his mother and his mother-in-law, a crowd of children, and a couple of wrinkled old Indians, likely his father and father-in-law.
Much to the chums' relief, Willie John decided to make camp further on close to the machine. After they had reached their camping place, Willie John left the squaws to the ignoble menial work of making camp, and with his son, a fine looking Indian lad, came over to discuss business with his pale-face employers.
"Me drive one wagon, four oxen," he said. "Boy drive one wagon, four oxen. How much?"
"Six dollars a day," said Charley promptly. "Six dollars and plenty of tobacco."
"It is well," said the Seminole. "Some tobacco now."
Charley went to the supply and got a package, and the Indian, filling his pipe, sat down on a log and puffed away in silent content, his son sitting by his side silent and motionless except for the quick shifting of his black, beady eyes that took in every detail of the camp and its occupants.
"Fine boy you've got," observed Walter, who had been admiring the perfect form and proud carriage of the Indian lad.
There was a glint of fatherly pride in Willie John's eyes as he laid his hand caressingly on the lad's black head. "Him good boy," he said simply. "Him run faster, wrestle better, swim better than any other Indian boy. Him no drink wyomee (whiskey). Him no smoke. Him save all money. By and bye, he go to school, all the same as pale-face boy."
"That's good," Walter approved. "How old is he?"
"Twelve years," answered the Seminole. "We go back to camp now. Good-by."
"He certainly thinks a lot of that boy for an Indian," Walter remarked to his chum.
"Why not?" said Charley. "Don't you suppose Indians have feelings like other human beings?"
Both lads had occasion to remember this conversation in the near future.