As the boat swept along under increased speed the four men regaled themselves on food that they drew from their various pockets. Halstead felt a ravenous gnawing under his belt, but none of his captors offered him anything to eat.
“There ain’t grub enough to throw any of it away, younker,” observed the leader, as he swept the last crumbs into his own mouth. “But I reckon maybe yo’ would like some use or yo’ mouth. Jabe, take that packing out from between the younker’s teeth.”
This service the negro performed, rather roughly, it is true. But at last Tom Halstead could take a really deep breath; he could talk, if he so desired; but he was in no mood to do that.
The young skipper knew that the boat was now traveling rapidly, though he could not see above the gunwale of the craft. From the actions of these Everglades ruffians, however, the boy knew that they did not sight any other boats. Thus the forenoon wore along until, at last, the leader, whom the others addressed as “Sim,” remarked:
“Jabe, yo’ may as well let the younker set up on a seat, now. He-un won’t try to jump ovahbo’d. If he-un does, so much the easier fo’ us.”
“Let him have his hands?” inquired the bulky negro.
“Yep; might jest as well.”
So the bonds were removed from the young skipper’s wrists. He accepted this favor in sullen silence, then raised himself to one of the seats.
“Thought yo’ might like to see the country yo’ are goin’ into,” vouchsafed Sim, with a grin.
As Tom Halstead glanced about him he saw that Lake Okeechobee was behind them. The boat was now running along, at a speed reduced to some six miles an hour, on a gloomy-looking lagoon not more than forty feet wide. Just ahead of them were great, gaunt cypress trees, laden with hanging moss, that almost met over the water.
“We don’ brag none erbout the scen’ry heah,” observed Sim, “but it’s a good, safe country in the Evahglades. Plenty o’ snakes an’ ’gators heah, but we-uns is used to ’em. Evah eat a ’gator steak?”
“No,” answered Halstead, shortly.
“Likely ernuff yo’ will, in the months to come,” asserted Sim. “An’ it’s a powahful good rifle yo’ brought to us. We-uns was out o’ cartridges but now we done got some ’at will fix ’gators all right.”
A mile further on they came to broader waters, a sort of swamp lake that was at least a quarter of a mile wide. Through the windings of this body they traversed for three or four miles, the water at last narrowing, until the waterway was barely more than wide enough or deep enough to allow the handling of the boat. Yet Sim managed it remarkably well.
“I reckon this yere boat is goin’ to be powahful handy to us, after this,” the leader laughed. “We-uns sho’ly can get away fast ef anyone tries to chase us ’cross Okeechobee.”
They came, now, to a larger space of water, at one side of which lay an island many acres in extent. It was well-covered with trees and dense jungle. Toward a little bay in this island Sim headed the launch, gradually slowing down the speed. Presently he stopped and gently beached the boat.
“Home!” he laughed, as he sprang out. “Come on, younker. I’m real anxious to know what yo’ think of ouah own little place in the heart o’ the Evahglades.”
“I’ve been in places I’d enjoy seeing more,” declared Halstead, as he stepped ashore, glad to stretch his legs. “You don’t seem to have even a house here.”
“Oh, but we have,” chuckled Sim. “Yet, as we-uns wouldn’t care to have ’gator hunters find it, the house is back in the jungle. Now, younker, make yo’se’f as much at home heah as yo’ can. Enjoy life all yo’ can, but don’t try any trick of getting out o’ sight o’ the gentleman that has yo’ in charge. Kink, I reckon yo’ can take the gun and watch ovah this young gentleman while we-uns goes up to the house and does some o’ the chores.”
“Kink,” one of the negroes, received the rifle and box of cartridges with a grin.
“Yo’ set right down there,” commanded Sim, pointing to a grassy hummock. “Don’t go to provoke Kink, ’cause he’s nervous when he-un done totes a gun!”
Tom seated himself as ordered, while Kink stationed himself watchfully twenty feet away.
“How long are you folks going to keep me here a prisoner?” demanded Halstead, as the other three turned to go into the interior of the island.
“How long?” repeated Sim, turning and looking back. “Why, suh, I don’ reckon yo’ ever goin’ to git away from heah. Not alive, anyway!”
NO sooner had the discovery been made that the launch was gone, and the full significance of the fact realized, than Henry Tremaine declared, decisively:
“We must get the ladies up at once. There’s mischief afloat. We’ve got to be wide awake for everything that may happen. Halstead gone! Good heavens! One can only guess his fate! Back to the house—quick!”
Almost immediately the entire household was astir, and ready for whatever might happen.
“I done tole yo’-all dat ole Okeechobee ain’ no fit place to be,” wailed Ham, who refused to believe anything but that Tom Halstead had been snatched up and borne away through the air by the dreaded ghost.
“It’s four days before the men are due to come back with the wagons,” said Mr. Tremaine. “Jeff, you know all the paths of this section?”
“Yes, suh.”
“You can get to the nearest settlement? How long will it take?”
“About three hours and a half, suh, the kind of going we have hereabouts.”
“You can get at least a dozen armed men and bring them back with you—men of real nerve, who won’t be afraid to fight, if they’re well paid for it?”
“Yes, suh. I can get the men all right, suh. But——”
Jeff glanced longingly backward at the house.
“Oh, of course,” exclaimed Mr. Tremaine. “You want something in the way of breakfast before you start on a tramp of hours. Ham, you rascal, hustle inside and get your fire going. Put on coffee, bacon, eggs—hustle. Jeff will go faster if he starts with steam up. And, Jeff, be sure to carry extra food with you. Dixon, you stay out here, if you will. The rest of us will go inside and all turn to helping Ham rush things.”
Things were quickly bustling inside the bungalow.
Ida, as she hurried about, pallid-faced, allowed a tear or two to glisten in her fine eyes. Had Dixon been there to see, he would have boiled with rage at Tom Halstead.
“My dear,” asked Mrs. Tremaine, nervously, “if Captain Halstead ran into danger in the night, and was spirited away, how can you feel at all sure that as much won’t happen to Jeff after he starts? Hadn’t you better send some one with him?”
“Yes,” decided Tremaine, after a moment’s thought. “Dixon must go, for it wouldn’t be fair to send Joe Dawson. He will naturally want to be right here to have the first word of his chum.”
“What do you think can have happened to Tom Halstead?” inquired Ida.
“From the launch being gone,” answered Tremaine, “it is almost a certainty that a gang of Everglades skulkers have carried him off. They’d know only one place to retreat to—the heart of the Everglades.”
“Are you going to follow there?” asked Mrs. Tremaine.
“The instant we get outside help,” replied Mr. Tremaine, crisply. “I’ll leave Dixon, Ham and three or four of the natives on guard here. I’ll head all the rest on a rush expedition into the Everglades, and Joe and Jeff shall go with me.”
“Is there a really good chance of finding Halstead, if he has been taken into the Everglades?” asked Ida, anxiously, turning to Jeff Randolph.
“Just about one fightin’ chance in twenty,” replied Jeff, candidly. “I’ve heard of officers searchin’ fo’ a month in the Evahglades, an’ then coming out stumped fo’ shuah. But we’re goin’ to hope fo’ bettah luck this time.”
In a very short space of time a steaming breakfast was ready. Jeff seated himself to eat with Mr. Dixon, everyone else wanting to wait on them. As rapidly as they could they stuffed their breakfast away. As they rose, Ham brought cold food which the Florida boy and the Northern man stuffed into some of their pockets.
“Take a rifle, Jeff—plenty of cartridges,” directed Henry Tremaine. “You, too, Oliver.” Then, followed by low but intense cheers, young Randolph and his companion started on their way over the rough trail to the nearest little village.
Not much later the others seated themselves at breakfast, though excitement ran high enough to interfere a good deal with appetite. It being broad daylight, no outside watch was kept, though the remaining rifles of the party were laid within handy reach in the living room.
“Now, we’ve settled one thing, by the aid of our experiences,” announced Henry Tremaine, as he took the cup of coffee passed him. “We know the Ghost of Alligator Swamp to be nothing but a crude myth.”
“If you’ve solved the riddle, how do you explain the so-called ghost?” questioned Ida Silsbee, eagerly.
“Why, just this way,” responded Tremaine, as he cut into a strip of bacon. “Forty miles to the south of us the Everglades begin in earnest. It is well known to everyone in Florida that the Everglades shelter and screen probably scores of desperate criminals. Some of these gangs are engaged in running off with horses or mules. They get these stolen animals into the Everglades, and, after months, drive them out to some other part of the state, easily disposing of their booty.
“Burglars, especially black ones, loot a house by night, then travel fast until they reach the Everglades with their loot. They remain there until they think all has blown over. Then they send one of their number out with the plunder, to dispose of it in one of the cities and bring back some of the necessities of civilization that human beings crave.
“Other rascals who take to the Everglades are those who have taken human life, and flee to where they know the police will have very little chance of getting them. So, the Everglades may contain a great many gangs of desperate characters.”
“But how does that account for the ghost?” Ida insisted. “Why should such men seek to scare the wits out of a party like ours?”
“In the hope that we’d flee from this accursed spot as soon as daylight came,” responded Tremaine, with the positiveness of conviction.
“But what good, my dear, would it do to have a party like ours run away?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine, wonderingly.
“Why, we came here rather well supplied with fine provisions, didn’t we?” demanded Tremaine. “Now, if we were to run away without waiting for wagons, the gang behind the ghostly disturbances would find a goodly store of food in this house, wouldn’t they? And just the kind of food that these hungry wretches of the Everglades would prize highly. Also, if we fled in haste, we would have to leave much of our wardrobe behind. These fellows who rarely get to civilized communities must find some way of supplying themselves with clothing. Then, besides, if we ran away, we might even forget to take with us such valuables as we may happen to have here with us. So, all in all, a gang of desperate characters from the Everglades would find this house rather rich picking if we went away in haste as a result of a big fright.”
“I’m sure you’ve guessed the motives behind the ghost scares,” nodded Ida Silsbee. “And I can even understand why such men would find it worth while to steal the launch and run it into the Everglades. Yet why should they take that splendid young fellow, Tom Halstead, with them?”
“Unless to make him run the launch,” suggested Mrs. Tremaine.
Joe Dawson flushed, shaking his head.
“Tom couldn’t be made to help the scoundrels,” he declared, vigorously. “He’d die sooner than be driven into helping such villains!”
“Of course,” mused Henry Tremaine, “it’s more than barely possible that the wretches figured I’d pay a ransom to have Halstead set at liberty again.”
“Den’ ’scuse me, sah, but yo’ don’t believe it’s a real graveyahd ghos’ dat ha’nts dis country, and dat can trabble even out to sea on a gale?”
Ham Mockus, who had been standing in the room unnoticed, put this question.
“Why, of course we don’t any of us believe that, Ham,” retorted the owner of the bungalow, with a smile.
“Den yo’ find a powahful lot o’ folks dat knows mo’ dan yo’ do erbout it, sah. ’Scuse me, sah.”
“Men and women who think they know anything about the Ghost of Alligator Swamp are the victims of their own imaginations and of children’s tales, Ham,” laughed Henry Tremaine. Then he added, with ugly emphasis:
“Before we get through with this business, I intend to see this much-talked-about and nonsensical ghost laid by the heels! I’ll spend a lot of money, and hire a lot of men to help me, before I’ll give up the pursuit of this sham ghost! You stay here, Ham, and you’ll see the ghost in handcuffs!”
Ham Mockus, however, declined to be fooled by any such talk as this. After remaining respectfully silent for some moments, the colored steward opened his mouth to remark:
“Ah done reckun, sah, de bes’ t’ing yo’ can do, sah, will be to send someone to fin’ ole Uncle Tobey an’ tote him heah.”
“Who’s Uncle Tobey?” demanded Mr. Tremaine, removing his cigar from his mouth.
“Ole voodoo doctah, sah, an’ a right clevah old colored pusson, sah.”
“Voodoo doctor, eh? Witch charmer? Dealer in spells and all that sort of rubbish, eh?” questioned Henry Tremaine, sharply. “Ham, do you think I believe in any such truck as that? Uncle Tobey, eh? Humph!”
“But Uncle Tobey done chahm dat ghos’ away from some odder folks—Ah done heah dat much down at Tres Arbores,” asserted Ham, solemnly.
“From folks that came up here to the lake?” asked Tremaine, sharply.
“Yassuh. From folks that done hab a house down at de wes’ side ob de lake.”
“Those people paid Uncle Tobey for a spell, and were troubled no more by the ghost?”
“Dat’s a fac’, sah, w’ut Ah’m tellin’ yo’,” Ham asserted, solemnly.
“Hm!” mused Henry Tremaine, a shrewd look coming into his eyes.
The colored steward soon afterward went back into the kitchen to eat his own breakfast. The white folks of the party remained in the living-room talking over the puzzling happenings of the night.
Presently Ham came back into the room as though moving on springs. On his face there was a look of vast importance.
“’Scuse me, sab. Yassuh. But I’se done gotter tell yo’ dat dere’s a mos’ impohtant visitor heah. Yassuh.”
“A visitor?” demanded Henry Tremaine, looking his colored steward over keenly.
“Yassuh! Yassuh! De man dat can he’p us moh’n anyone else in de whole worl’. Yassuh. He jest fotch up at de kitchen do’. It’s ole Uncle Tobey, de greates’ voodoo doctah dat eber was. Yassuh.”
“By Jove, I’ll see him,” muttered Henry Tremaine, leaping up.
“Yassuh! Ah done know yo’ would, fo’ shuah,” whispered Ham Mockus, keeping right at the elbow of his employer, as Tremaine strode toward the kitchen. “But be mos’ kahful to treat Uncle Tobey wid great respec’,” admonished Ham. “I done tole yo’, Marse Tremaine, ole Uncle Tobey, he-um de greates’ voodoo in de worl’. Ef yo’ make him mad, sah, den yo’ teeth all gwine ter drop out, all yo’ frien’s die, yo’ hab bad luck forebber an’——”
Henry Tremaine paused long enough in the kitchen to survey the cunning-faced old darkey who stood near the door. Uncle Tobey looked old enough to have spent a hundred years in this world. He was a thin, bent, gaunt and ragged old man whose keen eyes looked supernaturally brilliant.
“So you’re Uncle Tobey?” demanded Henry Tremaine, briskly.
“Yassuh!” replied the shrivelled little old caller.
“You’re the voodoo?”
“Yassuh.”
“You can quiet the Ghost of Alligator Swamp?”
“Yassuh.”
“How do you know you can?”
“Ah has done it befo’, sah—when folks done pay me well ernuff fo’ it,” grinned Uncle Tobey, cunningly.
“Well, we haven’t minded the ghost so much,” went on Henry Tremaine. “But last night your ghost took away one of our brightest young men.”
“Yassuh. Ah know,” admitted Uncle Tobey. “Ole Unc Tobe done know ebberyt’ing w’ut done happen, sah.”
“How did you know it?” demanded Tremaine, with unwonted sharpness.
“W’y sah, all de birds ob de air done tote news to ole Unc Tobe,” asserted the aged negro, solemnly.
“Dat’s a fac’. Yassuh. Yassuh,” insisted Ham.
“Can you restore that young man to us, Tobey?” questioned Tremaine.
“Yassuh. Ef yo’ done pay me well fo’ it.”
“How much?”
Uncle Tobey advanced upon his questioner, raising his head up to whisper in Tremaine’s ear:
“T’ree t’ousan’ dollahs, sah—real money in mah hand. Ef yo’ don’ wanter to do it, den de young man, Marse Halstead, he-um done shuah die!”
“Nonsense!” scoffed the owner of the bungalow. “That’s more money than anyone ever pays a voodoo. Man, I’ll give you twenty dollars when young Halstead walks in on us. Not a cent more.”
“Yo’ll pay me de whole sum, sah, or yo’ll neber see de young marse ergin,” declared Uncle Tobey, in another whisper.
Henry Tremaine suddenly shot out his right hand, gripping the old voodoo’s arm tightly.
“You’re in with the Everglades gang, Tobey! That’s what you are. Ham! This old fellow doesn’t get away from us until officers come to take him. I’ve laid by the heels a big part of the ghost!”
But Ham Mockus had fled in speechless terror.
A FORBIDDING countenance was that worn by black Mr. Kink.
He belonged to the worst species of shiftless, vagrant Southern darkey. He was as different from the respectable, dependable house negro as a stormy night is from a fair one. Kink had served many terms in jail ere he gained enough in the wisdom of his kind to take to the trackless wastes of the Everglades. The fellow’s face was scarred from many a brawl. He seldom laughed; when he did, it was in cruelty.
Kink was slighter, and far less powerful than Jabe, though he possessed far more of wiry agility than the other negro.
“Ah jes’ done hope yo’ make a move dat yo’ hadn’t done oughter,” he muttered, scowling at young Halstead, then fingering the rifle meaningly.
“Make your mind easy,” retorted Captain Tom. “I’ve no notion for laying myself liable to a rifle bullet.”
“Ef yo’ jes’ gib me one ’scuse,” glowered Kink.
As if to settle the fact that he did not intend to do anything of the sort the motor boat captain half-closed his eyes, studying the ground.
Yet, not for a moment did Halstead cease to hope that he might find a way out of this predicament. Only one black man—one rifle—and that capable little motor launch tied so close at hand!
Presently Kink rested the butt of the rifle briefly on the ground while from one of his pockets he drew forth an old corn-cob pipe and a pinch of coarse tobacco grown in the Everglades. No sooner did he have the pipe going than the negro, watchful all the while, picked up the hunting rifle once more.
“Pretty rank tobacco you have,” observed Tom Halstead, though he tried to speak pleasantly.
“Best Ah can get in dis great swamp,” growled Kink. “Yo? got any erbout yo’ clo’es?”
“I don’t smoke,” Halstead replied.
“Umph!” growled Kink, as though his opinion of the boy had fallen several notches lower.
“Do you never get hold of any good tobacco from the outside world?” questioned Tom.
“Meanin’ sto’ tobacco?” suggested Kink.
“Yes.”
“Sometimes,” admitted Kink. “But not of’en, ob co’se.”
“How long since you’ve had a cigar!” asked Tom, with an appearance of pleasant interest.
“Real cigar, made ob sto’ tobacco!” demanded Kink.
“Yes.”
“Lemme see. Well, it must been a yeah, now.”
“Too bad,” muttered the boy, half-pityingly.
“Oh, Ah could git er sto’ cigar,” volunteered Kink, scowling blackly.
“How?”
“By going’ to a sto’, ob co’se. Den yo’ know w’ut happen?”
“What?” demanded Tom.
“W’ite fo’ks, dey done tie er rope ’roun’ mah neck an’ stretch it. Yassuh. Yo’ see, I’m a plumb bad niggah,” Kink added, with a strong touch of pride. “W’ite fo’ks down ’round’ de bay, dey t’ink Ah’m good fo’ nothin’ but hang up. Wi’te fo’ks powahful ’fraid ob Kink!”
“As soon as I am really missed there’ll be a lot of white folks down this way, I reckon,” began Tom. “You see——”
Then, purposely, he paused. For a few seconds he looked as though he were trying to conceal his thought. Next he peered, as though covertly, northward under the trees.
When he saw Kink regarding him, Tom Halstead pretended to look wholly at the ground. Presently, however, he raised his glance to peer once more northward. So stealthy did the motor boat boy seem about the whole transaction that Kink, accustomed to being hunted through the Everglades, found himself peering, also, in the direction from which chase would come.
The first time he glanced, Kink turned again, almost immediately. But Halstead was sitting in the same place, so motionless and innocent, that the negro ventured another and longer look to the northward in the hope of seeing that which had appeared to give the boy such keen pleasure.
Like a flash, now, though noiseless as a cat, Tom Halstead leaped to his feet. Before Kink had thought of turning, the young skipper launched himself through the air.
He struck Kink a blow that sent that fellow sprawling. Like a panther in the spring, Halstead bore his enemy to the ground, striking savagely while he wrested the rifle from the negro.
“Now, not a sound out of you!” warned Halstead, cocking the rifle and holding the muzzle not many inches from the fellow’s head. “Are you going to be good?” he demanded, in a cool voice that was threatening in its very quietness.
“Yassuh!” admitted Kink, in a whisper.
“Then don’t get up, unless I tell you to, and don’t make a sound of any kind,” warned Skipper Tom, standing before the sitting negro. “First of all, take that box of cartridges out of your pocket, and toss it a little distance away from you.”
The late guard obeyed. Tom, still keeping the fellow under close watch, recovered the cartridges.
“Now, you get down to the boat,” commanded Halstead. “Don’t make any noise and don’t ask any questions. There, that’s right. Halt. Now, in the locker under your hand, you’ll find some cord. Pull it out.”
As the negro obeyed, Tom ordered him to lie face downward on the ground, next putting his hands together behind his back. Picking up the cord, Halstead made a noose at one end. This he slipped over Kink’s crossed hands. Drawing the noose tight, he next knelt on the negro’s back, rapidly lashing the hands ere the fellow could make any movement to wrench himself free.
“Remember what I said about making a noise,” warned Tom. Going to the same locker he took out a quantity of engineer’s waste—an excellent stuff for making a gag. Some of this he forced into the black man’s mouth, making it fast with cord. All that remained was to knot the fellow’s ankles together just loosely enough so that he could barely walk, yet could not run.
“Now, onto your feet with you, my man,” muttered Halstead, raising him. “Now, over into the boat with you. Gently. Lie down out of sight. And bear in mind, if I get a sight of your head above the gunwale until I’m in the boat, it’ll be all up with you!”
Kink’s eyes rolled until only the whites could be seen. This black captive understood very well who had the upper hand.
Now, Tom turned his attention to untying the bowline.
“Kink! Ah say, Kink, yo’ black rascal!”
It was the voice of Jabe calling. The very sound made Halstead shiver, at first.
“Kink, Ah say! Kain’t yo’ heah me?”
“Oo-oo-oo-ee!” shrilled Tom, knowing that to speak would be to betray himself.
Then back toward the jungle stole the motor boat boy, close up to the point where a barely distinguishable path ran through. Here he dropped to one knee, holding the rifle to his shoulder.
“Kink, yo’——”
Jabe, coming through the bushes just then, stopped short, blinking fast, his knees trembling and knocking together.
“You know just what is in the wind,” warned Tom’s low voice. “I’ve only to pull the trigger of this gun. Now, get ahead of me and march, without tricks!”
Caught like this, looking straight down into the muzzle of a gun behind which was a pale, resolute face, Jabe allowed himself to show the white feather. He marched, as ordered, throwing himself on his face close by the bow of the launch.
With Jabe Tom Halstead repeated the tactics he had employed against Kink, though he took pains to make the lashings and the knots doubly secure. Then Jabe, bound and gagged, and with but bare freedom of action for his feet, was helped over into the launch beside his friend.
“Now, you two start any kind of motion or sound, if you want to see just what a sailor would do under such circumstances,” warned Halstead, in a low, dry tone.
With the rifle still cocked, he stood up, for an instant, to plan just what his next move should be.
“Two out of the four!” he chuckled inwardly. “Fine! What wouldn’t I give to have the white pair in the same fix! Careful, Tom, old fellow! Don’t get rash. Try to get away from here while you’ve the chance!”
He was about to step into the launch, when he heard steps not far away. Someone else was coming through the jungle. Halstead’s heart beat rapidly, his color coming and going swiftly.
“That’s likely to be Sim and the other fellow, coming together,” he muttered. “I can’t get the launch away before they’ll be here. Yet the two together—how on earth can I handle ’em? For I couldn’t shoot either in cold blood.”
Yet something had to be done, and with great speed. So the motor boat boy slipped back up to the beginning of the path through the jungle. Barely thirty seconds later Jig Waters, Sim’s white comrade, stepped boldly through into the open.
Right then and there, however, Jig’s boldness forsook him.
“Hold on, thar! I’m all yo’s!” stammered Jig, softly, holding up his hands. He, too, was marched down to the water’s edge and served precisely as the negroes had been.
“Three!” throbbed Tom Halstead. “Oh, if I could only stow away all four and take ’em back to civilization with me!”
THE daring quality of the idea made Tom Halstead tremulous.
He longed to return to the head of Lake Okeechobee with such a “noble” bag of game. Yet he was able to realize the risk that attended any such attempt.
“In reaching out for just one more,” he told himself, palpitatingly, “I may lose the whole lot. Sim will be unquestionably the hardest of the crowd to subdue. No, no; I reckon I’d better be content with my good luck up to date.”
Deciding thus, reluctantly, the young motor boat skipper prepared to cast off. It was his intention to get clear of the land by some little margin, then to start his gasoline motor with the least possible delay. He knew well enough that if Sim heard the motor going that big fellow was likely to come down to the water on the run.
“I’ve got all the menagerie I can train on the way back, anyway,” muttered the boy, dryly.
Just at that moment he heard someone come, crashingly, through the jungle.
“Jupiter! I’ve got to get that last one, or lose all I’ve got—my own liberty included!” flashed through the boy’s mind.
There was no help for it. Secretly half-glad, in his craze for more adventure, Tom stole swiftly, softly, across the open space.
“Now, you-all——” began Sim, in his loudest voice.
Just at that instant he stepped out of the jungle, then stopped, staring with all his might.
Right in front of him crouched young Halstead. Sim was looking down into the muzzle of the hunting rifle. To him it looked, just then, like the bore of a tunnel.
“Wha—wha—what?” exploded Sim.
“You guessed right, the first time,” mocked Tom Halstead. “It’s my move, now, not yours. Are you going to be troublesome?”
“Put down that gun, an’ I’ll talk with yo’,” proposed Sim, hesitatingly.
“Instead, you put your hands up!” rang Halstead’s crisp command.
“I——”
“If you don’t——”
Tom backed three feet away, his eye looming up large as Sim caught a glimpse of it through the rifle-sights.
“You’re going to be good, aren’t you?” coaxed Tom, grimly. “If you are, you’ve only two seconds to decide. If you’re not——”
“I reckon I’ll play,” admitted Sim, hoarsely. “Show me how the game goes.”
“Keep your hands up, and march, slowly, right on towards the boat,” responded Tom Halstead. “Be ready for the word to halt, and do it the instant you hear me say so. If you try any tricks—but you won’t!”
“No,” promised Sim; “I won’t.”
“March, then—slowly.”
Sim obeyed, also stopping when told. He lay down, with a dismal sigh, crossing his hands behind his back, just as told. From the boat came the sound of remonstrating kicks, the only method of communication that was left to Sim’s own people.
“It may strike you,” suggested Halstead, “that it will be an easy trick to turn and grapple with me when I get my hands on the cord. If you try it you’re pretty likely to find that I’m prepared for you. You won’t have even a fighting chance.”
Kneeling on the back of the prostrate Sim the young skipper placed the rifle so that the muzzle rested against the back of the fellow’s head.
“You see what will happen, if you make a move,” proposed the boy.
“I reckon I ain’t gwine to,” observed Sim, huskily.
“Wise man! Now——!”
Tom Halstead slipped a noose over those crossed hands. Then with the speed and skill of the sailor he rapidly crossed and wound, until he had Sim’s hands very securely fastened. The knots were cleverly made fast in place. Few people except sailors can tie knots the way this boy tied them.
“Now, lie quiet just long enough for me to put a mild tackle on your ankles,” admonished the young skipper.
When this was done he helped Sim to his feet.
“You can get into the boat, now,” suggested Halstead.
“See here, boy, yo’ can’t git far away from heah afo’ some o’ my men git after yo’. Take yo’ ole boat, an’ leave me heah. That’s the smartest way, I asshuah yo’.”
“Get into the boat,” ordered Tom, sternly. “I’ll help you as soon as it’s necessary.”
When Sim got near enough to the gunwale to see the others so neatly stacked away he flew into a rage.
“Ef I done know yo’ had the others like that,” he stormed, “I’d have seen yo’ further afo’ I——”
“Get into the boat,” interrupted Halstead, pressing the muzzle of the hunting rifle against Sim’s back. “Now, over you go, with my help.”
Sim was talking in a picturesque way by this time, but Halstead, ignoring him, stacked him away with his comrades in the bow of the boat. Then, still gripping the rifle, the motor boat boy stepped aft, and started the motor. As soon an this was running smoothly, Halstead raised his voice, calling:
“I don’t doubt that you fellows will soon feel tempted to squirm about and try to free yourselves. You don’t know me, and might not believe me, so, if I see any signs of trouble, I’ll have to let this rifle do my talking. If you doubt me, then try it on!”
Sim was the only one who could speak; he was too disgusted and wrathful to feel like saying a word.
Captain Tom swung on slow speed, guiding the boat by the rudder line that passed aft from the steering wheel.
Not knowing the waters here in the Everglades, and their almost inky blackness, under the shadows of the trees, concealing the depths, he was forced to go slowly.
All the while, too, with the rifle ready at hand, he had to keep a sharp lookout over the men stacked forward like so many logs. Their judgment, however, did not prompt them to move.
It seemed like ages to the boy ere he got clear of the Everglades. He thought he was following the route by which they had entered, yet his only general guide was to keep to a northerly course.
At last he saw the open waters of Lake Okeechobee ahead. As he drove the boat out into broader, deeper waters, a prayer of thankfulness went up from the boy.
Once in the lake, he crowded on speed, and was presently running at the full power of the little engine. Even if he could keep this gait, he had more than a three hours’ trip ahead of him.
Now, however, after he had the motor running to suit him, he was free to give practically all of his attention to his “passengers” on this unique trip.
“I feel like complimenting you on your fine order up forward,” chuckled the boy. “It may interest you to know that I am keeping my eye on the lot of you all the time.”
Sim’s answer wouldn’t be worth repeating. Not one of the “passengers” lay so that he could look aft, a very decided advantage for the young skipper.
It was a fearfully long run. Late in the afternoon Halstead caught his first glimpse of Tremaine’s bungalow at the head of the lake.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, now,” he glowed. “Won’t there be fun when I show my load!”
A few minutes later he made out figures of people running out of the bungalow. Plainly they had a glass, and were using it, for presently Tom saw them waving their arms wildly toward him.
“There’s more than our own party there,” muttered the boy, with a throb of gratitude. “That surely means they’ve been organizing an expedition to hunt for me.”
Just as soon as he was near enough, Halstead sounded several blasts lustily on the whistle. There was more waving of arms from the crowd before the bungalow. Halstead fancied he caught the faintest sound of distant cheering. Bye-and-bye he was sure of it. Now, it was a duet between whistles and cheers. Joe, Jeff and Henry Tremaine were leading the others in a mad scramble to the end of the pier.
Then, with a final, long blast from the whistle, Tom Halstead ran in close, rising as he did so.
Putting both hands to his mouth, Skipper Tom shouted:
“Here, you, Ham!”
“Yassuh!” shouted Mockus, dancing two or three reel steps.
“This is your especial treat! Hog the first look for yourself. I’m bringing you, tied hand and foot, the Ghost of Alligator Swamp!”
IT was Joe Dawson, though, who caught the first glimpse of the “passengers” as the motor boat ran in closer, while Tom was busy with the motor.
“The ghost?” yelled Joe. “I should say so!”
Then everybody struggled for a look into the boat. Besides the Tremaine party there were fourteen Florida men whom Jeff had brought in from the nearest community. Two of them were peace officers.
“Ease off the bow, Joe, and get the bow line for yourself,” grinned Tom. “But, say! Aren’t they a handsome lot?”
A wild cheer went up from all hands.
The bow line was quickly made fast, after which Tom threw off a stern line, which Jeff caught and tied.
Then, amid a very babel of exclamations and questions, young Halstead stepped out onto the pier, Joe being the first to grip his hand.
Henry Tremaine secured the next chance, remarking, while his eyes twinkled mistily:
“Captain Halstead, I owe you an apology.”
“For being so officious as to summon any help. But I admit that I didn’t quite know you boys. I think I do, now.”
“However it was done, it was splendid!” cried Ida Silsbee, eagerly, presenting her small, gloved hand to the young captain.
“Splendid? I never heard of anything like it!” uttered Dixon, as he, too, pressed forward, holding out his hand.
Both his speech and his act were for Ida’s benefit. Oliver Dixon had the good sense to know that any slight offered the motor boat youth, at this time, would redound against his own chances as suitor with Miss Silsbee.
Tom took the Dixon hand limply, looking straight into the young man’s eyes so searchingly that even the brazen Oliver had difficulty in maintaining anything like composure.
“I’ll keep up the pretense with him,” thought Halstead, “until I’m ready to unmask him.”
“Captain Tom,” exclaimed Oliver Dixon, eagerly, “you’re a wonder—a twentieth century knight!”
Sim, at this moment, was being hauled out of the boat by three of the Florida men present. Sim’s sullen, baleful eyes sought Dixon’s, causing that young man to quail, though just at that instant none of the Tremaine party noted the episode.
“Say, I reckon we know all these fellows,” announced one of the local officers. “Sim and Jig are two of the worst men that ever got into the Everglades. We know enough, too, about Jabe and Kink to keep ’em busy fo’ a long time explaining their records.”
“Then you can take charge of them all as criminals wanted by the courts?” inquired Halstead.
“Yep; I reckon we can.”
“Good enough, then; you can have ’em on the old charges, and I won’t have to stay in Florida, forever and day, to be a witness.”
“There is no use staying here,” declared Henry Tremaine. “Bring prisoners and all up to the house. It’s a lot more comfortable talking where there are chairs.”
Joe walked on one side of his chum as they bent their steps away from the pier. To aggravate Oliver Dixon’s jealous rage, Ida Silsbee also managed to keep close to the young skipper.
On the broad porch the four prisoners were lined up. Uncle Tobey was also brought out and added to them, the local officers being satisfied that the aged negro voodoo doctor had acted as a go-between for the gang.
“And this is the whole of the Ghost of Alligator Swamp, laid by the heels,” chuckled Henry Tremaine, appreciatively.
Then Tom, of course, had to tell the story of his strange adventure. He told it with extreme modesty, yet even the dullest account was bound to place him higher than ever in the estimation of all his hearers save Joe. Young Dawson had an opinion of his chum that nothing could increase.
The three who had been gagged were now allowed the use of their tongues, but did not abuse their privilege. Sim ordered them all to “shet up and keep shet,” which advice they followed to the letter.
It was a big feeding contract that devolved upon the Tremaines. In the house, however, were plenty of provisions. With the help of some of the Florida men a meal big enough for all was prepared before dark. Even the prisoners were fed. Then the local visitors were ready to take the collective “ghost” to the nearest jail, many miles off through the forest. Henry Tremaine, however, after paying all liberally for their trouble, further engaged six of the natives to remain behind.
“For,” he announced, “we came here to hunt alligators, and that’s what we’re going to do. Now, you six men can be towed by us in another boat when we go into the Everglades. The presence of such a party, armed, will be enough to keep any friends of the prisoners that may be lurking in the big swamp country from showing us any hostile attentions.”
The evening was spent with some further accounts of Tom’s trip into the Everglades. When it came time to retire it was decided to let the six Florida men stand guard over the bungalow, one at a time, through the night.
By daylight the entire party was up again. With the first glimpses of light the six Florida men had begun a further exploration of the country thereabouts. Two of them came upon the battered, though serviceable, old boat that Sim and his crew had evidently used. Some of the others found a covered hiding-place in the woods where the Everglades rascals had hidden much ghostly paraphernalia. Among this stuff was a jointed bamboo “ghost,” covered with cotton cloth—the same thing that had frightened Ham Mockus so badly in the kitchen.
“Now, do you see what you were shivering about?” demanded Henry Tremaine, laughingly.
“Ah reckon Ah’s done bin a plumb idiot,” admitted Ham, shamefacedly.
“Not any bigger idiot than folks hereabouts have been during the last three years,” rejoined Tremaine. “Nor any bigger idiot than people have always been, all over the world. But, Ham, my lad, take a bit of advice: whenever you hear of a sure-enough, really-and-truly ghost, just get out on its trail with a shot-gun. Don’t lose any time shivering, and don’t waste any time until you’ve brought that ghost into camp.”
“No, sah, Ah won’t,” promised Ham, solemnly.
“He’ll run and hide his head the very next moan he hears on a dark night,” laughed Jeff Randolph.
“W’ut yo’ talkin’ erbout, Marse Jeff?” demanded Ham, with a show of indignation. “Jes’ a plain, or’nary niggah?”
Dixon was on hand again, trying to be extremely pleasant to young Captain Halstead.
“I mustn’t let him see that I suspect or know anything,” thought Tom. “I mustn’t scare Dixon away from this party until I’m able to place Officer Randolph’s story right under Henry Tremaine’s nose.”
“I’m very glad to see that you’re so nice with young Halstead,” Ida Silsbee found chance to remark to Oliver Dixon.
“Why shouldn’t I be pleasant with him?” asked Dixon, pretending surprise.
“I was afraid you had taken an unaccountable dislike to the boy.”
“Much to the contrary,” remarked the young man, smiling. “I always admire great pluck and an uncommon amount of brains.”
“All aboard for the alligator hunt! We haven’t any time to lose in making the start,” called Henry Tremaine, hurrying through the house.
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.